“I Like Bee-yer! I Like Bee-yer!” and Other Reasons to Get Sober

Effective parenting necessitates continual assessment and frequent change. I’d like to think I always rise to the occasion but despite my best efforts I often fall flat on my face. These missteps afford me the opportunity to take a long, hard look at myself and make the necessary changes to be a good father, (as well as husband, neighbor, friend, etc). Nowhere is this examination of conscience more evident than in the decision I made to sober up almost six years ago.

I have wrestled with addiction since late adolescence. When a 17-year-old high school kid wonders if he’ll ever be able to spend a Saturday night sober that’s a red flag. When a 21-year-old college senior spends nearly everyday high or drunk that’s a larger red flag. And when a 39-year-old stay-at-home dad, drinking after previously having six years of sobriety, uses his toddler’s nap-time as happy hour, and stashes extra beer in the garage so his wife won’t find it, it is time to WAKE UP!

I had many good reasons to get help for that behavior but one poignant yet funny story illustrates it best. I enjoyed grocery shopping with E when he was a baby. Pushing him around in a grocery cart as he learned the names of the foods was a lot of fun. I must have spent a lot of time in the beer section, though, because one particular day, as I was studying the alcohol content of microbrews, I heard a little voice from the cart singing, “I like bee—yer, I like bee-yer,” over-and-over again. I gave him “the look” but he just smiled, giggled, and continued even louder. Praying that a Child Protective Services worker wasn’t there buying a six-pack (it was 10:00am after all but an alcoholic’s fears are so irrational) I grabbed my beer and quickly moved on. A couple of aisles over, as we passed a very attractive woman in a business suit, he started chanting again but this time about his favorite cereal: “I like Cheerios! I like Cheerios!” Without missing a beat the woman paused, looked at him with a knowing smile, and said, “Yeah, and I hear you like beer, too!” At that she walked away without making eye contact with me.

It was several months later, a few weeks after my father’s death in April 2004, that I finally took action to address my drinking problem. My experience in the grocery store that day was not the motivating force behind my decision to get sober. My emotional & physical health and relationship with D was paramount and I knew where to go for help as I’d done it before. This time around, however, I had additional motivation: there was no way in hell I was ever going allow my children to be raised by a drunk father!

The Magic Worm in His Pocket

Here’s a recent conversation with my almost 5 year old as we all disembarked from the minivan after school:

Boo: (very loudly & excited) Daddy, I still have my magic worm in my pocket!
Me: The little blue one?
Boo: Yes!
Me: Did you take it out for show & tell today?
Boo: Yes!
Me: Did everyone like seeing your worm?
Boo: Yes!

It's at that time I turn around and notice an older couple leisurely strolling by during our conversation. It's times like that when my sophomoric sense of humor can really come back to bite me. I wonder what they must have thought of the daddy who lets his little boy take his worm out for show & tell!

The Sweetest Words a Parent Can Hear

A heartfelt "I love you" or "You made me the person I am today" can certainly brighten a parent's day. I imagine, however, that my mother must get a heck of a lot of satisfaction when I call her and the first thing out of my mouth is, "How in the HELL did you do this with five children, Mom?!?! I can hardly deal with three! They're driving me frickin' nuts! They won't stop fighting with each other, they never pick up after themselves, and all they'll eat are pancakes and goldfish crackers! I haven't had a good nights sleep in 9 years! And come to think of it, speaking of the bedroom, how the hell did you manage to conceive five children anyhow?! I'm asleep before I even hit the freakin' pillow! Blah, blah, blah, blah."

Mom's not the vindictive sort but considering some of the stress I caused in her life I do imagine she enjoys hearing that outta me...just a wee bit.

I Knew This Wasn't Going to Be Easy When...

I distinctly recall when I first realized that parenting wasn’t going to be easy. And no, it had nothing with 1) boobs (or my lack thereof) or 2) poop.

Granted, there have many times I wished for functioning mammary glands but they were reserved for the nights when my lovely wife was working and the babies groped about in the dark searching for a warm breast full of milk. Instead they got a cold face full of razor stubble, which was never fun for either party involved and resulted in many restless nights.

