I’ve always been conscious of my own distractions, clutter, and often unnecessary mental inventory. Most of these things I’ve inherently kept to a minimum. But I recently wanted to consciously minimize even more. I love simplicity. I love the freedom of the mental inventory to invest thought in whatever I want, not what I have to invest it in. Simplicity and minimalism means freedom.
I had too much stuff on my phone. I deleted 100+ apps. There’s still some fat that can be trimmed. A lot of them were tucked away in folders with the thought that I’d one day use them. I never used them. I use a few apps, and I use [most of] them to simplify things. And to communicate. Because it’s a phone.
I always keep my email inbox “above the fold.” I strive for “zero inbox.”
I use my favorite desktop and mobile app called Things as my running to-do list. I like to check things off of my lists. It affords me daily accomplishments.
My wallet used to be filled with credit cards, membership cards, expired coupons, receipts, and just stuff. Clutter. I minimized. Now I just carry my driver license, the 2 credit cards I use and my insurance card in a hand-stitched front pocket ID wallet.No comments
First day of school today:
First day of 2nd Grade last year
First day of 1st Grade 2 years ago:
First day of Kindergarten 3 years ago:
First day of school 4 years ago:
First day of school 5 years ago:
First day of school 6 years ago:
It drizzled on Monday afternoon. Actually, it wasn’t so much of a drizzle as it was a spattering of rain. There were enough drops falling that Maly warranted bringing an umbrella.
I’d come home from work that evening as I usually do. The usual route. The sky was spattering enough so if the rush hour traffic moved any negligible distance, I had to manually activate the windshield wiper every quarter mile. So it was that kind of rain. Welcomed, but worthless in Austin in August.
When I got home, I was inclined to just sit on the rug in the living room with the family. No one said anything. We just sort of sat there, waiting on someone to do something. Elise to announce she was going to cook dinner. One of the girls to announce that one of them was going to do whatever one of them was going to do. I had no agenda. I just sat there quietly among my best friend and brood.
I was antsy for whatever reasons. I wanted to do something with my oldest. Play a game. But not a game like Chutes and Ladders — no, more like the game where you and a friend start drawing a maze together on a single piece of paper. A maze with spike pits and other booby traps. Or maybe I wanted her and myself to play Legos. Or I could take my phone out of my pocket and check my work email. I was still antsy and I didn’t want to do any of those things.
Finally I just stood up and said, “Maly, come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
Maly was excited because we were going out in the rain. The spattering rain that wouldn’t collect on a windshield unless you were driving against it. She didn’t need the umbrella, but she wanted it. So she took the umbrella with us and she opened it as we exited the house through the front door and she held it over her head the entire time over the miles we covered together.
We walked down our street to where we could no longer walk straight. We turned right. We walked down that street until we ran out of street. And we kept walking forward. I took my daughter over the hill of the dead end street through the little trail that divides two parts of our neighborhood. One day this little unpaved nature alley will be a park. The city and our neighborhood recently deemed this to be true. Maly had never been by this trail. She was fascinated that it even existed. I think she was in awe that I knew that it existed, even though it’s only a few hundred yards from our front door.
It was when we left the concrete and the eye shot of similar houses and landscaping that we naturally fell into conversation. Something she and I hadn’t done in a very long time. It was then that the thoughts of games and Legos and emails and the perceived need for a umbrella just didn’t matter anymore.
She told me about how she likes to stay at home instead of going shopping and running errands with her mom. I told her how one day she will come to miss and cherish those fleeting and trivial moments. I told her how I miss and long for those trivial and fleeting moments with my mom. I told her about how I never really knew my dad when I probably needed to know him the most. I told her that her grandpa was always working when I’d made it to young adulthood. Her grandpa woke up well before me and drove the hour plus to Houston ever day long before I was awake. And her grandpa would come home in the early evening while I was still at school, or participating in extracurricular activities like sports, or play practice, or teaching or taking Tae Kwon Do classes, or working in some kitchen on the town square. My mom was the caregiver, and that usually meant that I was was her companion on the errands. And since my mom and I didn’t drive to Houston five days a week like my dad did, often times we wanted to drive to Houston and be among the options and experiences. And the dentist and automotive appointments were in Houston. And sometimes the grocery or the speciality stores.
