Smothered in Hugs

Over the years, I've developed a number of little games and rituals with each of my kids. They're not created with intention... they just sort of emerge over time based on our interactions and the meshing of our personalities. All dads must do it. It's part of our fatherly bonding experience and a way to show our kids that we share something special. Some of these routines only last through certain ages or phases of development. Some stick around longer. Some seem to go away and then pop up later when you least expect it. They're all important, though, and serve as little reminders of the unique relationship we fathers have with each of our children.

Eliana, my little two year old whose charisma cup runneth over, has several of these little rituals she shares with me. They are mostly madcap and always loving. And 100% unique to her. The one I love the most right now (and hopefully one that lasts) is our bedtime routine. After getting dressed for bed and brushing our teeth, we head downstairs while the remaining hooligans of the house prepare for bedtime under mom's supervision. We find a cozy blanket, turn off all of the lights and snuggle into the recliner to begin our nighttime wind down. Sometimes we read a book by the light coming in from the window. Sometimes we go straight to the music. Every time Eliana insists on picking the first song. And she ALWAYS picks "Book of Love" as sung by Peter Gabriel. It's an odd choice for her as any other time of day she prefers upbeat dance music. But without fail she scrolls through the music list on my phone and her tiny little finger taps her chosen song. As soon as the music starts, she lets me know that it's "Book-a-Love." And she reminds me again every time Mr. Gabriel sings those words throughout the rest of the song. Sometimes, without any specific prompting in the lyrics, she tells me "he's singing James and Eli." Needless to say, my heart promptly melts and I nestle her in even closer. (And this all but guarantees that one day, the first boy to break her heart will meet an untimely death at the hands of her hysterical father.)

Once her preferred song is over we listen for awhile to whatever music the random toggle serves.  Each time a song starts, Eliana immediately asks me "what's this song about?" I smile because she always responds the same way -- repeating whatever description I just gave her but prefaced with an "Ohhhhhhh." Like, "Ohhhhhhh, it's about two people in love." Or, "Ohhhhhh, it's about dancing all night." This goes on for several songs as she moves and adjusts to find the optimal arrangement for drifting off to sleep. Finally (and maybe my favorite part of our whole routine) her stirring subsides as she finishes fine tuning her position on my lap and she asks me to "put it back on Book-a-Love." She closes her eyes. Her little hand gives me a pat on the arm. Her breathing gets deep and slow in that way that only babies and puppies seem to master. And before the first verse is over, she's... out.

And usually before the second verse is over, I too am... out.

And There Will I Keep You Forever

When I look at pictures like this, it still blows my mind that this is my family. Seven short years ago, this did not exist. Not even a glimmer in my mind. Not perceptible -- or even believable. But here it is. Wow. To say that I am fortunate is wholly inadequate. I am beyond fortunate... I am burdened. Burdened with a blessing of which I can never be worthy.

The Children's Hour - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

Eliana Quinn

The only time I was separated from Julie was when they wheeled her into the operating room.
It only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

I thought regular deliveries were intense. They're nothing compared to a c-section.

Moments after delivery. Eliana has never been louder.

I LOVE that, much like a Taco Bell drive thru,
the hospital has instructional posters hung in the operating room.

Eliana may be our most chill baby, yet. Julie, are you sure you don't want more?

This is Amelia's life calling. And even the phlegmatic Truman can't hide his fascination.

There is no prouder big brother on the planet.

Good friends of ours were two doors down with their new son Dominic.
With nurses visiting every three minutes, smuggling beer into the room was no easy task.

So sweet. So calm.

Eliana has fully claimed her mum.

You'd think we'd brought home a puppy or something...

Always Amelia

Speaking of retro, we watched some old videos of the kids last night. When you're expecting a new baby there's nothing like watching video of your old babies to make you feel all sappy and emotional. You know the spiel -- they get big too fast, you wish you could relive those moments, blah, blah, blah.