Nor did baby bowel movements intimidate me. On the contrary I always found them quite entertaining, especially the force & volume with which they erupted! Any parent knows what I’m talking about: it is quiet, perhaps late at night; the babe is swaddled, the parent gazing lovingly at their offspring. All of a sudden a small gurgle ensues, the infant yawns contentedly…and then oh, sweet Jesus, the sound and the fury! As an uncle of ten nieces & nephews newborn blowouts were nothing new for me. To my poor wife however, who hadn’t spent much quality time with infants, they were quite unbelievable! As a matter of fact on that lovely April morn’ in 2001 when little E first erupted I’m fairly certain she thought some newborn’s gravely ill grandpa, fresh off a late night trip to Taco Bell, might have wandered into our bathroom. I have never seen another human beings eyes get so big! I was holding him at the time and even I thought for a second he might have exploded… or at least blown a hole in his diaper.

No, my lack of boobs and explosive infant BMs were manageable.

The moment I knew parenting wasn’t going to be easy was more, shall I say, primordial. Come to think of it there were two of them. The first one occurred when E was about two years old and was by then speaking in complete, very expressive sentences. One afternoon I suggested in my usual affable manner that it was time to help pick up the toys in the basement. He answered with “No, Daddy, you do it!” and immediately walked upstairs. Ah…say wha? Pardon me? Did I just hear, “No-Daddy-You-Do-It”? I felt like DeNiro in Taxi Driver: “You talkin’ to me?! You...you talkin’ to ME?!?” I was the Alpha Male challenged by the Young Up-and-Comer. My adorable baby had just flipped me the toddler version of the bird!

I guess I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

The second incident was about a year later. Early in his young life E was introduced to his mother’s unfortunate habit of having dessert after every dinner, a practice to which I capitulated. This particular evening when E asked what was for dessert I feebly attempted to dissuade him from the usual ice cream or cookie. Instead I offered him some left over Brie that we’d had for dinner adding, "You know, in France they have cheese for dessert." Without a pause he shot back, "Why don't you go live in France then?!” 

I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Please know that I think my children are awesome. I love them dearly but they are children. They sometimes disobey, yell, rebel, talk-back, push my buttons, yank my chain, etc., etc., etc. I am more immune to the effects of this emotional roller-coaster now than when it first happened. I expect it; it’s what children do. It doesn't make it any easier but at least I know it's typical behavior. Still I have to chuckle as I recall the fear I felt in those early parenting moments. I liken it to how a novice skipper must feel as he approaches his first storm on the open ocean and knows that there's no turning back.

Got your own, "Oh, shit!" moment? Feel free to share in the comments below...

It's Called Kindie Rock

I never expected having a third baby and buying a new minivan would put me into bed with a drug dealer.  But as the pusher treats a new customer to a freebie so did satellite radio's free introductory offer snare me when we bought our minivan. “Hey man just have a little taste! This first one’s on me!” I was hooked: 100 music channels, news, sports, comedy. It was heaven, so naturally I bit when the free introductory period ended. Thus began a musical odyssey I swore I would never take: the road into “kid’s music.”

Before I go any further with this story know one thing about me: I LOVE music. I love listening to it, talking about it, reading about it, and practically everything else about it. Some of my earliest memories are of listening to Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass along with my mother. Music is an auditory balm that I cannot do without and has been for as long as I can remember. As a parent the only thing better than listening to it is sharing that love of music with my children. I do not, however, enjoy "bad" music and that's how I always catogorized "kid's music." Once again in this realm of parenting, though, I have learned to never say never.  I’m now a fan of “Kindie Rock.”

For the first six months we had it I avoided the kid’s channel when scanning the satellite radio dial. As mentioned, I also sidestepped kid’s music in general. I kept one kiddie CD in the car for emergency melt-down prevention and on the few occasions that I did have to play it the resulting ear worms were horrible: I once woke in the middle of the night with “There’s a Hole in the Bucket” running through my head! I thought They Might Be Giants' 2002 release “No” was an anomaly in the world of kid’s music and while it was a hit in this house I was still a music snob.  No Raffi or Wiggles allowed! I prided myself on my children’s “mature” listening tastes. E used like The Pixies when he was little, “Play  ‘Comes da man, ‘Comes da Man!” he’d holler from the back seat. B was so into Paul Simon as a toddler that I actually grew a weary of “Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard.” Still I did everything I could to make sure that my children listened to “good” music. Then two things occurred: 1) E learned to read and could thus tell what the radio dial said and 2) we took a very long road trip to Yellowstone and grew weary of our music selection. Long story short, “my” satellite radio hasn’t strayed far from Channel 116 (Kids’ Place Live) since.

