Case,
You were being a bit cranky this afternoon as we waited for your mom to return home, so we sat down on the bed and I cradled you in my arms to see if a few ounces of formula would settle you down. It worked. So well, in fact, that you fell asleep, with your mouth still gripping the bottle's nipple as tight as before you drifted off.
I initially thought to try and carefully remove my arm from under your head and sneak away to the couch while I awaited your awakening. But you looked so peaceful. I didn't dare disturb you. So, I laid my head back as well and eventually joined you in slumber.
It didn't last long, as your mom returned home shortly thereafter and we both woke up. But it was one of the finer naps I've had, which brings me to a point. There will come a time in your life when you will be willing to trade your thumbs for a couple hours of shut-eye -- and you won't be able to. Until that time, then, my advice is to enjoy every nap. It was a dreary November day as we slept, and while all naps are worth it, few things are more rejuvenating than a long nap on a rainy day. The rhythm of the raindrops is the perfect soundtrack to sleep.
Love,
Dad
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Parents and children, part two
Case,
I called your Grandma Pallister today to check in and see how things were going. She didn't sound like her usual positive self; she sounded detached, precoccupied. We talked for a few minutes and I asked her if eveyrhting was OK. She said your Grandpa Pallister wasn't doing well. He's had leg problems for a while, but now, apparently, he can hardly walk. That's tough on both of them. It's very difficult for your Grandpa to struggle so much to do simple things like walking to the kitchen, given the life he lived. In his heyday, your Grandpa was a man's man. He was a Chicago firefighter for almost 30 years, and he worked on a moving truck as a second job for decades. He has always been a very tough man, and even though he doesn't realize it, that toughness shows itself every time he fights through the pain and makes even the smallest trip around the condo. As for your Grandma, she continues a life filled with sacrfice. She raised six children over the span of 40 years, and as your Grandpa's health has deteriorated after he was forced to retire almost 29 years ago, she has stuck by his side, often literally.
I will continue to write about them so you understand just how wonderful they have been and how much their influence has shaped my life. But today, I will leave you with a song I wrote about five years ago:
Take a closer look
Alone in a lobby
a boy wonders why
You become a man on the day
you see the strongest man cry
The distance between us
made it hard to connect
But the passage of time
was a door to respect
When you're searching for heroes
you don't have to go far
'cause they don't hit a baseball
or play a guitar
You won't find 'em in the TV
You won't find 'em in a book
You'll find 'em right in front of you
Take a closer look
See that old man
struggling upstairs with a cane
He's always been so much more
to those who proudly wear his name
He spent years fighting fires
He outsmarted bombs
And to five sons and a daughter
his ethic passed on
Witness to an agony
no one could explain
Every man becomes a boy
when his mother's in pain
Through all my fears, in all these years
I found comfort in one place
Though we never made it easy
she keeps a smile on her face
When you're searching for heroes
you don't have to go far
'cause they don't run for office
or own fancy cars
You won't find 'em on the big screen
You won't find 'em off the hook
You'll find 'em right in front of you
Take a closer look
See that old woman
who's lost the color in her hair
That's from a life of sacrifice
and a family's burdens to bear
Five-plus decades and counting
winter, spring, summer and fall
Being there for everyone
is the hardest job of all
When you're searching for heroes
you don't have to go far
In those old familiar places,
right there they are
I called your Grandma Pallister today to check in and see how things were going. She didn't sound like her usual positive self; she sounded detached, precoccupied. We talked for a few minutes and I asked her if eveyrhting was OK. She said your Grandpa Pallister wasn't doing well. He's had leg problems for a while, but now, apparently, he can hardly walk. That's tough on both of them. It's very difficult for your Grandpa to struggle so much to do simple things like walking to the kitchen, given the life he lived. In his heyday, your Grandpa was a man's man. He was a Chicago firefighter for almost 30 years, and he worked on a moving truck as a second job for decades. He has always been a very tough man, and even though he doesn't realize it, that toughness shows itself every time he fights through the pain and makes even the smallest trip around the condo. As for your Grandma, she continues a life filled with sacrfice. She raised six children over the span of 40 years, and as your Grandpa's health has deteriorated after he was forced to retire almost 29 years ago, she has stuck by his side, often literally.
