Archive for May, 2008

Single Dad for a Week, Again

Saturday, May 31st, 2008

Once again, my wife is traveling for business. She’ll leave me alone with the kids, along with whatever support network I build, for four full days. On the fifth day, we’ll intercept my wife in Montreal. It will be the first time I’ve ever flown while outnumbered by my kids.

I’m starting to focus on the kinds of details that will make the days pass more easily. I can prepare large meals and lunches in advanced, wash kids’ clothes (especially pajamas), and even record some appropriate television content for those desperate moments. I’ll start writing down the events and demands for each day in advance, on paper, and refer to these “cheat sheets” all day long to make sure things get done. I’ve also mastered the timekeeping and note-taking functions on my mobile phone — alarm clock, countdown counter, text reminders — because I know I’ll get distracted.

My weeks of single-parenting always seem to end with greater disruption than I experienced during the weeks themselves. That’s because a week of rigorous effort creates a controlled environment, something much more rigid than what my wife and I create together. It is, perhaps, a more accurate glimpse at who I am as a parent, because it’s all me. I even enjoy the challenge, because I know when it ends.

It doesn’t take much to appreciate just how much easier dual-parenting is over single-parenting. Still, I embrace the reminders. Appreciation is good.

Posted in being a good dad, family responsibilities, jobs around the house, marriage | No Comments »

One, Two, Transfer Money Directly Into My Checking Account

Tuesday, May 27th, 2008

On the way home from school today, Oren was upset at the prospect of being buckled into his car seat. Meanwhile, Siena wanted candy — something I indulge the kids with when I pick them up, most days — but I decided that today would be a no-candy day. She was telling me, over and over, that she was hungry. In Siena-speak, but I’m hungry means I want candy.

During all of this, I was using my in-the-ear Bluetooth microphone to talk to my credit card company. Now that we have a new address, I’m can use these odd interstitials in my day to update my address at the many companies where my wife and I have accounts. On this particular afternoon, I was on the phone with American Express.

In one ear, a recorded voice was speaking: “For English, press one. Para en Español, marque el numero dos.” In the other ear, Oren is screaming as he tucks himself into the cracks of the car like a crab, refusing to cooperate. Siena is impossible to hear with all his racket.

I press one.

The automatic voice is saying something else, something about account balances and cash advances, while I explain to Siena for the third time that we can have food at home if she’s really hungry. But just as I’m not listening to my options at American Express, she’s not listening to me. I turn my frustration to Oren and say, “I’m going to count to three.” This makes him especially upset, and he screams at full capacity.

“I’m hungry,” says Siena.

“One,” say I.

Oren and Siena are wailing and whining.

“Two,” say I.

And then, in my ear, I hear the telltale clicky-clicky noise that tells me I’ve selected a menu item with my voice. I have no idea what I’ve authorized by saying “two.” With all this noise, I can’t understand a word of what she’s saying.

Siena announces again that she’s hungry, this time with so much intensity that the operator hears her. The operator calmly explains that she doesn’t understand us.

So I hang up.

“Three.”

Posted in family responsibilities, running errands | No Comments »

Mountain Daylight Tied

Saturday, May 17th, 2008

The day care center closed for three days because of accidental water damage. My job allows me to adjust quickly to these kinds of surprises, though sometimes it means working late at night.

This time, however, I was in Denver at a business meeting and conference. The school’s phone call woke me at 6 a.m. MDT, after only three hours’ sleep.

My job has so much flexibility that I take for granted my responsibility to compensate for my wife’s in-house job. Her employer is wonderful, with fantastic benefits and a profound cultural understanding of “real life,” from births to funerals, but her working hours are billed to customers. She has to work the whole week. So it only makes sense for Mr. I-Love-To-Do-Four-Things-At-One-Time to be the first line of defense against sick children, cable guys, broken cars, Girl Scouts, and anything having to do with exploding plumbing.