I love watching these clips of the children and seeing how defined their personalities were at such a young age. In the video below, Amelia isn't even two yet, but she's SOOOOO Amelia. The intensity. The dramatic flair. The volume. Nothing's changed.

The Day of the Fathers

My Father's Day gift came on Saturday this year. (Sunday will be for the cards, cologne and cookouts.) The truly awesome gift I got, facilitated by one exceptional (and very pregnant) wife, was extra time spent with each of my kids, one on one.

Darwin and I kicked off the day with a trip downtown for breakfast at the farmers market. After that, Amelia and I hit the bookstore, went shopping for some newborn clothes for Baby Tiny and then took a park stroll. Next, I whisked Truman off to the library to read a dozen or so books and participate in weekend craft time. Lastly, Jameson and I hit the preeminent miniature golf course in southwest Ohio for a round of 18. All this with dinner waiting on the table when I got home.

Yeah, we ate sandwiches that were bigger than our heads.

There was no doubt that some of Amelia's time with Dad would be spent outdoors.

I love you, Dad, but please STOP taking pictures.

Jameson's second hole-in-one for the day.

If a statue is looking off into the distance,
you must take a picture of yourself imitating said statue.
No exceptions.

Error

Dads, if you're going to drop the kid, at least catch the ball.

SAHD - Day 665

I think it's safe to say I'm fully entrenched in the stay at home dad business - especially with baby number five on the way. A couple months from now I'll be crossing the two year point since I quit my corporate gig to stay home full time with my kids. We thought long and hard about that decision and agonized for months over what we were actually going to do. Now it seems like the answer should have been obvious. It hasn't been easy, but it was clearly the right decision for our family. In the 665 days since then, I've learned a lot about myself, about my kids and about laundry.

I love being a stay at home dad. Here are some of the things I've learned, observed and discovered since becoming one.

I have more patience than I ever realized. I always thought I was a fairly laid back person, but my patience muscles have been seriously exercised since taking on the full time parenting gig.

I have more of a temper than I ever realized. But when my patience wears thin... look out.

You can't let a three year old girl comb her own hair with one of those stupid 360 degree round brushes. You know those brushes with bristles all the way around? Those things should come with warnings. Amelia can get her hair irreparably knotted around one of these devices in under four seconds.

Silence is not golden. Silence is cause for alarm. Silence is the last thing I want to hear. Silence means someone is focused on getting into some serious trouble. Like cutting their own hair. Or stuffing golf balls in the toilet.

Children are often less logical than pregnant women. It's close, but at least pregnant women don't stick jelly beans up their noses for no apparent reason.

Kids remember. They always remember.  You know when you promised them at age three that when they turned five they could have their own pack of bubble gum? You might as well etch that stuff in stone.

I can make pancakes without looking at a recipe. In fact, I have my own made up recipe. And they're the bomb.

I can grocery shop with four small children. I get lots and lots of looks, but the grocery store staff has at least gotten used to us. One time at Walmart, a woman yelled from across the parking lot, "YOU GO, DADDEEEEEE!"

The bar for dad parenting skills is set way, way, wayyyyy low. Seriously low. See above. I can be in the grocery store at the same time as a mother with more kids than me and I'll get no less than half a dozen "compliments" on my bravery while she won't get a second glance. At the grocery store, the doctor's office, the library, the park -- pretty much any public place -- if I have more than two kids with me, I'm guaranteed to get comments from someone concerning my ability to parent. "Wow, you're brave." "My husband could never do that." "Do you need help?" "Dad of the year!" My personal favorite, though, is "What did your wife do to get the day off?"

Preparation is key. Being a stay-at-home parent is almost exactly like being a restaurant manager. The more you do to prepare for each day the easier it will be to handle the challenges that inevitably pop up. Right after college I managed a restaurant for a few years and the parallels between that job and this one are incredible. The stress and chaos are so similar, as are the means for dealing with them. The big difference is I can't fire my kids and I can't blame my woes on the manager from the prior shift.

Laundry is the killer. With this many people in one house, no other task occupies nearly as much time as collecting, sorting, washing, drying, folding and putting away the laundry. I need a better system.