I will continue to write about them so you understand just how wonderful they have been and how much their influence has shaped my life. But today, I will leave you with a song I wrote about five years ago:
Take a closer look
Alone in a lobby
a boy wonders why
You become a man on the day
you see the strongest man cry
The distance between us
made it hard to connect
But the passage of time
was a door to respect
When you're searching for heroes
you don't have to go far
'cause they don't hit a baseball
or play a guitar
You won't find 'em in the TV
You won't find 'em in a book
You'll find 'em right in front of you
Take a closer look
See that old man
struggling upstairs with a cane
He's always been so much more
to those who proudly wear his name
He spent years fighting fires
He outsmarted bombs
And to five sons and a daughter
his ethic passed on
Witness to an agony
no one could explain
Every man becomes a boy
when his mother's in pain
Through all my fears, in all these years
I found comfort in one place
Though we never made it easy
she keeps a smile on her face
When you're searching for heroes
you don't have to go far
'cause they don't run for office
or own fancy cars
You won't find 'em on the big screen
You won't find 'em off the hook
You'll find 'em right in front of you
Take a closer look
See that old woman
who's lost the color in her hair
That's from a life of sacrifice
and a family's burdens to bear
Five-plus decades and counting
winter, spring, summer and fall
Being there for everyone
is the hardest job of all
When you're searching for heroes
you don't have to go far
In those old familiar places,
right there they are
Friday, November 25, 2011
Parents and children
Case,
It's the last night of our visit to Chicago. We're sharing the remaining few hours with your Grandma and Grandpa Pallister over way too much Chinese food. You're currently mesmerized by a colorful snowman figurine your Aunt Patti got for you (Thanks, Patti!).
As I mentioned earlier, this visit marked the first time your Grandpa Pallister met you. He's 80 now, and he can't travel. In the year since I last saw him, he's lost about 50 pounds. It's tough to see the strongest man you've ever known look so frail. But seeing you made him happy beyond words, happier than I've ever seen him. Ditto for your Grandma Pallister, who was overjoyed to see you again. She's 78 and doesn't get around like she used to, but you'd never know it from the hectic schedule she keeps. She truly is a wonder.
Anyway, I just wanted to "introduce" you a little more to the two people who are responsible for making me the man who loves you with all my heart and will do whatever it takes to make sure you grow up happy. As they have always done for me, I will put your needs first, and no
sacrifice will be too big. They have lived for me and your aunts and uncles, as I now live for you.
Before I sign off, I will leave you with a letter I wrote to your Grandma and Grandpa Pallister late last night, as I sat in a darkened room alone, smiling at the thought of what they meant to me and crying at the thought of them having limited opportunities to watch you grow into the funny, smart, strong boy I know you will be.
Mom & Dad,
I know I have not always been the best son, but I think I've become a good man. And I'm going to need to be, as the greatest challenge of my life, that of parenthood, lies ahead of me.
I am ready to meet that challenge because of who I am, and who I am I owe entirely to you. You have taught me through example the value of hard work and sacrifice and the meaning of unconditional love. It's those lessons that will guide me in raising Case.
This visit has been wonderful, but all too brief and intensely bittersweet.
Dad, seeing the smile on your face when I placed Case in your arms for the first time is an image I will carry with me forever. And Mom, watching you interact with him is priceless. Yet those moments also are heartbreaking.
I desperately want you to watch Case grow up, and I want him to experience so much of that unconditional love that shaped my life, even to this day. But ultimately, time and circumstance will limit those opportunities.
I know you have always been proud of me for making my own way in life. Even so, it's always been a little tough to return to my latest job and latest home -- no matter how much practice I've gotten over the years. Now, however, with a beautiful grandson and the heavy burden of mortality thrown into the mix, I feel I'm letting you down. I know that you, of all people, understand I'm doing what I need to do for my family. After all, that's what you taught me. But I still feel a sense of guilt because you've always been there for me, and I feel as if I'm abandoning you.
I could never repay you for everything you've done and continue to do for me. But I promise I will do my best to raise Case the way you raised me so that your legacies will live on with him and the man he becomes.
Love,
Matt
It's the last night of our visit to Chicago. We're sharing the remaining few hours with your Grandma and Grandpa Pallister over way too much Chinese food. You're currently mesmerized by a colorful snowman figurine your Aunt Patti got for you (Thanks, Patti!).
As I mentioned earlier, this visit marked the first time your Grandpa Pallister met you. He's 80 now, and he can't travel. In the year since I last saw him, he's lost about 50 pounds. It's tough to see the strongest man you've ever known look so frail. But seeing you made him happy beyond words, happier than I've ever seen him. Ditto for your Grandma Pallister, who was overjoyed to see you again. She's 78 and doesn't get around like she used to, but you'd never know it from the hectic schedule she keeps. She truly is a wonder.
