Parental Rites of Passage

There are certain things that all parents of babies and young children experience.  Parental “Rites of Passage”, if you will.  As a father of three small children (six and younger), I can assure you that a great many of these come from personal experience.

• An up the back diaper blowout.

• A “Code Brown” in the bathtub.

• Being spit up on.

• Being puked on / catching a child’s vomit in your hands.

• Being away from home without a necessary item (diapers/bottle/pacifier/beloved toy).

• Showering with an audience.
• Child wanders off in a store.
• Using the toilet while soothing a crying child on your lap.

• Driving down the road with one hand while the other is blindly reaching into the back seat to get something for the kids.
• Child says something horribly inappropriate in public.
• Having to leave somewhere (store, church, restaurant, etc.) because of a screaming child.
• Knowingly going to work with your child’s spit-up, snot, poop, tears, or other substance on your clothes.
• A child has an accident while you’re out, and you have no backup clothes.
• Throwing away / donating a toy in working condition simply because you can’t stand to listen to it anymore.
• Lying to your child about what happened to that toy.
• Going for a drive in the middle of the night because that is the only way a screaming child will go to sleep.
• Using an expression, saying, or threat that your parents used on you.

Parents, what other rites of passage have you experienced?

Thought of the Day – 5/27/2014 – Screen Cleaning

Parenthood is full of firsts, full of things you’ve never done before, sentences you’ve never thought you’d say*, and questions you never thought you would need an answer to.

*Today’s example:  “Cameron, please do not lick the towel”.

We did some heavy household cleaning this weekend.  Well…I say “we” loosely.  I was mainly in charge of distracting children and moving heavy things.  Anyway, one of my tasks was to clean the windows, which led me to ask the following question:

“How do you get crayon off of a window screen?”

I had never thought this before.  Hell, in all my crayoning days, I never even considered a mesh window (or door) screen as a canvas for my artwork.

Thankfully, the friendly algorithms at Google were there for me in my time of need.

A healthy spritzing of WD-40, followed by a paper towel does a surprisingly good job of removing crayon from a screen.

Now, I need to find out how to remove WD-40 from the hosta below the window.

Quiet (Q)

The older I get*, the more I appreciate and desire quiet.

*My next birthday will have a zero in it.  I get closer to grumpy old man status every day.

Partially, this is due to having three kids ages five and under, all of whom fail to grasp the concept of “indoor voice”.  At any given moment, one of them is yelling/talking very loudly, another is crying or whining, and the third is trying to rest.  So.  Much.  Noise.

I spend such a significant portion of my day shushing them that I’m afraid they’ll grow up thinking Daddy has a slow leak.  I’m also very much afraid that during some contentious work meeting, I’m going to break in with a twenty second long “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”.

I may install this floor in one of the rooms of my house. (Photo credit: Rochelle, just rochelle)

In my life, it often feels like quiet trails only “sleep” and “money” on the list of Things I Don’t Get Enough Of.

Certainly, much of this is self-inflicted.  I love the big personalities my kids have, and I don’t want to discourage them from expressing themselves – or try to shut them up with a movie* whenever they start getting too loud.

*Especially since the movie of choice in our house is Frozen, which leads to two guarantees:  1) my five year old daughter live-performing the movie line-by-line and song-by-song, 2) I end up with one of the songs (usually “Let it Go” or “Love is an Open Door”) wedged in my skull for the next five hours.  Heck, just typing the words “let it go” has been enough to put that song in my head on a continual loop.

Gone are the days when I looked forward to going out with friends to a noisy bar or when I would crank the volume when a favorite song came on.  Now, I find myself looking for ways to have a few blessed minutes of peace and quiet – even if it means making a last minute run to the grocery store, washing bottles, or some other chore that I would otherwise like to avoid.

I think when my birthday rolls around, I’m going to ask for noise-cancelling headphones…and wear them during most of my waking hours.

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(Author’s note:  Wondering why there is a random letter in parentheses in the title of this post?  Not sure how this post corresponds to the daily letter in the April A to Z Challenge?  Like clicking on links?  These questions are all answered here.)

Thought of the Day – 4/8/2014 – Goodnight Gorilla (G)

The watchman/security guard/zookeeper in the children’s book Goodnight Gorilla is one of the most oblivious characters in literary history.

A gorilla steals your keys, lets out all of the other animals, follows you home, gets in your bed (next to your wife), and you don’t notice?

I get being tired and wanting sleep (which, coincidentally, happens pretty much every time I read it), but seriously dude there is a lion on the floor in your bedroom.

Get it together.

