Jack Officially Crawling...And Falling

We've entered a new era. As of Tuesday, June 15, 2004, Jack is officially crawling. For the past few weeks he's been threatening to do this but now he's following through on those threats. Actually, he's been pulling himself up to a standing position for several days too. We're going to have to make a few adjustments around the house to accommodate all this change. First, no more napping on our bed unattended. We didn't have to put this rule in place for Sydney because she never really took naps and if she did as soon as she awoke she was screaming. Jack, the happy lad that he is, wakes up and tries his best to smile you to death. And since there is no audible announcement of the end of his nap, he is free to just lay there and coo or, as he did yesterday, just roll off the bed onto the floor. As happy as he usually is, he doesn't seem to respond well to a three foot free-fall onto a hard surface.

Soon we'll be re-erecting those awful baby-gates too. We just took those things down about eighteen months ago. Those things made me feel like a lab rat in a maze. Occasionally I would just step over them. Boy, was that a mistake...at least one time it was. I was carrying two drinks and was in a hurry to get back into the living room. As I took a too-quick step over the baby gate my foot nicked the top of the gate which caused me to spill some of the drink. My leading foot came down onto the spilled liquid and scooted right out from under me. There was a moment in the following mili-seconds when my entire body was completely horizontal and four feet off the ground. The first thing to hit was my shoulder blades. Breath gone. Spine jelly. And drinks everywhere. Maybe we'll just opt for extra safety locks on the cabinets and fridge rather than baby gates.

Parenting Styles: Right, Wrong, or Neither

When Sarah and I found out that "we" were pregnant with our daughter Sydney it was quite a shock. We were very excited but we also had a natural amount of anxiety about being new parents. However, my anxiety was a little more selfish than Sarah's. I tended to be more concerned about how life was going to change for me and Sarah was more concerned about being a good mother. Her reaction led to lots of reading...dozens of books covering every perspective.

It was during this time that I was first exposed to the baby-wise versus attachment-parenting controversy. What sent up the red flag for me was that the proponents of each of these two perspectives seemed to have it all figured out. In my thirty-two years I've learned to be very suspicious of anything that purports to have perfected an approach to, or an interpretation of, any particular subject. Call is a healthy level of cynicism.

I didn't really develop my current perspective on this issue until after our second child, Jack, was born. Our first child, Sydney, is an EXTREMELY high-energy, high-maintenance child. Despite much effort to the contrary she has taken approximately ten naps in her entire life. Until Jack was born I often thought that this behavior was as a result of poor parenting but Jack proved that wrong. From the moment that Jack emerged into this world it was clear that he was the polar opposite of Sydney. He would nurse for long periods of time whereas Sydney would be distracted at the slightest noise. The list of contrasting personality traits could go on and on. The point is this: these two kids have very different personalities which require different approaches to parenting.

Not because we subscribe to any author's point of view but Sarah and I tend to naturally have attachment-parenting tendencies. I don't condemn the baby-wise approach at all but I am concerned by the fact that it seems to be applied in most situations as a one-size-fits-all parenting philosophy. If I were professional parent, which I am not, I would be able to identify my child’s needs and adjust my approach on-the-fly. In my case, it would probably mean that I would apply attachment-parenting principles with Sydney and more structured and scheduled techniques with Jack. This has not happened because, in the end, parenting has often been more about what is easiest for me and my wife than what is the absolute best for our kids. My suspicion and my earnest prayer is that despite what I do, or don’t do, everything will work out fine. God is in control.

Boxers Are Not Underwear!

One night when I was three years old I realized that my dad didn't wear pajamas like I did. I have very specific memories during that time of my life of wearing pajama pants with built-in footies. The sole of these footies was made of plastic and essentially acted as a foot-sweat receptacle. If that sounds awful, you now understand why the realization that my dad wore only his tighty-whities to bed made me want to do the same. Every day since that day I've been a brief man.