Fortunately instead of it being painful I have to admit that I have grown to like Kindie Rock.  In addition to Grammy Award Winning TMBGs, who are now on their 4th children’s release, some of my favorite bands of the past 10-15 years have released their own kindie rock discs: Bare Naked Ladies, The Verve Pipe, and Medski, Martin, & Wood. I get to relive my early adolescent years, too, as Weird Al is still cranking out his classic song parodies, my boys favorites being his tributes to Star Wars. I’ve also been introduced to some artists who I never would have heard but have grown to respect, find quite humorous, or both. Justin Roberts, Joe McDermott, and Uncle Jim : I have even discovered "big kid" acts like The Real Tuesday Weld on that channel; one of their songs was quirky enough to make it on the air and viola, what a discovery!

The biggest surprise for me has been hip-hop artist Secret Agent 23 Skidoo.  I am not a big fan of  hip-hop/rap. I respect its place in cultural and musical history but too often find it annoying at best and misogynistic or violent at worst. Then one afternoon Secret Agent 23 Skidoo's song “Luck” (which you can hear on his link above) came across the radio. What a find! This guy manages to "bust a rhymes" that are not only catchy but also positive.  They inspire imaginative play ("Hot Lava”), honoring oneself (“Gotta Be Me”), and following one's passions (“The Bluegrasshopper”).  I’m a now a big fan!

The other band that’s really caught my boy’s and my attention is the local group  Recess Monkey. A very talented group of teachers their live set is something to see, which we've had the pleasure of catching a few times. Who can go wrong with the bunkbed set when they’re sporting song titles like, “Marshmallow Farm,” “Hot Chocolate,” and “L.I.C.E.” (the later of which is a MUST if you've ever had to nit pick)?

Other artists that we've enjoyed include Dan Zanes (formally of Del Fuegos fame), Randy Kaplan, and Caspar Babypants, the alterego of Chris Ballew former frontman of POTUS.  

When the kids aren’t around I’m still likely to delve into my own collection of music but I’ve been happily surprised by this new genre that’s graced our speakers. I also appreciate the variety of new music that my children and I can talk about and enjoy. If you’ve got children I highly recommend some of these bands and if you've got others to share feel free to post 'em in the comments.

Virus Interuptus

I just should have waited until after the cold & flu season to launch this blog. I had grand plans to write & post during K's naps when E & B were at school but since the new year I've had few if any days without someone ill. Since mid December our family has collectively made two trips to the emergency room, 4 trips to the pediatrician's office, battled pneumonia, 3 infected ears, 2 sore throats, and a case of diarrhea. There's also been three courses of antibiotics and the commonly associated side effects, so come to think of it I guess that means a couple more cases of diarrhea. I won't go into details about the pediatrician's office inability to fax the correct prescription to the correct pharmacy or the number of phone calls I had to make to straighten it out. Suffice to say there's been a few "issues" on that front (on two different occasions!), which begs the question whatever happened to the written prescription that I can deliver to the correct pharmacy myself?!

(At right is B today finally with his meds, over three hours post appointment, two pharmacies, seven phone conversations with three different people later)

Those cases are just among the three boys. Since Christmas, D & I have collectively had 3 respiratory infections and I think there's been gastroenteritis in there somewhere, too, but if I did puke I don't remember it due to sleep deprivation.  

I know it could be worse, much worse. One look at the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake or those with long term chronic or terminal illnesses and my family's current situation is put into perspective. This period is just a bump in the road. It's time likes these that I'm also grateful to have health insurance and live in close proximity to some world class health care facilities, inept fax clerks excepted. Yes in general I am thankful for many things but will be a lot happier when everyone's healthy...for more than two or three days.

Bruisey Woozy and the Toddler Mountaineers

My youngest has had a few nicknames in his brief 21 months.

As a newborn he was known as “Grunty T. Snuggles” for his cute, newborn jabbering and insatiable appetite for being held (that's Grunty T. on the left.) Seriously, the kid never wanted to be put down. “T” came from his true middle name Theodore. The nickname fit his persona and adding the middle initial lent itself to being sung to the tune of Yellow Submarine, which brings to mind a future blog entry entitled: The Composition of Ditties for Which to Entertain and/or Manipulate One’s Children. 

