Dad's Little Blog

It is hard to believe that six years have gone by, but it was that long ago that your mother and I were sitting in a hospital room wondering when you'd decide to arrive.

We had been there two days earlier, you see. You announced your imminent arrival in the form of contractions 1-2 minutes apart, which promptly vanished when we made it through triage and up to the maternity ward. Your mother was... displeased.

But, there we were, sitting and waiting. Mommy wanted to watch some TV, so we turned on a show. Mommy got bored and started calling her friends. At 8:28 that night I heard mommy say, "I feel something funny. Got to go." She hung up her phone and 20 minutes later you joined the world. From the moment you were born you were your brother's opposite. He came into the world asleep, you screamed so that your grandparents could hear you in Virginia. You were also a peanut. Okay, you were a normal size and weight, but tiny compared to your brother.

Within an hour of being born, you cute little hand had shot up out of your blanket and knocked the glasses off my face. I should have known then that that was a sign.

You have struggled with being the baby for as long as I can remember. You were up and walking at 10 months because you were sick of chasing after your brother in a crawl. You announced you were going to stop wearing diapers because you were a "big boy," long before your mother and I had even considered starting potty training. You've tried to do everything your brother does at the same time, often forgetting that you're 21 months younger than he is. But, that fact has rarely stopped you.

You are, without a doubt, your mother's son. You have mommy's attitude and temper (although you tend to take the latter to the extreme), but mommy can always soothe you, no matter what the problem is. Daddy is fun to play with, but mommy makes everything better. But, when your mind is made up, god help us if we disagree.

Band-aids may take second place before daddy, actually. You remain firmly convinced that a band-aid will cure any ailment or problem. We go through a lot of band-aids.

Like your brother, you are fearless, and willing to try anything at least once (except soccer). You are, however, more calculating than your brother. We joke that you're the ringleader whenever there's trouble, but more often than not, I don't think it's a joke. You have a brilliant little mind and its fascinating to watch you think something through. It can also be unnerving to see certain looks cross your face.

You are generous, almost to a fault (we are really trying to teach you the value of money now, before you give all you have away...). You are protective of others, even when they don't deserve it. In kindergarten, you were nicknamed the "defense attorney" for always coming to someone's aid with a quick "well, here's what actually happened," whenever someone was in trouble. Your friends adore you and you would do anything for them in return.

School has been a challenge for you. Rules and structure rub against your nature. Hierarchy is merely a suggestion for you, and you are often in trouble for correcting your teachers (although they do admit, you are often right...). You also have a voracious appetite for learning, and so have often sat in rapt attention while your brother teaches you something above your level. Thus, you are often bored in school. You went to preschool knowing your alphabet and how to count. We try and keep you interested, but you're always ready for more. We're not sure your school is ready for you to enter first grade next year.

Your desire to not be the baby is rendering itself in your growth. You have the same growing pains that I did and sprout up at least once a month. You have gone from wearing your brother's clothes from last year, to wearing them from last season, to wearing the same clothes some days. You took Disney's height requirements as a challenge and surpassed them. Now, you have your eyes on the height minimums for Harry Potter at Universal. I'm afraid your mother and the NBA will be your next challenges.

Six years. It doesn't seem possible. With the exception of the blanket your brother gave you when you came home from the hospital, nothing is the same. (The banket is still around, but it has seen better days...). You are a big boy and nobody is going to tell you otherwise (unless it means doing chores, etc. in which case you explain that you're still a baby). You're covered in scrapes and bruises, but unafraid to face your next challenge. I can't wait to see what it is each day.

So, tonight, we will feast on your choice of hot dogs and grilled cheese and your cake, which is a model of the Stargate (because Dora never explored far enough for you).

I love you, Bubba. Happy Birthday.

We had our first taste of bullying this week and it had left me frustrated and angry.

I came home from work on Thursday and asked the boys how school was. C gave his standard answer of "good." M gave his standard of "okay." Thursday is M's library day, though, so I asked about that and whether he had brought home a new book.

"No," he said, "but we had reading buddies." M has a great reading buddy named Malcolm. He's in sixth grade and M generally idolizes him. He loves his time with Malcolm, so I thought he should be happier about this announcement. Prying a little more revealed that it wasn't Malcolm, but somebody new, a 4th grader. The usual reading buddy is Friday, so this must have been something special.

"Well that sounds nice," I said, still wondering about his hesitation to talk about it. "Well, it was," he said, "until they tried to make me kiss Isabella."

What?