I spent a lot of time in a car with her grandma. I’ve never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve or engage in talk for the sake of conversation. My mom always did most of the talking, and she did the best job I think she knew how in asking me questions and engaging me.
I had a lot of meaningful experiences, and now fond memories of those fleeting moments when it was just my mom and me, running errands and talking to each other. I told my daughter that she’ll probably one day miss those boring trips to the grocery store, or to the other store to buy toilet paper and toothpaste and cushions for the patio furniture.
While she was still carrying the umbrella that’s too big for her and with one of the spokes occasionally poking me in the arm as we walked the trail side by side she asked me about secrets. She asked me if it was okay to keep secrets. And she asked me if, when she eventually married, would that mean that she would have to expose all of her secrets to her husband.
I told her that secrets were okay, so long as they didn’t hurt anyone or hurt herself. I tried to explain to her the peacefulness and catharsis of having a clear conscious. I also explained our intrinsic fallibility.
And then she asked me about religion. She didn’t ask me any direct questions on beliefs, but I think she wanted to know if it was okay for the secular and non to be friends and to marry. I used the strength of her mom’s and my relationship as an example. I used the strength of her maternal grandparents’ and my relationship as an example. I used the differences in everyday people as an example in how to forge lasting and loving relationships.
And when we rounded last the corner and started making our way home, I spotted a baby mourning dove perched on the stem of a red yucca blossom near the ground. I pointed to the little bird. Maly found this to be the highlight of our walk and existential conversations.
I looked up into the oak tree above us. The mom was perched directly above, and calmly and patiently and lovingly exchanging glances between me, my brood and her own.No comments
I was getting jiggly and had become laggard. I decided that I was going to ride my bike again to shed some pounds and hopefully extend my life. I also decided that I wanted to track how far and how fast I rode. After a quick perusal of the App Store, I downloaded MapMyRide to my iPhone and started pedaling.
After a few rides, my right hip started bothering me. I’ve had a trick right hip for as long as I can remember, and I know that I have to treat it gingerly or it will keep bothering me. Since I’d already created something of a regiment for myself over the past few days, I didn’t want to just stop exercising before I really got started.
For some reason, my brain placed a bet on my body: “I’ll bet you can’t run a mile without crying like a bitch.”
“You heard me. Bitch.”
So I laced up a pair of Nike Lunarflys and walked to the middle school up the hill from our house. It was the morning of July 11, 2013. Since it was summer and school was out, the track was absent of most people. Except two dudes. Two cut dudes. Two really fit dudes who didn’t jiggle when they ran, and they probably snorted Muscle Milk powder before pushing tractor tires through a pit of tenpenny nails. One of the fit dudes was the trainer, the other the trainee. They were on the track doing muscly fit dude things, like pulling each other with a huge rubber band, and 40 meter sprint races, and jumping really high into the air and then landing firmly on their feet, followed by duck walks. They’d probably already run a few sets of 5-minute miles before I showed up.
I was there, standing on the track at the opposite side of the field of the fit dudes with my “Body by Boomhauer.”
I wasn’t bothered by the fit dudes. I wasn’t intimidated. I was there for one thing: run a mile without crying like a bitch.
“No time like the present” I told myself. I hit ‘start’ on my iPhone app and away I went. The first 100 meters were fine. The second 100 meters were fine as well. I used to run the 400 meter and the 1,600 relay when I was much younger, so I quickly recalled how to pace myself. The first 400 meters were okay. I wasn’t crying yet, although I knew I had three more of those laps to go.