When I hear guys talk about boxers versus briefs it makes me crazy. There is absolutely no comparison to be made here. It's like comparing ski jacket versus t-shirt. Yes, they both cover your torso but they are not exactly interchangeable garments, are they? To put this in perspective for all the females, the argument that boxer shorts are just another kind of underwear is like saying that a t-shirt is just another kind of bra. Sounds pretty ridiculous, doesn't it?

At the risk of stating the obvious, let me just say that the real issue here is the "gird factor." Pasted directly from the Merriam Webster web site, the word gird is defined as: (1) to encircle or bind with a flexible band (as a belt); to make fast (as a sword by a belt or clothing with a cord); SURROUND, (2) PROVIDE, EQUIP; especially : to invest with the sword of knighthood, (3) to prepare (oneself) for action; intransitive senses: to prepare for action; gird one's loins: to prepare for action: muster up one's resources.

Now the idea of the flexible bands mentioned in that definition makes me wince but I think you now understand how I define the purpose of underwear. Boxer shorts do not do any of these things. The few times that I have worn boxer shorts I felt like I was simply wearing a pair of shorts under my pants. Ironically, I was. So, the truth is that boxer shorts are shorts not underwear.

Home Potty Sitting

I'm a Christian. I know why I'm here...to glorify my God. But, you know, we humans, despite being created in the image of God, can really make life difficult on ourselves. And someone like me, who can be a bit obnoxious, values every bit of advice that might make life a little more pleasant...especially when it's something really easy to do. To that end, I'd like to make a suggestion to all of you males out there who feel the same way.

Let me preface this suggestion by assuring you that my sense of masculinity is completely in tact and that any temptation on your part to feel threatened is as a result of cultural misdirection, and the lack of directions on your potty.

Here is the suggestion: always sit, never, ever stand to pee at your home toilet. Now this only applies to males who share living quarters with females. Bachelors, you may continue to make all the mess you want. The benefits of such a habit are obvious. The women in our lives will have two fewer things to hassle us about. Those two things are (1) "[Insert your name here], you'd peed on the seat!" and (2) "[Insert your name here], you left the toilet seat up!" Again, both of these are avoided when the "always sit" rule is observed. Can you think of any other area of home life that has so irritated the women of the world that they wrote a poem about it..."if you sprinkle when you tinkle be a sweetie and wipe the seaty."

Of course, the back door to this entire subject is the urinal. If you're one of the lucky few men who have a urinal installed at home then you can completely circumvent this entire subject. Such a man is Tom K. of Matagorda, Texas who is a friend of mine who added a urinal to the back of his garage where he maintains his workshop. Now that's what I'm talkin' about.

Before Jesus came to me one night and set my head straight on this issue I tried to fight it. It was difficult to fight the peeing on the seat argument but even today I still maintain that there are serious logic problems with women-kind's insistence that men leave the seat in the down position. Putting all chivalry aside and letting my true clod nature shine, why is it that the great roulette wheel of life landed on "seat down" as the default position for a toilet? Surely you have to admit that "seat up" is just as valid? The complaint about accidentally sitting down on the toilet when the seat is up is compelling but the argument just doesn't have any follow-through. I have to admit that this has actually happened to me, once, but not since I learned of the urban myth about snakes laying in wait at the bottom of your potty to bite your bum. I never sit on a potty without knowing what's already in it. If women all around the world were as vigilant as I about pre-potty inspections then there would be no need for the "seat down" rule.

To add to the hypocracy of these arbitrary rules, not that it makes any difference, the truth is that there is no guarantee that using the facilities will be a clean process for either males or females. I've never seen anyone get more pee on the floor than my almost-potty-trained daughter, that is, except for the incredibly drunk Texas Ranger's fan that I saw pee in every non-potty corner of the general admissions bathroom at the Ball Park at Arlington. Despite the fact that most women's public bathrooms are ten times more disgusting that men's, it seems that men have caught most of the blame for tinkle sprinkle problem plaguing our society. You doubt my claim, do you? Just ask ten random women if they've ever hovered over a public toilet...then ask them how successful they were in hitting their target? I rest my case.