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(Author’s note:  Wondering why there is a random letter in parentheses in the title of this post?  Not sure how this post corresponds to the daily letter in the April A to Z Challenge?  Like clicking on links?  These questions are all answered here.)

Is Four less than Three? (F)

Recently, Mrs. Feit Can Write and I enjoyed a very lovely date night.  We went out, ate some good food, had some drinks, and saw one of our favorite bands.  Best of all, it was a completely kid free evening.

I know that may come off a little crass, but nights out (of any kind) are kind of a big deal.  Part of the reality of having three kids ages five and under is not being able to go out whenever we want.

Dinner in a restaurant?  We would need to pack 15 pounds of stuff into the diaper bag, answer a million questions on the way there, strategically pick a place that is busy/loud enough so we don’t ruin the dining experience for others yet slow enough that we do not have to wait for a table or risk slow service*, and time the whole operation perfectly so the kids are not starving when we arrive, not hungry when their food gets there, or the baby doesn’t need a bottle while one of us is trying to eat.

*Although we have noticed that families with multiple young children tend to get exceptional service and/or hurried out of most places.

Assuming we pull that off, there is still the challenges of keeping young children entertained, quiet, and appearing as if they did not just escape from the zoo.  That’s a lot of work for the four crayons you get at most restaurants.  The odds are high that one of us will say “never again” at some point in the evening.

What about a date night for just the two of us, you ask?  Paying for a sitter is never cheap, but when you get past two kids, you end up spending more just to leave the house then you do while you’re out.  We used to have a pretty good system of date swaps where we would watch the kids of some friends while they went out and a few weeks later they would reciprocate.  But strangely, right about the time we brought home baby number three, those informal arrangements dried up.

I get it.  Watching more than two kids – even for a few hours – is not for the faint of heart.  Living with more than two has been an experience – so much so that we’ve joked about changing our phone numbers so the adoption agency we used can no longer find us.

But is it really that bad?

Well, according to this article, it is.  They cite a study that says that three kids is the most stressful number of kids to have.  In what seems to be counter-intuitive, parents with four (or more) children have less stress then parents of three.

Why?  The article lists two key factors:

The increased stress of being out-numbered makes the transition from two to three much more difficult than from one to two.  And once you get past three kids, parents tend to “let go” and trust their parenting instincts and experiences.

For the most part, I agree with this.

Going from one to two isn’t that bad.  You can divide and conquer or one parent can pretty easily take both kiddos and give the other a break.  But a big part of the challenge of three is being outnumbered.  You only have two arms to pick up crying kids, and one set of eyes to make sure your little explorers don’t wander off in the store.  The classic parenting joke is you switch from a man-to-man defense to a zone.  Even with your spouse* helping, somebody will always be facing a double team.

*This is as good of a place as any to give a serious shout-out to all of the single parents raising two, three, or more kids by themselves.  In your next life may you come back stranded on a remote tropical island with a spa, an open bar, and no screaming.

As for the “letting go”, I’m not completely sure I buy that.  Yes, with our youngest we have relaxed on a number of things that would never ever have happened with our oldest.  For example, when our oldest was about 9 or 10 months old, we were at Wal-Mart when her pacifier fell to the floor.  I’m pretty sure we threw it away, because neither of us could ever imagine it being clean again.  Since then, we’ve joked that with baby #2, that pacifier would have been run through the sterilizer and given back.  With baby #3, I probably would have popped that sucker in my mouth, given it a quick slurp and handed it back to my daughter.

But I’m just not sure that relaxing your standards necessarily equals a reduction in stress.  I totally get the concept of “survival mode” – doing what you have to do to make it through the day.  But I wonder if the guilt of knowing that you let the kids watch four movies just so you could get lunch picked up before bedtime doesn’t create its own stress.

If anything, I think the reduction in stress with child #4 comes with acceptance.  Acceptance in knowing that you’re never going to know a house that is clean or quiet.  Acceptance that you’re never going to go out for date night again – and probably wouldn’t be able to afford it if you could.  Acceptance that this is your life.

With three kids, we still hold on to the crazy notion that we can still do the things that families with one or two children do.  Like go out to eat, take vacations, drive a mid-size sedan, have friends and family offer to watch our kids, or pay for college and/or weddings.  And that can be stressful.

But as somebody who never wanted to have more than two kids, I absolutely cannot imagine life without all three of my beautiful babies; the loves of my life, the reasons I go to work, and the reasons that my heart is full of love.

Yeah, it is crazy, stressful, and often crazy stressful, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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(Author’s note:  Wondering why there is a random letter in parentheses in the title of this post?  Not sure how this post corresponds to the daily letter in the April A to Z Challenge?  Like clicking on links?  These questions are all answered here.)