The second time I passed the fit dudes on the track, the trainer paused long enough to watch me round the end of the 100 meter bend. As I hit the straight-away, I looked at him. He looked at me. And then he said, and you’re never going to believe this, “Good morning.”
“Hhhhhhnannng mmmmmmppthhthTHHTAAAAAHHHHHH” is what I said in return as I passed.
Half a mile to go and I hadn’t yet died of a blood clot or cried like a bitch. And surprisingly my 86-year-old hip wasn’t bothering me.
I had to pass the fit dudes two more times, and I did it. I don’t think I even noticed their existence in my final half mile. I was laser focused on the light at end of the tunnel. I was halfway to my goal. Of course, I’m not discounting the notion that I might’ve been running in a complete black out, on the verge of cardiac infarction.
Before I really knew it, I was done. I’d crossed the line marking a mile and I slowed to a peaceful jog, and then broke stride into a steady walk. I tapped the ‘Stop Workout’ button on my phone’s app and immediately took notice of my time and distance.
“Eight minutes and 1 second?!?!”
I didn’t even know if eight minutes per mile was considered a good pace. I just saw that one second and I knew I had to beat it. I immediately knew that I wanted to run a mile in less than eight minutes.
And that’s the moment when I became a runner.
I ran two miles the next day. And then two miles the following day. And then I started running closer to three miles. And within a week, I ran five miles. It was when I settled on five miles as my daily exercise distance that I started trying to hone my pace.
Today I can run 10 miles at a sub-8 minute pace. And I’ve never cried like a bitch. Running’s my thing. Exactly a year after I started running, a 31-pound-lighter me ran my usual out-and-back route of 5.25 miles for a total of 1,017 miles covered over the year.
Running has turned into my thing. It’s my way of getting outside and getting inside my own head. I’ve always been a loner and an introvert. Running allows me to be both. I get up and run at 6 a.m., when it’s rare to encounter other people. I run and I think. I enjoy the time by myself. I revel in the air being forced into my lungs and my heart pounding. I love to hear the pulse in my ears along with whatever music is pulsing in my earbuds. I love to run when it’s 37-degrees outside and the sun’s nowhere near the horizon. I love to watch the barbs on the fence, and the crepe myrtles, and the rabbits, and the knock-out roses, and the Slaughter Creek, and the fallen oak and elm limbs as I run by them all.
Running is my thing.1 comment
This is my race bib for the Cap 10K. It’s my first race bib. This bib is yellow. Most bibs are white. This bib is yellow because I was going to run 6.2 miles in less than 45 minutes, and I was to be a “seeded” runner. That meant that before the starting gun, I would’ve lined up at the front of the other 18,000 runners. I would’ve been been lined up with other “seeded” runners. And behind the “elite” runners. Like the Kenyan guys.
I’m not running in my first 10K because two weeks ago I wiped out on a skateboard and injured my right foot so badly that I haven’t been able to put a running shoe on that foot since. I haven’t been able to run in two weeks and because of that, there’s a omnipresent void in my life.
In July of last year, for whatever reason, I put on a pair of Nike Lunarfly’s that were hand-me-downs from a friend. I went to the track at the local middle school and I ran a mile. Since that didn’t kill me, I went out two days later and ran two miles through the neighborhood. Before I knew it I found myself waking up before my alarm and the sun, and I was running 5.25 miles every day. And I was getting faster. I broke a 9 minute per mile pace. Weeks later, I broke the 8:30 minute mile pace. I kept shaving off time. I kept pushing myself. I was alone with my thoughts, my music, my cadence, my stride, my pulse in my ear, my fulfillment. I was alone and I’d found a kind of spirituality.
I broke the 8 minute mile.
I’d fallen in love with running. Running was something I thought I’d never do again because I was too old and I’d deteriorate my knees. My knees are fine — they love me. My right hip is another story. I have to treat my right hip like a high maintenance drama queen with whom I’ve had a 20-year love/hate relationship.