Systems are key. This is also a restaurant management principle. It's my nature to want to have systems for everything and for those systems to constantly be refined for maximum efficiency. It's the only way I can effectively manage my days with the kids.

Repetition is key. The more an activity becomes a routine, the easier it is to manage the kids during said activity. Grocery shopping with all four kids is usually a smooth affair because we do it every week. I know what to expect, they know what to expect and together we're fairly proficient at it.

Potty training is overrated. Sort of. Yes, changing diapers is a tiresome chore. But, I like to spend a lot of our day out of the house. Before potty training, that meant we had the freedom to do what we wanted when we wanted and we just had to be prepared to change an occasional diaper in the car. Post potty training it means ten minutes of bathroom breaks every time before we leave the house, monitoring fluid intake away from home, and potentially visiting some less than savory public restrooms with two, three or even four young kids. And Miss Amelia is notorious for exclaiming, "I have to poop!" the moment she spies a Target. What the hell?

Life is harder for the working parent. I think it's no contest. I can by physically, mentally and/or emotionally drained at the end of the day, but when it comes down to it I'm spending time with my kids and just thinking about how much I love them and how lucky I am to have them gives me all the motivation I need to keep going. I don't miss office life one bit. Working outside the home can have all the stress and demands of staying at home, but it has the added stress of always being away from the ones you love the most in the world.

Occupational Hazard

I often wrestle and (play) fight with my kids. As part of this dad activity, it is my fatherly duty to play the role of all sorts of nasty villains from ogres and giants to mad scientists and Republicans. The kids are always the heroes; I'm always the bad guy. I've become quite convincing in this role -- maybe too convincing.

Recently I was Captain Hook. I was being swarmed by Pan and a band of his Lost Boys (and Girls) as they tried to beat me into submission. Their efforts were futile. Until. Until the game came to a screeching halt as I was immobilized by what felt like a pair of pliers trying to remove my bicep from my upper arm. Shedding all but one of my assailants in an instant, I looked down to see Amelia's jaw fully locked on my arm.

Scooping her up and heading straight for "timeout," I started asking her, in a not-so-gentle tone, what on earth was she doing. She knows biting is not allowed and has long outgrown that toddler phase. I think I was more shocked than angry, and I was grilling her in disbelief and showing her the injury she had given me.

When I sat her down in the chair, I could see nothing but devastation on her face. Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. With a quivering lip and a shaky voice that could barely muster a whisper she said, "But, but, but Daddy... you were Captain Hook." And with that she threw her face into the crook of my neck, sobbing over and over again, "I'm sorry, Daddy."

Being the soft dad that I am, my heart instantly hurt more than my bicep. I wrapped my arms around my little girl and did my best to console her. I told her everything was OK and that she just needed to be more careful. She eventually calmed down but continued to apologize throughout the night. My precious little girl isn't all nails and vinegar, after all.

But she's still Amelia.

The next morning I showed her the lovely green bruise that was left from the injury she had caused. She took a close look at it and, in the most dismissive voice you've ever heard, said, "Oh just put a band aid on it."

Then she just walked off, as full of nails and vinegar as ever.

Christmas 2010

This past Christmas was, as it has been since we've had kids, a blur. It is a peanut brittle fueled bender that lasts for weeks. It's usually a few days into the new year when consciousness begins to emerge from the holiday fog. As blurry as it was, in many ways, Christmas was a simple affair for us this year. There was no fervent gift shopping -- we gave our kids one gift each, drew one name for an exchange on Julie's side of the family and went in on one gift for my parents on my side of the family. Plus, Julie and I started building our gift to each other months ago (and a new house is too big to wrap). Also, we technically didn't host any parties this year since we were living with the in-laws. But, despite the lack of some of the usual Christmas trappings, the little things still managed to build up enough momentum to make the holiday fly by as if it was hitched to eight tiny reindeer.