Man's ability to urinate standing should be filed in the very full filing cabinet labeled "Just Because You Can Doesn't Mean You Should" along with other prominent files such as Hot Pepper Eating Contests, Nipple Piercing, and Fire Walking. After being on the receiving end of more than thirty years of hypocritical nagging I've caved. I've now fully embraced home potty sitting.

Proposal for Changes to Thank You Note Rules

Like most men on planet Earth I am horrible at writing thank you notes. My wife still hassles me to this day about thank-you notes that I did not write for a wedding shower held in my honor...we're coming up on our ten-year anniversary. I'm sure all the women out there who just read the last sentence are aghast at my thoughtlessness but at the same time I'm sure there is a large group of men cheering me on who all belong to GUANTYN (Guys United Against Needless Thank You Notes). I am a card-carrying member. Before you send me boxes of dead roses you must know that I gave everyone of these people a heart-felt VERBAL thank you.

Have you ever overheard the following conversation between two women?

SARAH: Well, I sent the gift for Betsy’s shower three weeks ago but I have not gotten a thank-you note!
AMY: Oh my, what an unthoughtful hag! We should crucify her.
SARAH: It's not so much that I wanted the thank you note...I just want to know that she got the package.

I feel like I've heard this unbelievable conversation dozens of times. And every time I hear it I'm more certain of two things: (1) women all over the world must hate me and (2) this business about delivery of the package is code for "I don't really care about the package I just want you to tell me what an awesome person I am for sending you a gift."

At the risk of sinking even further in the minds of women all over the world, I would like to propose a few changes to the unwritten set of thank you note rules. First, a gift giver shall never expect a thank you note. In the spirit of Matthew 5 ("Do not let your right hand know what your left is doing...") the privilege of giving a gift should be thank you enough. Second, thank you notes from the gift receiver shall never be written if a verbal thank you has already been delivered. Although not as meaningful, over-the-phone thanks yous shall be just as viable. Third, thank you notes shall only be written (though still not expected by the gift giver) when there has not been an opportunity to deliver a verbal thank you. Of course, I still leave room for the "just because" kind of notes and a supplemental thank you note after a verbal thank you is a nice touch…but not required.

Now, back to the real world. Maybe the givers of my ten-year-old gifts would find some clod-like humor in receiving a thank you note ten years after the fact. I guess its time to pull out the shower gift list...

Money Does Not Buy Class…Not That I Have Any of Either

When I was in fifth grade there was a girl named Kelly at my school who allegedly had a booger eating habit a few years earlier. She might as well have had a scarlet B stitched to her shirt by the way she was talked about in the halls. I hear this behavior is not uncommon for young kids but it surely is not a temptation I've ever experienced.

This afternoon as I was stopped at a light on Ventura Boulevard we looked to our right to notice a middle-aged woman in a new $65,000 Lexus picking her nose. A little embarrassing, maybe, but we've all been in that situation where you just had to take care of business. Have you ever have that kind of booger that feels like it grew into a burr inside your nose? Or perhaps you've had the flapping booger that flutters in the wind in that tickley way with every inhale and exhale? You know the feeling and you've taken measures, including picking. My guess is, however, that those measures did not include eating your boogers. Well, this apparently wealthy woman on Ventura Boulevard decided that she'd go all the way...twice. The first time I thought perhaps her soiled finger might have just brushed up against her mouth but it was all too clear that her second helping was a very intentional pick and lick.

She shamelessly did this in broad daylight for everyone to see. If I were ever to join this exclusive club of adult booger eaters I would so carefully plan my covert booger meals that even the CIA would have a very difficult time determining where I was or what I was doing. As the light turned green I sped up just a bit, lightly honked my horn, and made eye-contact with the booger eater. It just goes to prove that money does not buy class…not that I have any of either.