I was feeling really good and I was happy every day that I ran. I lost 25 pounds. I was eating right and fueling my body. I got my pace down to 7:15. On a really good day, I’d get damn close to 7 minutes. I had friends convince me to go on 10-mile runs. Never in my life would I have considered running 10 miles. Now I was waking up at 5 a.m. on weekend mornings to run long distances. For fun.
I was fueling my spirit.
On the eve of what would’ve been my first organized 10K I’ll have a pep talk with my right foot. We’ll run far and fast again soon.No comments
I didn’t know what time it was. Somewhere in the early hours of the morning because the house was still pitch black. I heard it first. Elise was still asleep. I don’t know how I knew, but I could just tell that she was in bed next to me, not aware of what was going on.
I heard it again. I strained to hear it a third time. And I did. She sounded so far away. She sounded like she was being hurt. Our youngest was screaming and crying from her bedroom on the other side of the house. And it wasn’t a normal cry out that would usually indicate that she’s scared or hungry. This was a cry out that she needed help. Something was happening to her. There was a waver in her wail that allowed my subconscious to convince me that the waver was created by her crying and screaming while she was being carried away.
I swatted Elise twice on the leg as I began barreling out of bed. I didn’t make my attempted leap over her. She was out of bed and running just as quickly as I was. We made it to Mara’s room in no time. In the seconds that it took for us to get to her room, the cries persisted. While unsettling, it was reassuring that the cries were isolated to her room. She wasn’t being carried by a poltergeist.
Elise turned on the hall light, which allowed us to see well enough into Mara’s room. Her arms and legs were curled up underneath her stomach and she was still letting out her terrified screams. I don’t remember who spoke first, but we made her aware that we were there and that everything was going to be okay. I don’t think we wanted to immediately lift her out of her crib for fear of startling her too much. I think we both considered the notion of our baby enduring some kind of night terror. While we collectively know absolutely nothing about night terrors, I think we surmised that a victim should be given room in case panic strikes.
All of this has happened within seconds.
I was as our daughter seems to be coming to. While breathing very heavily, as if fighting for her life, she tries to pull herself up onto her feet. This is the part that has burned a horrifying image into my mind. I just remember her trying to get up. She’s mustering every last drop of adrenaline to fight and bring herself to her feet in her little, safe crib. As she tries with all of her might, still crying, she legs and knees are wobbling. She looks like a newborn calf or foal, trying to stand for the first time. She looks like that video of the Iron Man triathletes when their legs just won’t work any longer. They fall and as hard as they will themselves, they can’t come up again. Physically done. Victimized. She couldn’t pull herself up and I know she was still terrified. I knew it probably seemed a lifetime before realizing our presence and feeling one of our physical touch.
I stepped before Elise and pulled our daughter up out of the crib. I couldn’t stand seeing her so helpless while trying so hard. I held her as Elise checked her over. Nothing was physically wrong with her as far as we could tell. It wasn’t long after we’d held our child that the screams and fright subsided. Apparently something was after her in her subconscious. She was scared. She was trying to escape and she screamed and cried out for help. Her mom and I were scared. The sound of your own child’s scream of fright & terror, and the sight of her physical helplessness are thankfully few and far between.
Mara slept with us that morning. She was burning up after – I guess we’re resolving to it being – her dream. I think she spiked a fever because the body’s natural response is to put off heat to “burn away the bad.” It wasn’t long before she was okay. We gave her water and made sure she was okay and comfortable enough to talk to us. I think the three of us had to allow time for our respective panic to subside. Eventually we all finally fell back to sleep, comfortably in Elise’s and my bed.