With Jameson in school, and me staying at home, I got to look forward to something that I hadn't anticipated in many, many years: Christmas break. I was definitely more excited than Jameson. To him, a day without school is a tragedy. To me, a day without school meant more time with Jameson and less time planning days around half hour trips to school, potty breaks, lunch on the road, naps in the car and rushed dinner prep. Two weeks of freedom from the daily grind made getting back into the groove a little painful. And it fanned the flames of anticipation for getting moved into the new house. (Oh to be in the new house.)

Being the shutterbug that I am, Christmas also brought a back log of several hundred photographs. That's a lot of pictures to sift through, edit, share, etc. But it's a good problem to have. Those images snagged as Christmas streaked by are now my opportunity to sit back with my coffee and a sugar cookie and finally stop and enjoy the holidays.

Hopefully Forever

James
Chubby
Mister
Sir
Stinker

But still when it counts...

Daddy

I hope that lasts for a long time.

Breasts and Nut Cups

Julie and I have had four kids in a little less than four years.  Not a remarkable feat but still a little different when compared to the average American family these days.  Hardly a day goes by that someone doesn't ask, "So how do you guys do it?"

And I always answer the same way:  With love and tenderness and a little Barry White playing in the background.

Hey-ohhhh!

Just try and delete that image from your head, friends and family!

Ahem.  Anyhow.  Having this many kids doesn't seem that out of the ordinary to me.  I myself am the oldest of five children.  And I come from a clan of prolific procreative Irish Catholics -- one aunt tops the charts at eleven kids.  Depending on who you ask, we've had a lot of kids relatively quickly.  Of course, having twins, a completely unexpected event, sped things up a little.  But, it is what is.  We have multiple offspring.

So how do we do it?

The real answer is:  We don't know.  We just do.

Lame, huh?

There's not really a good answer to that question.  You just do what you gotta do.  In so many ways, having multiple kids forces you to live in the moment.  The crying, the sharing, the barfing, the hugging, the fighting, the meals, the bedtimes, the trips, the stories, the questions, the revelations -- it all just keeps coming at you.  Each one a challenge and opportunity.  Each moment precious and fleeting.  It's kind of like being at the batting cages.  Whether you whiff or connect, you can't sit around analyzing or admiring your last swing for too long or you'll miss the next pitch.  You have to make adjustments on the fly, dig in and get ready for the next pitch.  Over and over again.

That's not to say you don't get better along the way by learning from your past performance.  Planning ahead is also beneficial.  And there are definitely tips, tricks and tools to help make the whole experience better.  Same goes for the other kind of "doing it" too, by the way.

Sorry.  I couldn't resist.

Maybe I'm really just dodging the whole question of how do we do it, but I will at least give you a list of the top five things that help get it done.

1. The Evenflo Travel Highchair

This is the single greatest purchase of my entire parenting experience.  It is especially key for anyone with multiples.  This beauty is lightweight, sturdy and ridiculously compact and easy to carry.  It works great indoors and out.  We have two of them and at least one of them is in the back of the minivan at all times.  They're so easy to open and the kids can be secured in one in seconds.  At picnics, they're the difference between chasing kids around trying to shove food down their throats and actually sitting down to enjoy a meal.  My kids would honestly weigh 24% less if we didn't have these high chairs.  When out, I have been asked by strangers about these high chairs more than I've been asked about my actual kids by at least a 3 to 1 ratio.


2. The Breasts



They're functional.  They're convenient.  Your wife always has them with her.  They never fail to sooth even the crankiest customer.

And they're not just for the dads.

Not every mother can or will breast-feed, but when available, they're indispensable.  Sure, bottles have their advantages, but it's hard to top breasts.  They provide the original comfort food and are damn near perfectly designed for feeding infants.  Breasts don't need to be sterilized, refilled, heated or prepped in any way.  You can't run out of breasts.  You can't lose breasts.  True, you can't borrow breasts in a pinch, but as long as mom's around, you also won't need to run out in the middle of the night to buy more breasts.

And best of all, dads don't have them, so it's the single parental duty that as a father you never have to handle.