Thought of the Day – 9/12/13 – Swaddle Me, Part II

(Apparently, swaddling is on my mind today.  Here is Part I).

I really suck at swaddling our daughter.

Despite my best efforts, tips from my wife, and watching YouTube videos, my attempts are usually a train wreck.  I either cover her up like a mummy or make it so her arms break free in 12 seconds.  In general, my swaddles end up looking like I wadded up a blanket and threw it at my infant daughter.

This made me think:  certain businesses should offer swaddling assistance to new parents.

Think about it:  You and baby head down to the neighborhood burrito place (Chipotle, Qdoba, etc).

Baby gets wrapped up safe and tight by a professional with thousands of hours of experience.

Daddy gets a delicious carnitas burrito.

That, my friends, may be the ultimate definition of win/win.

Don’t call the authorities – this is not my kid (thanks Google!)

 

What Do I Want To Be When I Grow Up?

As a parent, I often notice a recurring theme in conversations about my kids:  what our children are going to be when they grow up.  You know what I mean:  Jamie likes to role-play her doctor visits, so maybe she’ll be a doctor.  Of course, she’s so expressive and energetic that maybe she’ll be an actress or performer.  Cameron’s birth parents were 6’2″ and 5’10”, so maybe he’ll be a basketball player, but with his long fingers maybe he’ll be a concert or jazz pianist.

And so it goes.  Almost any time they show a new skill, role play something they’ve experienced, or display even a minor interest in something new, we want to map out their college and career plans.

Don’t get me wrong – there is nothing wrong with wanting your children to be happy and successful, finding careers that allow them to utilize their skills and passions.  And I’m all for encouraging kids to follow their dreams, even if they are unlikely to grow up to be an firefighting astronaut puppy doctor*.  No sane parent is going to lock their child into a career path before they lose their first tooth.

*I am often reminded by family members that when I was young (4 or 5?) I said I wanted to be a microphone when I grew up.  Not an announcer, actor, singer, DJ, performer, or game show host.  A microphone.  (Familial history is a little cloudy on if I wanted to be a normal microphone or one of the long skinny ones like on Price is Right or Match Game.)  While some may debate if I have grown up, I can assure you that I have let to become a microphone.

But I’m struck by the disparity in the future careers we identify for our kids.  When parents talk about their kids being something then they grow up, they usually talk about well-known jobs:  doctor, lawyer, veterinarian, soldier, cop, firefighter, athlete, artist, musician, etc.  I have yet to meet the parent who thinks their kid is going to be a janitor, cashier at Target, Starbucks barista, assistant to the regional manager, or any one of a thousand jobs that are vital to everyday life, but rank low on the glamour scale.

You said you wanted to be a farmer, right?

Why is that?  Do we look at ourselves – a collection of middle managers, analysts, technicians, laborers, and fillers of unglamorous and unrewarding jobs – and project our unfulfilled career ambitions on our children?  Or is it the simple fact that nobody under the age of 18 has ever aspired to be a project analyst, client services manager, or customer support representative (three job titles I’ve proudly owned, by the way)?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’ll continue to think of my daughter as a future doctor every time she pretends to check my ears, and my son as an NBA all-star every time he out-grows another pair of pants.  And I’ll love them just as much if they end up in the most menial, dead-end job you can imagine – especially if it makes them happy.

But I won’t be disappointed if they aspire to be a microphone.

Thought of the Day – 6/28/2013 – Your Baby So Ugly

Here’s a thought that’s been bouncing around in my head for a while:

Do you think there are parents out there who look at their babies and think “Gosh, my baby’s kinda homely lookin.”?

I ask this not to be mean (or because I have encountered any ugly babies recently*).  I’m asking honestly and sincerely.

*Seriously, your baby is very cute.  Just not as cute as mine.

Not at all relevant, but it cracks me up.

Look:  I truly, honestly believe that my daughter and my son are the cutest kids in the history of children.  They were extremely cute babies, and they get cuter every day.  My guess is that most parents feel the same way about their babies.

But I also truly, honestly believe that there are some uggo babies out there (again – not your kids.  So very beautiful!)  Do their parents look at them and truly, honestly believe they are the absolute cutest babies around?  Or do they have a spot, deep down in the depths of their unconditionally loving heart where they think “I sure hope this kid is smart/rich/good at sports, because looks won’t be enough.”

Safety, Schmafety

When our daughter was teething, we became big believers in using Hyland’s Teething Tablets to bring some immediate relief to her pain and discomfort.

Our one year old is currently working on a new tooth, and melted down into a wailing fit of crankiness the other night – right about the same time I realized that we were out of teething tablets*.  Lovely.