Seeing and hearing your child in that state is terrifying. It’s such a scary & unnerving feeling that sits with you for too, too long. And knowing that your child had to endure that experience is equally unnerving. Again, I’m just thankful this isn’t “normal” for us.1 comment
You turned 21-months old today. This is your vocabulary:
“Hawaii” = hold me
“Mia” = Maly
“Baja” = Ghostbear
“Two Meows” = both cats’ individual name
We recently learned that our eldest took (I’m having a hard time typing the word “stole”) five Crayons from her school art class and brought them home. I don’t know how or why Elise found these particular Crayons among the thousands that our daughter already possesses, but she found them, confronted her, and now we’re faced with providing a life lesson on the subject of taking things that do not belong to us.
The challenge and end goal is for us to teach our daughter that stealing is wrong and has its consequences. We are in the throes of teaching her why it’s wrong, and coaching her through an exercise in humility and honesty. She’s going to have to admit to her wrongdoing, replace the Crayons and ask for forgiveness. Yesterday was the day that restitution was to be made. She took the five Crayons back to school and we expected her to return them to her art teacher and make amends. Elise has, for the most part, spearheaded this new exercise in parenting. I’m in the periphery, learning how “we” are handling this situation.
My daughter and I went for a walk yesterday evening and had the following conversation.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you about something. Let me preface this by saying that you’re not in trouble. Your mom told me about the Crayons and I wanted to ask you about it. Did you take them back to school today? What did you tell the teacher? And what did she say?”
“Oh. Yeah. I, um – I took the Crayons back to school but all of them got all crushed up in my backpack, so I threw them away.”
I did not expect or prepare for that outcome. Of course my first inclination to say, “Oh, whatever. That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” Of course I can’t say that to my 7-year-old angel during this teaching moment. Her response caught me completely off guard and I was at a loss for words. There was a long pause. I don’t remember exactly what I said to break the silence, but I knew I had to provide my feedback and insight. It wasn’t much longer before we were engaged in this topic that I’m sure is making my daughter anxious and uncomfortable.
The obvious points we’re driving home here are:
- We’re going to have to replace the Crayons
- What would happen if every student took 5 Crayons home without permission?
- Taking something that doesn’t belong to us is wrong
- We all make mistakes
- We often covet things
- We have to right our wrongs as best we know how
And with the above, I reiterated what Elise and her had already gone over. The Crayons are somehow going to have to be replaced and an apology needs to be rendered. It was a lesson for us both in talking out how this was going to be resolved. Thankfully our daughter had no issues with accepting the fact that what she’d done was wrong. The hard part for her was figuring out how she was going to deliver the apology. It’s obvious that she wants to avoid the humility part (the original Crayons were crushed and disposed of). I think this is the hardest part of the lesson – the taking ownership and the face time required in restitution.
She proposed that she write a letter to her teacher. I can appreciate and understand her thoughts here. I think many of us are programmed to avoid conflict and stressful situations at pretty much all costs. A letter would all but remove the humility element, as well as the awkward and scary face-to-face conversation with her art teacher. However, I explained that a letter wouldn’t suffice. I used the words humility, anxious, scary and nervous in explaining to her why she was going to have to do this in person. I went on to tell her the story of how my parents once caught me shoplifting at a store. I was hesitant to relay this story, and I didn’t dwell too much on the details, but I wanted her to understand that most everyone, at some point in their life, takes something that doesn’t belong to them. And, like she was going to have to do, I had to go back to the store with my dad, tail tucked way between my legs and swelling tears in my eyes, and confess, return the stolen toys and apologize. I wanted her to know that her mom and I both empathized, and that our jobs were to help her in learning how to fix this situation based on our respective life experiences.
So we continued on our walk. She realized that this was real and that she was going to have to take this huge step in making amends. And she started getting nervous. I implored her to think about what she might want to say. I reiterated to her what her message needed to convey: I did this, I’m sorry, and here is what I’d like to offer to right my wrong. We rehearsed a couple scenarios and she decided on: “Mrs. Teacher, I took five Crayons that are used to color on black paper. I’m sorry and wanted to give you these Crayons to replace the ones that I took and that were crushed in my backpack.”