Today he has two nicknames. The most frequently used is “Mr. Busy,” which is self-explanatory (see photo at right). As if to prove the point, he’s currently playing strobe light with the lamp and causing the lights around me to go on and off, on and off. Add music and bad perfume and it’ll begin to feel like I’m in a dance club. Anyway, several months ago he was caught putting his hands into the aquarium while D was performing some maintenance on the tank. When I asked her why in the world would she leave the top open when he was close by she replied, “I thought he was just going to watch!” To which I replied in a Deliverance type accent, “Mr. Busy don’t watch, Mr. Busy duuuuz.” 

His other nickname is “Bruisey Woozy.” His big brother, E, is responsible for that name in honor of the frequent “headers” K’s endured while learning to walk. He also falls a lot trying to keep up with his big brothers and then there’s that genetic predisposition towards two left feet… but I ain’t saying in which of his gene pools that fish is a’ swimmin’. I would hope by now that the little feller’s outgrown his bruises but they continue. His forehead hasn’t been a normal color for almost a year, as you can see on the photo at left. Just as one is about to clear up, WHAM!

Considering “Mr. Busy’s” energy, determination, and daring I thought about calling the Mountaineers to see if they’d be willing to start a toddler class. Then I consider Bruisey Woozey’s issues with gravity and wonder if it isn’t me who’s suffering from the curse of the multi-colored forehead!

The Bunkbed Confidential

I’ve been at this gig for almost nine years, which seems unfathomable on many fronts. First there’s the span of time to consider: I’ve been a full-time dad one year longer than my combined high school and college experiences, three years longer than my professional acting career, and six years longer than my tenure as a middle school teacher. Prior to becoming a husband and father those are among the key experiences I consider paramount to my identity. Nine years at the same job seems like a long time these days. Then again that time span represents only 12% of the average U.S. male’s life expectancy, arguably a small percentage. Chronology aside, I suppose what’s most difficult for me to comprehend is that after nine years of doing any conventional job one would like to consider them self adept at it, a worker who knows what they’re doing! After nine years of parenting full time? Well, I think Daffy Duck said it best, “Ho ho, very funny! Ha ha, it is to laugh!”

Despite adequate performance reviews from my wife I have no more idea what I’m doing today than when I first laid eyes on my oldest and now 8 ¾ year old son (fractions are extremely important at his age). Sure I can now change a crappy diaper with one hand. I am able to recite The Cat in the Hat and approximately 25 other children’s books. Door-to-door travel time to school with traffic? 18 minutes, 36 seconds. I know my multiplication tables (again), how to best organize a toy room (clear plastic storage bins), and the release date of the quarterly Lego catalog. I can even make 3 completely different lunches simultaneously eat my own and text my wife to vent my frustrations all while breaking up an argument between my sons involving the persistent use of the word “butt-head!” I can do a lot of things today that I couldn’t do when my first child was born. I got skills but still have no any idea what I am doing.

Why?

Children change. They change quickly, very, very quickly. For example, one day (or minute) I know their dietary preferences and the next day (or minute) it’s completely changed. One day they put on their shirt before their pants and the next day there’s a complete meltdown when I try to follow what I assumed was the correct dressing procedures. A lot of jobs are predictable because the variables under which they are performed are established at the outset. Even the frenzied world of a trader on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange has an element of predictability; a trader with nine years experience knows the market conditions that drive or diminish their daily activities. With this fact in mind I maintain that a child and thus the job of a parent has absolutely no element of prolonged predictably, thus my assertion that I have no idea what I’m doing. Certainly there are opportunities to learn about parenting. I’ve taken numerous classes, workshops, read a lot books, and commiserated with other parents. All have been beneficial but none provides a measurable or concrete method of predicting my children and thus what to expect as a parent. The lack of consistency, for this neurotic Virgo at least, is the element of my job that I find most surprising. But after nine years I am happy to report that I have at least come to accept this fact and, when I am in the right frame of mind, cherish the uncertainty of it all.

So here I find myself in the age of the blogosphere, no wiser a parent than before but with a storehouse of experiences and anecdotes not to mention a fair amount of personal growth. It feels like it’s time to exercise my love of writing and share. What direction will these missives take? I simply want to share my life as I enter the next decade of daddy-dom. I do not expect this blog to be a panacea, which will magically provide me the clarity and understanding of parenthood that I’ve lacked. Nor do I plan to endorse or reject any particular parenting trend. Realizing that parenting is never a solitary act I do hope that other parents might relate, appreciate that they are not alone, or uncover a fond memory from days gone by. At the very least I hope to share a laugh or two.

And away we go….