*And no, despite what your Aunt Mabel says, we did not rub schnapps/brandy/whiskey/grain alcohol on his gums.  If anybody is drinking to deal with teething trauma, it will be Daddy.

Since I did not want a repeat performance over the weekend, I went out late last week and purchased a new bottle over my lunch hour*.  When I got home, I took the bottle out of the box and set it on our kitchen counter.

*Two observations from my lunch time Walmart run: 

1) The 90-year-old lady working the register essentially told me that I didn’t need to purchase the tablets because “placing a damp wash cloth in the freezer works like a charm”.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither of our kids were interested in chewing on frozen terry cloth, nor would my weekend plans involve being within 100 yards of a freezer, so she should just shut up and take my money.  Looking back on it now, I realize that I should have clarified her method.  Maybe the wash cloth does not actually leave the freezer and acts as a soothing transmitter.  Or maybe instead of dampening the rag with water, she used whiskey.

2) The north Walmart here in Lincoln is just as crazy at noon on a Thursday as it is on a weekend.  They must have been holding auditions for “People Walmart:  The Movie“.  Wowza.

Anyway, so the bottle is still on the counter when my wife brings the kids home from daycare.  As I’m talking to her, I look over and my four-year old has grabbed the bottle.  She’s opened it up, and is trying to fish the tablets out with her finger (don’t worry – we normally give the little guy four at a shot, and I doubt she got more than two).  I take the tablet bottle away from her and go to put the lid back on.  That is when I noticed this:

“SEALED FOR YOUR PROTECTION” apparently does not apply to four-year olds.

My four-year old daughter had somehow managed to open a brand new bottle without disturbing the safety seal.  Seriously, it was not torn, stretched, or otherwise altered.  The printing on the band – which reads “SEALED FOR YOUR PROTECTION” – laying there fully intact, mocking my faith in product safety measures designed to keep my kids safe.  And it is not like she was trying to see if she could open the bottle without disturbing the safety seal.  My girl is not exactly known for her subtlety in opening something – as witnessed by the dozens of boxes she has mangled while trying to open.

I would likely find it rather ironic that a four-year old was able to remove a medicine bottle cap with the safety ring still in one piece – except this is my kid we’re talking about.  If a four-year old could easily access a drug that is sealed for her protection, how do I know that her curiosity won’t get into a different medicine bottle without me knowing?

I do take some comfort in knowing that we keep our medicines out of the reach of little hands, and I know that teething tablets are closer to Tic Tacs than prescription narcotics.  That said, I’m still a little unsettled by the incident.  I feel like it is another reminder that as a parent I must always be on the look out for potentially dangerous situations to keep my babies safe.

I just didn’t expect it in this form.

Lenticular Thinking

I love successful advertising – the convergence of message and medium that directly hits the targeted audience; inspiring them to buy, to act, or to think.

I also love innovation – using existing technology and concepts in new ways.  In the advertising world, that means utilizing different tools and techniques to break through ad clutter, and pinpoint your audience.

And we all love people who protect children, and work to make the world a better place.

This post is about all of these loves, and how the combination is far greater than the sum of its parts.

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There is a picture in my father-in-law’s bathroom.

Technically, there are two pictures.  Let me explain:

Instead of a flat canvas, there a few dozen triangular columns jutting out from the surface.  Those two pictures?  They are each lovely beach scenes, but both have been perfectly sliced into quarter-inch wide strips.  The strips for one picture have been pasted to the left side of the triangles, and the other set of strips is on the right side.  So depending on how you view the picture, you see one image, but not the other.

It is a neat little concept – a lenticular, as I have since learned – and it makes for a pretty and unique piece of art.

But I’ve never considered a lenticular as much more than a nice to liven up a bathroom wall.

*   *   *

The problem is real.

All around us, children are being abused.

The problem is important.

How do you reach a child who is being abused?  How do you let them know that abuse they are enduring is not okay?  That they can get the help and protection they need?

Now…how do you communicate this information in front of their abuser without putting the child at greater risk?

The problem must be solved.

*   *   *

This is where the three loves I mentioned above all come together.

I could explain how they converge, but I’ll let this very cool video do the work for me.  It shows how the ANAR Foundation, (a child advocacy organization in Spain) solved the problem:

Seriously, how cool is that?

I absolutely love this.  A brilliant example of how technology meshed with advertising savvy can do great things.  While it is very easy to reduce advertising down to talking animals or bad “but wait, there’s more” pitches, this shows what advertising can be – the combination of clever thinking and unique ideas that hopefully make the world a little better.