When we returned to the house after our walk, she relayed her proposed message to Elise and me. We both praised her for her approach. We suggested that she tackle this humbling experience as soon as possible, preferably this morning. She said she wanted to wait until her next art class, which will be next Tuesday. Elise and I bit our tongues as our collective inclinations were to tell her that the longer she puts this off, the heavier it’s going to weigh on her conscious. I think this concept might be a bit much for a 7-year-old to digest, so we’ve left it to her to decide how and when she wants to take care of her business.
So we’ll see how she does next Tuesday. Given the recent experience, I think she’s going to avoid this conflict again. If that’s the case, Elise or I are going to have to make arrangements to go to school with her and play mama bird, nudging her out of the nest and into the big, big world of humble beginnings.No comments
The first day of the new year was spent having a much-needed Daddy & Daughter day with Maly. For whatever reasons, she and I just haven’t hung out lately. Since it was New Years Day, the whole house was off to a late start. After a late breakfast, I gave Maly a belated Christmas present, which was a pair of roller blades. She’d long since outgrown her roller skates, and we’d put off buying her a new pair for over a year.
After I’d taken care of an hours worth of chores, Maly and I went outside to try out the new roller blades. We went up and down on the sidewalk a few times, Maly on her roller blades while desperately holding onto my hand so as to not fall. After a few slow runs down the street we decided to go in the house for lunch.
I made her favorite: Greek salad. After lunch, and because we’d spent the majority of our Christmas vacation in Des Moines sick with the flu, we extended Christmas by watching A Christmas Story (“You’ll shoot your eye out!”) in the living room.
After the movie we played on the Atari Flashback. We played Frog Pond, Sky Diver, Hangman, Space Invaders, Yars’ Revenge, Asteroid, Basketball and Steeplechase. After an hour or so of Atari, Maly said she wanted to go back outside and try out her roller blades again. We sat on the driveway and I showed her how to put them on herself. After taking another run down our sidewalk she asked if we could go around the block. I obliged. We made a long trip of it and talked about nothing and laughed.
We made it back to the house where we found ourselves just sitting in the yard. Maly played with one of her toy ponies in the leaves. I just sat there and watched her play.
At some point we migrated to the backyard. She pulled weeds around her playhouse. We played dragons for a while. She was a water dragon. I was a fire dragon. Playing dragons really just meant I chased her around the yard.
At some point she decided she wanted to go inside. I don’t remember what the context was, but Maly proudly told Elise that she and I’d had a good Daddy/Daughter day. And I smiled proudly. It wasn’t really intentional, but it was definitely a much-needed day of just hanging out with my daughter. I’m not a resolution kind of guy, but I’ve definitely resolved to spend more spontaneous and unplanned time like that with Maly.No comments
You turned 19-months-old today. Just in the past few weeks it seems like that magic little switch has been flipped inside of you – that one where you suddenly become kind of a functioning and coherent member of the family. It’s almost like you’re communicating with deliberation and some kind of intent. This is awesome because it affords us all countless new opportunities to interact with you.
Most notably in your newfound communication style is the drawing out of syllables, specifically in the word “more.” When you first learned this word, it was easy enough as you would say “mo” as you tapped your fingers together to give us the universal sign for more, which invariably meant more food. Now, it might be because you’re experimenting in your vocabulary, or it’s just the southern coming out in you, but the word has become three very distinct syllables: “MOOOO EEEEE YAAAH!” And “moo-eee-yaah” generally applies to most everything. You like to walk up to the closed refrigerator, point to the door and say, “moo-eee-yaah,” and the same goes for the pantry. Just this past week you learned that you really like dried prunes and apricots, so you get a kick out of retrieving the bags of dried fruit from the pantry, bringing them to your mom or me and saying “moo-eee-yaah” until we concede. This is also the case with the Halloween candy. We used to hide the Halloween candy in the lower kitchen cabinets and, while we have toddler-proof cabinet locks, you were able to open the cabinet door enough to look inside, see the trough of candy and say, “MOO-EEE-YAAH!!!” And as if saying it isn’t cute enough, you also look us dead in the eyes with your little orange eyebrows raised as if to imply, “hey, why not?! Give me one good reason why this isn’t the most awesome idea ever!”
