Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Sister Sledge

My sister Ana called the other day, just to tell me how happy she is that I'm in her life.

I'm a little strange when it comes to feelings, emotions, and dairy products, but I know enough to react appropriately when really nice things are said to me. We had a great talk, beginning with me telling her that I too was happy that she and my brother Jose and all their family members were in my life. Then I told her I wasn't sure how to be a brother specifically or a family member in general.

For those of you with siblings, this might seem odd--it's all you've known. No cry for help here, it's just natural that if I was an only child raised by a single Mom, with the nearest relatives in California or England, intra-family training was limited.

I have had role models all my life; it seems rare to be an only kid with a single parent, so my friends along the way have all had brothers and sisters. When I started having girlfriends serious enough to risk inviting me to dinner and holidays, I got a dose of the large family stylings. Hell, before I knew any better, I wanted to marry an Italian girl, so I could be a part of those noisy, 100-yard-table feasts and get money in envelopes.

My wife has a sister; they get along like sisters--they call each other all the time and sometimes don't like each other, but always say I Love You. It's too late to follow their lead, mainly because they have a lifetime of history, while Ana and I and Jose barely know one another.

We have only good history, though, no complications or old battles. It doesn't feel fake to tell Ana I Love You (but I'll probably just verbally punch Jose in the arm); it's not that I should say it just because we had the same father, it just feels right. I think it helps that Ana is so nice.

Anyway, I guess I will try hard to remember all the new birthdays in my life (I'm one for two so far with Ana's family and still have to think a minute to get Carrie's and the twins' right), and call for no other reason than just to say hey. People like those things.

So, on this Thanksgiving Eve, I'm thankful for the family I've made with Carrie and the family I found and the family I was born into. I am happy that as I've seen happening every day, the kids in my house won't need lessons in family relations.

It is a daily jolt to me that an only child with one parent is now surrounded by children who have siblings and who have two parents who kiss a lot. I can't relate to how they are growing up, but boy am I glad they have each other, even when there's maiming.

Just like I feel that every time I roll around with them, wrestling, tickling, nibbling, that bonds are tightening--like being able to make cats people-friendly by handling them when they are kittens--their interaction is shaping them. They will be so scarred, I mean, close.

Close.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Van Halen

I'm getting heavier.

In the first month or so after the lay-off, I was losing weight because I was getting to the gym five times a week, and me and the wee ones played outside a lot.

Well, my body got used to the extra exercise, and while some of the 10-poundage I've added is muscle, because I've been lifting weights for the first time in years, the rest is good old-fashioned blubber. Another factor is that I don't have the motivation of swimming pool appearances anymore. Oh, and I don't even try to let the kids have all the Halloween candy; I've snagged most of the best mini-bars (Nestle Crunch, Snickers, Hersheys), you know, to spare their teeth.

Above all, though, having little kids is the difference between being 212 pounds and 200. I cannot waste food, and they don't eat all of theirs. This equals me eating more than I should and things I would not choose for myself.

When it was just Connor, we named me The Vulture, circling as he neared the end of his meals, then landing and tearing at the leftovers. That was just one kid, though. He, at 9 years old and 100 pounds, finishes all his food now and asks for more. Four-year-old Maggie mostly cleans her plate, too.

The 2-year-old twins, though, will be the big-rear-end of me. Like most parents I will err on the side of making more than less, so more food will be ready in case they want it; we all want them to have good appetites and chow down. Until they pack it away, though, there are leftovers, and I'm the only one who a) has a problem wasting food; b) isn't disgusted by food with teethmarks (hey, they're my flesh and blood's teeth).

Unfortunately, there are only two foods we make or buy for them that I can't stomach--cream cheese and yogurt. They typically finish all yogurt--I push half-eaten cups on them, and Target's cups are best, because they have a lid you can put back on.

When Darcy and/or Gavin ask for bagels and cream cheese, though, I get worked up: first off, you have to make sure they don't just lick that nasty white substance--no, bite it, watch Maggie, see she bites it! Second, they're still not able to finish even a half bagel. I won't eat the rest, because it's gross, and Carrie and Connor and Maggie won't, because they think half-eaten food is untouchable.

The main problem then is that there are plenty of foods I will finish: chicken nuggets, peanut-butter and honey/jelly sandwiches, homemade quesadillas (with cheddar, so good), french fries, occasional fast-food burgers, grilled pork chops, ice cream (Darcy doesn't always finish her bowl--what's a guy to do?), cereal, mini-raviolis, waffles, eggs, sausage, toast.

Sure, I could store it and heat it up for them later, but I'm only human (more and more so), and eating is easier than putting it into Tupperware or bags. Most times I don't make a meal for myself, because I know there will be plenty to finish. Plus, since I wouldn't choose to eat what they want, I don't make something different for myself that I like because that's double the work.

Lest you think we're poisoning the little darlings, or malnourishing them, there is plenty of fruit and veggies that I have to finish. Just today, there are five half-eaten apples in the fridge--they're just too big for tiny tummies to finish. Some days I'll get fed up with such a display and eat five orange slices, two half-eaten apples and half-eaten pear, whatever the mix is. Seems healthy, but if you ate 100 pounds of fruit, it would still be 100 pounds.

The only solutions are: make less per meal, change exercise routines, store and re-heat, force feed. All but the last one are better than throwing away food. I'll start with the first and second before trying the third. The fourth will be on a case-by case, mood-dependent basis.

Manja!

Monday, November 9, 2009

Blue Oyster Cult

If men are truly just super-sized boys, in other words, immature, then being a father of kids under the age of 18 is perfect.