Anyway, I just wanted to "introduce" you a little more to the two people who are responsible for making me the man who loves you with all my heart and will do whatever it takes to make sure you grow up happy. As they have always done for me, I will put your needs first, and no
sacrifice will be too big. They have lived for me and your aunts and uncles, as I now live for you.
Before I sign off, I will leave you with a letter I wrote to your Grandma and Grandpa Pallister late last night, as I sat in a darkened room alone, smiling at the thought of what they meant to me and crying at the thought of them having limited opportunities to watch you grow into the funny, smart, strong boy I know you will be.
Mom & Dad,
I know I have not always been the best son, but I think I've become a good man. And I'm going to need to be, as the greatest challenge of my life, that of parenthood, lies ahead of me.
I am ready to meet that challenge because of who I am, and who I am I owe entirely to you. You have taught me through example the value of hard work and sacrifice and the meaning of unconditional love. It's those lessons that will guide me in raising Case.
This visit has been wonderful, but all too brief and intensely bittersweet.
Dad, seeing the smile on your face when I placed Case in your arms for the first time is an image I will carry with me forever. And Mom, watching you interact with him is priceless. Yet those moments also are heartbreaking.
I desperately want you to watch Case grow up, and I want him to experience so much of that unconditional love that shaped my life, even to this day. But ultimately, time and circumstance will limit those opportunities.
I know you have always been proud of me for making my own way in life. Even so, it's always been a little tough to return to my latest job and latest home -- no matter how much practice I've gotten over the years. Now, however, with a beautiful grandson and the heavy burden of mortality thrown into the mix, I feel I'm letting you down. I know that you, of all people, understand I'm doing what I need to do for my family. After all, that's what you taught me. But I still feel a sense of guilt because you've always been there for me, and I feel as if I'm abandoning you.
I could never repay you for everything you've done and continue to do for me. But I promise I will do my best to raise Case the way you raised me so that your legacies will live on with him and the man he becomes.
Love,
Matt
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Big day, part 2
Case,
We've been home two minutes, and I'm already back in my sweats and sleeveless shirt. You're still in your christening suit, complete with shoes that have fancy crosses embroidered on the soles. It's the first time you've worn shoes without kicking them off in minutes (it's a big day in more than one way!). I'm guessing you'd be kicking these off if you were awake, but it seems you finally hit the wall (Well, typing that last sentence appears to have jinxed you, as you're now starting to stir). And there we go. Mom just took your shoes off.
I hope you grab a nap before tonight's meet-as-many-Pallisters-as-Uncle-Mark-can-fit-in-his-house-pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving dinner. You've had a long few days. We left for Chicago on Sunday night after I got off work, drove a couple hours and stopped for the night in some town in Maryland. I think it was Cumberland, but it doesn't matter. Every town in Maryland except for Annapolis is terrible. Luckily, we live in Annapolis. West Virginia, when it takes the time to ponder its place in the world, thinks, "At least I'm not Maryland." We got up Monday morning and headed to Indianapolis. You were awesome for the eight-plus hours, including a stop for lunch in Wheeling, a mountain town/city in the aforementioned West Virginia. You were the hit of Coleman's Fish Market. After a nice night in Indy with your mom's oldest friend and her wondeful family, we got up even earlier Tuesday to drive the final few hours to Chicago (Real quick: on your first trip through the Windy City, here's what you missed: Sox Park, the Sears Tower, the Hancock Building, O'Hare International Airport, approximately 23,000 cars, the same number of banquet halls and one annoyingly slow train). Anyway, your dad gets quite impatient when he gets that close, and I was especially anxious for you to meet your Grandpa Pallister (more later on that moment, which was probably the most bittersweet of my life).
Three ounces of formula later, you've now gone back to sleep and I'm still typing. Back to your christening after that lengthy verbal tangent. It went swimmingly, despite the awkwardness of having to stand next to your Godfather (Uncle Mark) the whole time just two days after I suffered a crushing fantasy football defeat to him that essentially ended my playoff hopes. All kidding aside, I am very thankful to Mark and your Aunt Patti, who stood in for your Godmother Marnie, who I believe was surfing in Hawaii during the ceremony. As I suspected, you looked great. The shoes, the vest, the bow tie. Even the hat that made you look like you were going to a Czechoslovakian disco (look up the Saturday Night Live reference) was a memorable accessory.