One of my favorite things is that you seem to have figured out that I’m Daddy. You know “mama” for mom, and “mia” for Maly, and “meow” for the cats, and I used to be “mama” as well. But just recently you said, “hi Daddy,” so I think you’re finally putting two-and-two together and realizing who’s the one who’ll actually give you moo-eee-yaah Halloween candy.
You still have an undying fascination with airplanes. I’m more conscious of their overhead existence, but you catch each and every one that passes over. And I know exactly what you’re talking about when you say “ah-pane.” I envy this fascination, and I hope it, or something equally fascinating and something that adults otherwise take for granted, sticks with you. And airplanes are a pretty cool thing in which to take an interest.
Watching television is “hup-bah?” This is after a couple Saturdays past that I’ve excitedly asked you, “do you want to watch Texas football?!” So, “hup-bah?” is “football,” which equates to turning on the picture machine in the living room. Either way, it’s cute. You’ll sit down next to me on the love seat and look at the television set. You have no idea what’s going on, but I’m sure the scattered motion is interesting enough to watch. Invariably you’ll get bored however, and you’ll let yourself down off of the couch and find something to play with on the floor.
It still baffles me a bit, but you’re totally okay with going to bed. If your mom and I ask if it’s time for you to go night-night, you’ll nod your head and say, “night night.” And putting you to bed involves a bit of a ritual. For me, I’ll lay you down in your crib, lean over the railing and give you a kiss. Of course you’ll already have your Ghost Bear, and then we’ll have to put on your socks (you lift your feet into the air for this part), and then we turn off the lights and say “whoa!” at the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling. And when we get you up and out of your crib in the morning or after a nap, you’ll turn, point at your crib and tell us, “night night,” so we know where night night is.
You get so excited and serious about the words and ability to communicate with us now, and I’m excited to see you grow, learn and develop the ability to communicate even more. And while it’s exciting, it’s scary and a bit saddening because it means you’re growing up too damn fast. Slow down, squirt!
I love you, Mars.
We have birthday parties to attend this weekend. And they’re not our birthday parties, nor our friends’ birthdays. This weekend we have a series of birthday parties for little kids. I was reflecting this morning on when we were those parents, subjecting our friends and acquaintances to our child’s birthday party. Two weeks before our oldest’s first birthday, we’d sent out the invitations, we have the decorations and theme all coordinated, we had matching plates, plastic silverware, cups, napkins, streamers, balloons, pinwheels, and even flowers, planted in pots that we’d painted to match the party’s theme. It was ridiculous and time consuming. The night before the party, we had guests and family at our house from out of town. My wife was up until 3 a.m., working feverishly on our daughter’s first birthday cake. While I didn’t stay up quite as late, I was charged with making sure that camera batteries were charged and ready to record every riveting second of the festivities.
I think we put on a good first birthday party for our daughter. Our guests feigned enthusiasm. They ate pizza and cake. Our daughter ate pizza and cake. We sang the Happy Birthday song and told everyone about how quickly a year goes by when you have a child, like we were the only man and woman team on earth to experience and endure raising a child through its first year.
And for our second child’s first birthday, which occured this past April, the four of us sat at our kitchen table, and clapped as we watched her eat spaghetti noodles and a single piece of cake that we bought for her that afternoon at the grocery store.
Our second child’s first birthday festivities lasted eight minutes. Maybe. And we’re yet to watch the three hours of video footage from our oldest daughter’s first birthday party.No comments