3. The Bjorn

No, not Bjork.  Bjorn.



You only have so many hands.  (Well, two specifically.  I guess I don't need to be vague about the number of hands you have.)  Anyhow.  Regardless of the number of hands you have, eventually you need to stop carrying your tots and start strapping them to your body with a complex system of straps and pulleys.  There are a bazillion contraptions out there for affixing babies to your body parts and I certainly have not tried them all, but I have tried a few and none of them compared to the Baby Bjorn.  The things are so comfortable that you could probably strap one of those giant tabloid babies to your chest and still shoot a 79 from the black tees.  When your kids eventually outgrow it, the Baby Bjorn can also conveniently hold a mini keg.  Or so I've heard.


4. The Nut Cup


I've been bashed in the onions more times since having kids than I had been in all the previous 30 years of my life.  Seriously.  It's a near daily occurrence.  It's a wonder I was even able to have more kids after the first one.  First of all, all little kids have this fundamental design flaw of being just the right height for kicking your nards when you pick them up.  Secondly, they have no concept of genitalia pain, so running and jumping knees first into your lap doesn't register as a critical hit in their minds.  If you're a guy with kids, you might as well slip one of these in your shorts every night before going to bed.  Why before going to bed?  Because it's a statistical fact that 83% of all ball bombs come in the form of leaping children eager to wake you up in the morning via the pain train straight into your crotch.


5. The Red Bull



Red Bull.  Lots and lots of Red Bull.

Some time around my junior year in college, coffee completely lost it's ability to keep me awake.  Now I can drink coffee in bed and still fall right to sleep.  I need something with a little more kick if I'm to keep up with my pack of hell raisers.  Dozing on this job doesn't mean nodding off face first into a computer keyboard while hoping that the person in the next cubicle didn't hear you just type "asdfjjjjjjjj" with your left cheek bone.  On this job, snoozing means things get flushed down the toilet that shouldn't be flushed down the toilet.  It means someone experiments with cutting their own hair.  It means something expensive gets broken.

So bring on the Red Bull. It's not the trendiest and maybe not even the most effective.  But it's the original.  And it mixes damned well with Jägermeister.

Don't Fall Asleep

I like to read to Jameson at bedtime, but sometimes it is just so damned hard to stay awake. Jameson, of course, thinks it is hilarious to mess with me if I fall asleep before he does. There was the sticker incident. And more than a few attempts to sneak out of the bedroom. Sometimes it's just a saliva heavy wet willy. Or, like tonight, it's swiping my cell phone and snapping a bunch of pictures of my passed out self.

It's a Narrow Window

The kids have no idea how little I know about bowling. Or many other subjects, for that matter. For now, I am a limitless well of knowledge for them. I'm the Dad. I'm the smartest, fastest, strongest, handsomest, funniest, bravest person they know. I can beat all video games. I can kiss away all injuries. I know how all movies will end. I can play all sports. I can finish all puzzles. I know why animals do what they do. I can build anything. I can cook anything. I know how cars move and planes fly. I can draw the best pictures and build the coolest forts.

I'm pretty awesome.

For now. It's a narrow window. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

The Boys

(Click this image for more fatherhood related blogs.)

It still blows my mind that I have three sons. And that I'm supposed to raise these boys to be men. It seems like such an awesome responsibility -- one that doesn't come with a manual or handbook. Though I guess it doesn't make sense to have a manual for raising men because the first page of the man manual would say "men don't read manuals."

Manual free, this Friday I got the opportunity to do some serious fathering when Julie's mom offered to take Amelia and Darwin for the day. With the house to ourselves, Jameson, Truman and I wasted no time delving into one of finer elements of manhood: Hot Wheels.