You've now awoken, and damn if you don't look like the coolest baby in the world rocking your tie and pacifier as if you were born with them. I'm so proud of you, Magoo. I can't wait for us to share more big days. Hopefully, though, we can both dress down a bit for the next few. :)
Love,
Dad
We've been home two minutes, and I'm already back in my sweats and sleeveless shirt. You're still in your christening suit, complete with shoes that have fancy crosses embroidered on the soles. It's the first time you've worn shoes without kicking them off in minutes (it's a big day in more than one way!). I'm guessing you'd be kicking these off if you were awake, but it seems you finally hit the wall (Well, typing that last sentence appears to have jinxed you, as you're now starting to stir). And there we go. Mom just took your shoes off.
I hope you grab a nap before tonight's meet-as-many-Pallisters-as-Uncle-Mark-can-fit-in-his-house-pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving dinner. You've had a long few days. We left for Chicago on Sunday night after I got off work, drove a couple hours and stopped for the night in some town in Maryland. I think it was Cumberland, but it doesn't matter. Every town in Maryland except for Annapolis is terrible. Luckily, we live in Annapolis. West Virginia, when it takes the time to ponder its place in the world, thinks, "At least I'm not Maryland." We got up Monday morning and headed to Indianapolis. You were awesome for the eight-plus hours, including a stop for lunch in Wheeling, a mountain town/city in the aforementioned West Virginia. You were the hit of Coleman's Fish Market. After a nice night in Indy with your mom's oldest friend and her wondeful family, we got up even earlier Tuesday to drive the final few hours to Chicago (Real quick: on your first trip through the Windy City, here's what you missed: Sox Park, the Sears Tower, the Hancock Building, O'Hare International Airport, approximately 23,000 cars, the same number of banquet halls and one annoyingly slow train). Anyway, your dad gets quite impatient when he gets that close, and I was especially anxious for you to meet your Grandpa Pallister (more later on that moment, which was probably the most bittersweet of my life).
Three ounces of formula later, you've now gone back to sleep and I'm still typing. Back to your christening after that lengthy verbal tangent. It went swimmingly, despite the awkwardness of having to stand next to your Godfather (Uncle Mark) the whole time just two days after I suffered a crushing fantasy football defeat to him that essentially ended my playoff hopes. All kidding aside, I am very thankful to Mark and your Aunt Patti, who stood in for your Godmother Marnie, who I believe was surfing in Hawaii during the ceremony. As I suspected, you looked great. The shoes, the vest, the bow tie. Even the hat that made you look like you were going to a Czechoslovakian disco (look up the Saturday Night Live reference) was a memorable accessory.
You've now awoken, and damn if you don't look like the coolest baby in the world rocking your tie and pacifier as if you were born with them. I'm so proud of you, Magoo. I can't wait for us to share more big days. Hopefully, though, we can both dress down a bit for the next few. :)
Love,
Dad
Big day
Case,
We're sitting in the living room of your Grandma and Grandpa Pallister, and your baptism is 90 minutes away. Your mom, Grandma and Grandpa are all getting ready, while we lounge around -- you in your diaper and nothing else, me in a pair of sweats and a sleeveless Bears shirt. I feel overdressed. And speaking of that, we're the cup of coffee in front of me away from having to join everyone else in putting on our Wednesday best. I've got to put on pants, a belt and a nice shirt, but it's worth it for your big day, although I could probably wear my current get-up because all eyes will be on you and your white christening suit. I have to admit, you're gonna look good. Quite dapper. You even have custom-made shoes and a hat. Once you put that suit on, it will have taken you exactly 14 weeks of life to get into an outfit nicer than anything your dad has ever owned. OK, with that last sip of coffee, it's time.
Love,
Dad
Edit: Apparently, it was not time. Someone is tired, cranky and doesn't want to get dressed up. And you're not happy, either. Looks like we're gonna try this again when we get to the church.
We're sitting in the living room of your Grandma and Grandpa Pallister, and your baptism is 90 minutes away. Your mom, Grandma and Grandpa are all getting ready, while we lounge around -- you in your diaper and nothing else, me in a pair of sweats and a sleeveless Bears shirt. I feel overdressed. And speaking of that, we're the cup of coffee in front of me away from having to join everyone else in putting on our Wednesday best. I've got to put on pants, a belt and a nice shirt, but it's worth it for your big day, although I could probably wear my current get-up because all eyes will be on you and your white christening suit. I have to admit, you're gonna look good. Quite dapper. You even have custom-made shoes and a hat. Once you put that suit on, it will have taken you exactly 14 weeks of life to get into an outfit nicer than anything your dad has ever owned. OK, with that last sip of coffee, it's time.