Only this time, my hands were tied. While I hobnobbed with my colleagues, my wife was in charge of everything. When that 6 a.m. call came, with the announcement that day care would be cancelled for the remainder of the week, all I could do was phone home. My wife would have to do the rest: emergency childcare, extra mothering, part-time apologies at the office. I felt ridiculously inadequate, and even ashamed.

Giving up work is a major component of being a parent, but as the one who stays at home, my wife’s sacrifice is kept at a minimum. I adjust, so my wife doesn’t. This was a dramatic reminder that those roles can be reversed, and quickly.

Despite my pride in it, it seems I’ve been taking my flexibility for granted.

Posted in family responsibilities, marriage | No Comments »

Tippy Toes and Tall Toilets

Friday, May 9th, 2008

If my legs aren’t getting shorter, then the urinals are growing.

I’m not a tall person. When standing, my wife is six inches taller than I. When sitting, we’re the same height. It’s one of our running jokes that had we not met sitting down, she might never have dated me. But I don’t feel short, and even people who know me don’t remember me as such. So imagine my growing surprise when, over the years, I’ve found myself preferring the kids’ urinals, which are installed closer to the floor to accommodate shorter legs. The adult-sized units I’ve used my entire life suddenly require me to stand on my toes.

I remember all the ways I measured my body’s growth as a child. I could lift heavier objects, reach higher shelves, and jump stairs. The most profound measurement of my growth was how many piano keys I could span with both arms outstretched, or with a single hand. On the day I could touch the lowest A and highest C, I felt like a big person; today I can play elevenths with one hand, an above-average span. I like watching my kids doing the same kinds of measurement on their own bodies. Siena can choose among shirts in the top dresser drawer; Oren can climb into his crib without help. Siena can turn the house key in the lock; Oren can reach the safety lock on the refrigerator.

The average adult height in the United States is rising. Meanwhile (and unrelated), toilet technologies are changing. Light sensors, automatic flushing systems, and improved drain design are relatively new approaches to preventing water waste. Considering the combined impact of these two trends, it makes sense that when those 1970s urinals are going to be replaced with a newer models, they’ll be installed at the new-and-improved height of today’s average American.

During my childhood, the legal age for purchasing and consuming alcohol was 18. When I was 17, the legal limit moved to 19. When I was 18, the limit rose to 21. Like Charlie Chaplin, kicking his hat every time he bent to pick it up, the state legislature kept alcohol just out of my reach. Thankfully, I had no interest in beer, wine, or spirits. But I do feel bad for Oren, because we keep moving his pens and markers to a higher shelf.

Standing on tippy toes should count for something.

Posted in being a kid | No Comments »

House? Whatever.

Sunday, May 4th, 2008

Last Tuesday, my wife and I bought a house, agreeing to $13k of electrical upgrades. A few hours later I hopped a plane to Denver, where I attended professional conference, celebrated the end of a ten-year stint on the society’s national board, and co-moderated a full-day strategic planning session of my fledgling company and partnership. If you think my stomach is twisted into knots, you’re right.

And yet these things were about on par with how I felt about leaving some important clothes in the closet. Signing the loan paperwork felt like an errands. Since when does buying a house rate little higher than “eh”? No, what turned my guts into play dough were the anticipation, execution, and remembrance of having to leave my kids at home. Come on!

I’m used to juggling my kids with my career. Success is keeping both of these priorities going at the same time. And actually, juggling imperfectly is part of the fun. When I can’t adjust, adapt, or accept to the unpredictability of life, I can’t blame life. But watching my two- and three-year-old kids wave goodbye from the living room window changed that. House, pants, money, career: suddenly I felt as if I were juggling air.

One of Albert Einstein’s thought experiments involves a man in an elevator. If the occupant of an elevator feels weightless, there is no way for him to know if the elevator is falling toward the ground, or if the ground is rising up to meet the elevator.

It feels as if I’m juggling air, but the perspective is wrong. It’s also true that my kids are juggling me.

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