This was actually an issue we had been itching to tackle for some time. We have an extensive collection of cars, but let's be honest, it's not about the cars in and of themselves. It's about the jumps. The ramps. The air. Coincidentally, we just came into possession of a hundred feet of Hot Wheels track (thanks Curt), the key missing ingredient to truly appreciating our 1/64 scale hot rods and muscle cars. And without mom's better judgement to hinder our manly intentions, we set out to conquer gravity the way God intended -- with a Hot Wheels stunt track that spanned an entire flight of middle American prefabricated residential stairs.

In the words of Jameson, "this is going to rock."

Our official launcher.


The launch assistant.


The track.


At first our ramp was created with just a few DVD cases.


Even with such a small ramp, we were getting some sweet jumps.


I had to place myself in the line of fire to get these awesome shots.
Yes, it was dangerous, but it was worth it.


Relatively speaking, you'd need 1/64 scale marbles the size of, um, marbles to drive this track.


Why yes that totally sweet jump cleared the kitchen table. No biggie.


Badass!

November Camping

If the weather cooperates, most years we take a short camping trip during the first weekend of November. To me, perfect camping weather requires jeans and a sweatshirt during the day and bundling up in a heavy sleeping bag at night. That's pretty much what we got this year. Unfortunately, my perfect camping weather is inappropriate for the two and under crowd, but, fortunately, this meant Jameson and I got to spend some time with just each other.

The scenery was beautiful and the hikes were nice, but the highlight of the weekend was lying in the tent at night with Jameson pondering the mysteries of life. I can barely recall what was said, but I can clearly remember the smile that wouldn't leave my face. It was a smile that arose from a remarkable mix of pride, whimsy, admiration, awe and endearment. Nights like those are nourishment for the soul. Oh, and watching Jameson pee on a tree like a man was cool, too.

No Rest for the Weary

One of the biggest challenges that comes along with having kids is the lack of time off. As a parent, you are always on duty (or at least on call). There aren't days set aside for catch up. There is no "working for the weekend." No recovery time.

On Saturday we had the grandparents and some aunts and uncles over for a small birthday party for Jameson. It was low key and casual, but exhausting just the same. Then, after the party and after the kids were in bed, we stayed up until 2:00 in the morning, hanging out with my brother Kip and his girlfriend Corey, drinking rum (Bacardi Solera, mmmm) and Cokes and watching reruns of It's Always Sunny.

(For the record, "100 Dollar Baby" is way funnier than "The Gang Gives Back.")

But the real issue here is the bedtime. That's entirely too late for Julie and I to both be up. Regardless of our late night carousing, the kids were going to be awake by no later than 7:30 AM. That's a dreadful thought when you're finally falling asleep around 3:00 AM. There's a certain anxiety that comes with it. You know that as soon as your head hits the pillow you're going to get your wake up call. There are few things I hate more than having a whole night of sleep feel like nothing more than a blink of my eyes.

So the next day was spent drinking lots of water and walking around in a zombie-like haze. Who knows if the kids were wearing matching clothes, were fed lunch or were allowed to play with the stove. It's all a little foggy. Anything could have happened.

But the real kick in the gut came when I texted Kip around noon to see if he was coming over to watch football. (He only loves me for my NFL Sunday Ticket Superfan subscription.) His reply: "Not today. I'm just going to vegetate on my couch."

Damn you young, unmarried, childless punk.

Big Day

A couple of weeks ago Jameson had his first dentist appointment. I decided to ditch work and make it a father-son day. After we got the momentous teeth cleaning out of the way, we grabbed pizza at a bar, hit golf balls at the range and bought Lego Indiana Jones and Lego Star Wars for the PS3. It was an all around kick ass day.

Jameson was awesome at the dentist office. We had been mentally preparing all week. Jameson strolled in cool as a cucumber, hopped up in the chair and cruised through the whole visit.

Relaxing with some toys, waiting to be called.

Checking out the tools of the trade.

Under the bright lights.

Dad wasn't the only one with a camera ready for the big day.

Dr. Greg in action.

Dr. Greg is really good with kids. Highly recommended.

I took this right before we tore into a bucket of range balls. It's now one of my all time favorite pictures of Jameson.

Got to set it up just right.

Can't wait for next time.