Most Embarrassing Moment

Thinking about the experience in the prior posting reminded me of what actually is my most embarrassing moment:

A few years ago I would not have published this story for public consumption but enough time has passed that some of the sting has worn off to reveal its humor. In 1997 we lived in Nashville, Tennessee and attended the Otter Creek Church of Christ. One particular Sunday when Sarah was out of town I was assigned to help with the Lord's Supper. This required me to stand at the front of the sanctuary with five other servers and distribute the wine and bread. The praise worship time at Otter Creek was wonderful. Brandon Thomas had led us in a few songs and I was deeply moved. As he ended this particular section of the service I kept my eyes closed and was continuing to pray. I slowly opened my eyes in an utterly silent pre-communion moment to see that all five of the other servers had already taken their place at the front of the sanctuary. I had missed my cue. This situation would have been a bit embarrassing by itself without adding to it but I did. Now I don't consider myself to be a cussing man but apparently I was on this day because as I stood to join my fellow servers I blurted in a slightly muffled volume "Oh s**t." It is difficult to describe the physical and emotional sensation of complete and all-encompassing embarrassment. Infinite hollowness. Floating above the ground. Full-body needle-prick sensation. Profound regret. These things describe but don't fully convey the feeling. I knew that anyone within a five-foot radius heard me. Brandon Thomas let me know that he was able to read my lips from the other side of the sanctuary. As I served the Lord's Supper I was realizing the bizarre sense of irony of cussing during the communion service.

Most Embarrassing Moment...Almost

Something earlier today made me think of this experience from when I worked at Disney:

During a break between sessions at a conference on the Disney studio lot l took a hurried trip to the bathroom. After walking briskly into the bathroom and quickly opening and closing the door to the last stall I began to take care of my business. That space turned into a temporary prison as I noticed a pair of heels walk into the stall next to me. I was in the women's bathroom. Fortunately, the stall I walked into was the oversized, handicapped stall so my potty buddies were not able to see my size elevens. After listening to every trickle of my four bathroom partners, as well as four zip ups, four hand washings, and four exits I made a dash for the door and a somewhat inconspicuous exit. Somehow I managed to survive that experience without being noticed...I think.

Memorial Day 2004 in San Diego

Over the long Memorial Day weekend Sarah and I took the kids to the San Diego Zoo and the San Diego Wild Animal Park. Of course, Jack couldn't have cared less as long as he was near Sarah but Sydney had a really great time. Of course, we actually got an even more excited response from her when we told her we were staying at a hotel and that there was a pool.

Sydney had the chance to pet a three-foot alligator, which was being held by a zookeeper. We stood in line and waited a few minutes but when the time came she was too afraid. As soon as we walked away she began to cry because she really did want to touch it. The crying quickly turned into a complete meltdown. Something like this happened one other time several months ago at the Long Beach Aquarium in their shark pool. I think these kinds of experiences have given me a small glimpse of some of the feelings I'll have later in life. I have high hopes that our children will embrace all of blessings that life has to offer, but in the end, all I can do is encourage them and pray because only they can make these decisions.

Sydney also had a funny reaction in the herpetarium where they keep the reptiles. The herpetarium building is about 100 feet by 75 feet and the entire perimeter of the building is lined with terrariums containing mostly snakes and lizards. At EVERY exhibit she would ask the question, "It's berry nice?" It unnerved her when I started to point out the "mean" snakes so I found myself telling her that they were all nice. So as we came to the Taipan, which is arguably the world's most venomous snake, I found myself telling her, "yes, it's berry nice."

In my dream house there is a large room that is basically a greenhouse with a large hidden work area, back stage if you will, also a nice lounging area and a waterfall. After this weekend I'd love to have some really colorful birds too. Typically greenhouses seem to be separate buildings with their own temperature/humidity control systems. I want one that feels like an integrated part of the house. As we walked through several of the aviaries and other parts of the zoo I had lots of ideas about how to do this. Someday, maybe.