You always have an excuse for making strange noises (with your mouth), singing silly songs, making faces, and acting like animals/monsters/robots--many times all at once. As an aside, if you've ever been embarassed to show public affection, kids naturally melt that inhibition.

I don't believe they bring out what was already there, though, as much as provide inspiration. They are so carefree and un-selfconscious, sometimes it's like being with a best friend---anything goes, without fear.

I loved watching Connor when he was 3 and 4 and then Maggie and now the twins: marching and singing something, with or without pants; putting on a favorite ballerina dress and immediately assuming the pirouette position; wearing said dress to the playroom at the gym, along with rain boots. Of course, while you can.

I've blogged before about the funny things toddlers do and which of them we as grown-ups could get away with in the office or at home or the park. We're so conditioned now against silliness, even though it's been proven that laughter is good for you, that it only comes out with good friends or too many drinks, and hopefully the latter with the former.

I'm sure most parents let themselves go around their children, especially when they're tykes, but we've all seen those that are so clogged up they're uncomfortable even when their kids are being goofballs.

On the other extreme, I see grandparents all the time at the playground chasing their grandkids like they were another kid. Not graceful, and let's face it, playgrounds aren't made for grown-ups to be clogging the aisles and alleys and slides and ladders, especially when it's crowded.

When I see this discomforting sight, I quickly review what I've learned about CPR, and vow to not do that when I'm a granddad. That's sitting-back-and-appreciating-the-life-you've-lived time. Grandads tell stories, and smoke pipes, and take Junior for walks in the damn forest, slowing down and stopping to catch breath every so often.

Hell, I don't climb all over the equipment now unless we're the only ones there--then it's hard to resist. No, let the kids play with other kids and hone their social and combat skills. I draw my silly line at engaging at a busy playground.

Hide and seek is just no friggin' fun when the kids are too young: "One, two, four, seventeen, eight," while they look through their hands, or they go hide and come out in 10 seconds or are discovered by a sibling who is not familiar with the rules. Acting like I'm "Gonna get ya" is a lot more fun when you're the only one who's gonna get them. Other parents are not going to see me Godzilla or Jaws or Zombie it up.

I'm going to try to make these things shorter; maybe that'll help me do them more often. Thanks for reading--now go nibble an ear while saying Yum Yum Yum Yum Yum Yum.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Jigsaw

The best part about having kids is...wait, I am unable to choose among the plethora of best parts about having kids, who am I pulling the leg of?


Ok, one of the best parts of having kids is the world of media previously closed to you the single person. Cartoons, movies, music, websites--oh, the kaleidoscopic and cacophonous joys! Right?


I've done a list on this blog of favorite movies that I wouldn't have known without kids (left out Sky High--Kurt Russell is a hoot, and Kelly Preston manages to look OK). It has grown: Monster v. Aliens was pretty good--"What do they call you when they're scared, you know, 'Oh No, it's....?" "Susan."


Tonight, we cartoon. I can go old school here on cartoons, because you see, Connor was 2 when I met him, in 2003. That's only six years, I know, but that's an eternity for Nick Jr., Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network. Screw Disney and WTTW for Kids, they're for the brown-nosers who want to do science experiments while dancing in their classroom of five kids. (Full disclosure: I can do the Goofy dance from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse).


Connor was all Thomas the Tank Engine and Dexter (top 3 for me) and Billy and Mandy (love Grim--"I'm bleaching ma bones, mun.") and my least favorites, the Bob Dylan of cartoons for me (meaning channel-changer), Kids Next Door and Ed, Edd and Eddy. The former wasn't funny and the latter is mean-spirited and ugly animation and not funny and has annoying voices.


Then Fairly Oddparents came along, and I met crew-cutted and muscle-bound Jordy, the Ahnold sound-alike--accent and busted syntax and malaprops. So many funny lines--I used to tell Connor to let me know when Jordy was on. Teemy Tuhnah! (that's Timmy Turner, in Jordy speak).


PowerPuff Girls? Oh yeah, we loved us some Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup, and I hope that Maggie or Darcy (or both, oh, could it be so?) get to one day take on an evil monkey named Mojo Jo Jo at least once in their lives. Har, har, maybe it's me, you say.


Teen Titans, too; thanks, Connor. Funny faces, interesting twists and topics/lessons, and of course the Japanese girl band theme song. na na na na na na na na na, Teen Titans!! Super nice cool groovy times, yeah!


I made the acquaintance of Jimmy Neutron (hot Mom, along with Dexter's), and Samurai Jack, and Johnny Bravo, too. Not nearly enough appearances by the latter two, but memorable, nonetheless. The former for the animation (Ren & Stimpy guy John Kricfalusi), mainly, and the latter, well, if you haven't seen Johnny Bravo, let me describe: hunky, blond, dumb, Elvis voice and Elvis hair that you never ever touch, always chasing the ladies.


For some reason there was a Johnny Bravo episode that included the Scooby-Doo gang. At one point Velma says "Jinkies!" as she is known to do. Johnny says--remember, in an Elvis voice-- "Jinkies? What is that, some sort of breakfast cereal?"


Even though Dexter and Samurai Jack and PowerPuff Girls are no-shows these days, I'm so glad that Connor and his pals have been and continue to be a part of my life. Disney and WTTW are favorites now (Connor's into Clone Wars now, animation-wise), with the wee ones, and if they're super-serious lab assistants by next year, so be it.


As long as they wear their safety goggles and matching hairclips (Gavin will most likely be their straitjacketed guinea pig, not a whitecoat), I'm good.