Several iterations of the story had to be told until we understood fully (he was more forthcoming with Mommy than with me), but it went something like this. M and his buddy Declan shared a buddy, "Bobby" we think his name was. Isabella had another buddy, no name, but she wore gummi-bear earrings. At some point in the class, Isabella was in one of the cubicles in the library with her buddy and M and his buddy joined them. A conversation started about the gummi-bear earrings (I believe it centered on whether they were real gummi-bears or not) and M was promised a gummi-bear if Isabella would "tell him something."

I'm a little unclear on this point. Maybe she was supposed to tell him a secret? At any rate, it quickly turned into both buddies trying to get M to kiss Isabella. When he refused, his buddy started physically pushing him towards her, she got scared, Declan tried pulling "Bobby" off of M, while all this time, the teacher was back in the classroom and the Librarian was nowhere to be found.

M was upset about it. He seemed to think that Isabella was really scared and we were furious.

We brought the boys to school the next morning and let the principal know we needed to speak to her. We laid out what we knew and our shock that this was allowed to happen in school. As K pointed out, parent are forced to undergo a full CORI investigation to even volunteer in the lunchroom, but then our kids are left alone with older kids? The school makes such a big deal of fighting bullying, but then sets up scenarios to allow it to happen? I don't believe every older kid is waiting to bully a younger or that these two even realized that what they were doing was as bad as it was. But, the damage is done.

The principal promised a full investigation and that she would deal with those involved (assuming that she can figure out who "Bobby" and the gummi-bear girl were). We will (unfortunately) not be told of anything she finds, who is responsible, nor would we know if anything is ever done about it. I understand the need for secrecy (this is a Catholic school after all...) but, we're left with a 5 year old who is now somewhat scared of his reading buddies and has a stigma about kissing a girl.

I am sure that both will pass, and can only hope that we can leverage this experience, and how it felt, as a lesson against our boys ever thinking to do the same to someone else.

Ah, school vacation week. Never a dull moment when you have to work, but the kids have to stay home. We survived, though. A trip down to VA to see the new nephew, a day working from home, a day with the babysitter who is also off from school and lastly a day at work with dad. I cannot sing the praises of Bright Horizons enough. Best benefit any of my firms have offered.

The boys had a blast at the Center that day. They built rocket ships, they made popcorn (three flavors! taco, cheese and cinnamon-sugar) and generally had a great time. I took them out to lunch, which is always a treat (at least for me). I get to spend extra time with them on a workday and have a reason to not eat lunch at my desk.

A treat for them (besides the fact that they usually find pizza in the cafeteria) is coming back to my office. Dad has a white board to draw on (never mind the stuff he already has written there), dad has a speaker phone to call mom and, of course, dad has office supplies. Post-its are the favorite on most trips. This time another 3M product stole the show. The Post-It tape flag.

Did you know that you could make a mustache out of these things? I had never thought of it, but as the picture shows, you can make a fine two-tone 'stache out of these things. C proceeded to wear his for the next 20 minutes as we walked around my office and back to the Children's Center. The looks I got from my colleagues were withering, but C was not to be bothered.

But, the best part of the day was the conversation in the elevator back downstairs. We got in the elevator with a few other people, none of whom failed to note the flags on C's face. I tried to break the ice with a joke about 'Just for Men' to get the flag colors to match, but the boys took the conversation over the goal line.

M: C, are you going to wear those all day?
C: Yeah, I like it.
M: (moves in close to C's face) You know you have some real hair there?
C: Yup. (he begins to stroke his tape flags)
M: No, really, you have some hair above your lip.
Me: That's called peach fuzz.
C: (Deadpan) No, dad, that's called a quality 'stache.

He then walked off the elevator as the man next to me tried to not choke on his drink...

This past Saturday was the first in a very long time that we had absolutely nothing to do. I, however, did the one thing you never do on such an occasion, I talked about it. To wit, I announced it to the world at large right after breakfast. Then we went to brunch.

The rest of the day progressed slowly. The boys went to play next door. K went to do some grocery shopping. I laid down to try and overcome some annoying back pain. Then, it happened.

The door burst open. Feet came running upstairs. Breathless, C announced that M had fallen. I looked at him. He looked at me. Slowly, it dawned on him that he and M fall all the time and this was hardly news or cause for a breathless announcement. But, he knew the right button to push next. "There's blood everywhere and he's screaming for you!"

I don't really remember what happened next. All I know is I was down stairs and outside. I may have jumped out the bedroom window.

So, the story is this. C and M were playing with the 15 year old next door. He is something of a hero to them, and was being a hero to me that day by playing with the boys. He and C decided to play some baseball. M decided to sit out and watch. They went into the neighbor's backyard. M went up on the deck and found a chair to sit in. He scooted it back a bit and sat down. Apparently, he had scooted one leg of the edge of the deck, however, and when he sat, he and the chair went ass over teakettle. The result was a gash on the back of his head and a slightly traumatized brother.

Have I ever mentioned how M can scream when he needs to? Yeah. By the time I got outside, M had a small crowd around him which is where the problems began.

Our neighbors (at who's house he had fallen) have two boys and have dealt with this before. They were cool and calm. Other neighbors, however, had panicked and already called 911 before I even got there. I was somewhat stunned and confused as to why you'd call 911, but had to admit that K had the car and couldn't really think of any other way to get M to the hospital (okay, the amount of blood on his shirt may have shorted out my brain momentarily), like maybe all the neighbors with cars gathered around us.

So, along came the ambulance. They agreed that stitches would be necessary and we loaded up. I had somehow managed to remember to ask C to go get my phone and started trying to get a hold of K. I did, however, forget that I didn't have my wallet or any form of identification. The EMT and I tried to keep M calm on the ride talking about how we were running red lights, etc. He was more concerned with why he was strapped down on the gurney.

We get to the hospital and we check in. I manage to get M's birthday wrong and he corrects me and gives the triage nurse our phone number, thereby answering any concussion questions. The PA puts a lidocaine patch on and whispers to me that he is going to have to give M a shot in his head and the staple the cut shut. I did my best straight face, since M was watching, but I think he heard the conversation anyway.

The patch failed to numb M at all and he screamed bloody murder when the lidocaine was injected around the cut. The then stapling began. Apparently the numbness had kicked in, because M didn't flinch nearly as much as I did as the first staple went in. In the end, it took 10 staples to close the cut and we were done.

So, the boys now have very similar ER stories. M was, of course, quick to point out that he had ridden in an ambulance and C has not. Thankfully, C has not risen to the challenge. K and I have new grey hairs, however.

The characters: Dad (me), C (age 7), M (age 5) and my brain (sleep addled).

The setting: the bathroom at 7:15 am on a school/work day

Dad is in the shower. It is early and he is trying to wash while sleeping standing up. It is Friday, and this is what keeps dad going.

Enter C (remarkably dressed in his entire uniform), he begins to brush his teeth.

Dad: Hey buddy.
C: How did you know it was me?
Dad: I recognized your voice.
C: I could have been M.
Dad: I would know the difference. You don't sound the same.

Enter M (not quite a fully dressed), he also begins to brush his teeth.

C: (singing) Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony...
M: Daddy, what is a pony?
Dad: It's a baby horse, M.

Dad is now trying to get out of the shower under the watchful stares of his two sons.

M: So, it has a horn on its head?
Dad: No, son. That's a unicorn. A pony is just a small, regular old horse.

beat

M: Why didn't Noah save the unicorns with his Ark?
Dad's Brain: Yellow Alert. We are not fully awake. Did he just ask about Noah's Ark?

beat

Dad: I don't know son, maybe they just missed the boat. (Dad chuckles with the memory of a cartoon of two unicorns arguing over what time the Ark was leaving...)
M: I think they were just playing and forgot.
C: No, Noah saved all the animals. Unicorns are just imaginary. God wouldn't let his animals die.

Dad's Brain: Red Alert. Possible brainwashing detected.

Dad: What about the dinosaurs?
C: Dad. (He gives a sad look to his father) The dinosaurs died millions of years before Noah came along.
Dad's Brain: Cancel Red Alert.
Dad: Okay. Good point.

M is now contemplating his toothbrush. He turns to his father...

M: Dad, did you know that a spin brush can help burn 30 calories?
Dad: I'm sorry?
M: It's true. Using a spin brush helps fight calories!
Dad: I think maybe you mean cavities?
M: Yeah, cavities.

Dad contemplates what commercial they have been watching.

C: Dad, did you know Arm and Hammer makes toothbrushes too?
Dad's Brain: Did he just say Arm and Hammer?
Dad: No, I didn't, son. I know they make toothpaste, so I guess it makes sense that they would make toothbrushes too.
C: Yeah, I want to buy an Arm and Hammer toothbrush.
M: I'm not wearing any socks.
C: I am. Clean ones.
Dad: I think my brain hurts.
Dad's Brain: Yes, I do.

Scene.