Love,
Dad
Edit: Apparently, it was not time. Someone is tired, cranky and doesn't want to get dressed up. And you're not happy, either. Looks like we're gonna try this again when we get to the church.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Food for thought
Case,
I'm very excited for our upcoming trip to Chicago for the week of Thanksgiving. Your Grandpa Pallister is gonna light up when he sees you for the first time. And your Grandma Pallister has been waiting to kiss you again since the moment she left Annapolis after visiting during the first few weeks of your life.
Even though you won't remember, it will be the most memorable holiday of my life to this point. To spend time with you, your mom and your grandparents, not to mention a boatload of aunts, uncles and cousins, will be unforgettable.
I couldn't pick a better day, Magoo, for your first holiday experience. Thanksgiving is all about food and football. Oh, and giving thanks. :) But back to food and football. How cool is that?
I suspect your favorite holiday once you start actively taking part in them will be Christmas. Kids tend to like getting tons of free stuff. Adults, too; we're just not supposed to admit it. I have a feeling, though, that Thanksgiving will grow on you. I hope to teach you the simple pleasures of all-you-can-eat lumpy potatoes (luckily, your mom is a five-star potato chef) and I CANNOT WAIT for the first time you get up in the middle of dinner to check on the score of the game. The looks on the faces of those who don't understand this particular genetic urge will be priceless.
Of course, the downside to your first Thanksgiving is that you can't eat any of the food. That doesn't seem fair. Do they make turkey-flavored formula?
Love,
Dad
I'm very excited for our upcoming trip to Chicago for the week of Thanksgiving. Your Grandpa Pallister is gonna light up when he sees you for the first time. And your Grandma Pallister has been waiting to kiss you again since the moment she left Annapolis after visiting during the first few weeks of your life.
Even though you won't remember, it will be the most memorable holiday of my life to this point. To spend time with you, your mom and your grandparents, not to mention a boatload of aunts, uncles and cousins, will be unforgettable.
I couldn't pick a better day, Magoo, for your first holiday experience. Thanksgiving is all about food and football. Oh, and giving thanks. :) But back to food and football. How cool is that?
I suspect your favorite holiday once you start actively taking part in them will be Christmas. Kids tend to like getting tons of free stuff. Adults, too; we're just not supposed to admit it. I have a feeling, though, that Thanksgiving will grow on you. I hope to teach you the simple pleasures of all-you-can-eat lumpy potatoes (luckily, your mom is a five-star potato chef) and I CANNOT WAIT for the first time you get up in the middle of dinner to check on the score of the game. The looks on the faces of those who don't understand this particular genetic urge will be priceless.
Of course, the downside to your first Thanksgiving is that you can't eat any of the food. That doesn't seem fair. Do they make turkey-flavored formula?
Love,
Dad
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Whirlwind
I could never have imagined
that I would have such luck
Took a diff'rent turn one day,
the future opened up
In front of me a purpose,
behind me heavy thoughts
Energized and hypnotized
by lightning I had caught
I could never have envisioned
how quickly things take shape
One night in Bohemia,
the next another state
I never dreamed in focus,
but I always looked ahead
I never thought it hopeless,
despite what I had said
Fate is never simple,
and destiny's no end;
it's just a new beginning,
a chance to not pretend
It introduces meaning
and the ones we put above
It lets you slip into a life
that fits more like a glove
On a morning to remember,
eighteen past the seven
One more greets the world
No more days unleavened
All our fears they fade away,
but soon they'll be replaced
Late nights in a darkened room,
our future in a face
On a morning in September,
not yet a month had passed
"Cherish all the time you have,
they grow up oh so fast."
In the middle of the whirlwind,
there's calm before the storm
There's silence in that moment
when many thoughts are born
Where will our journey take us?
What will tomorrow bring?
What's next to discover?
And what next will we sing?
In the middle of the kitchen,
the sacrifice we make
Shaking up reality,
just trying to awake
I never dreamed in focus,
but I always looked ahead
I never thought it hopeless,
despite what I had said
Fate is never simple,
and destiny's no end;
it's just a new beginning,
a chance to not pretend
It introduces meaning
and the ones we put above
It lets you slip into a life
that fits more like a glove
I am ready for the challenge,
for which I think I'm made
But only one thing's certain:
of this I'm not afraid
With you to walk beside me,
sometimes a step ahead,
we've found a comfort level;
we've made our queen-sized bed
I am ready for the unknown,
a happy masochist
We're in this thing together --
small joys and laundry lists
that I would have such luck
Took a diff'rent turn one day,
the future opened up
In front of me a purpose,
behind me heavy thoughts
Energized and hypnotized
by lightning I had caught
I could never have envisioned
how quickly things take shape
One night in Bohemia,
the next another state
I never dreamed in focus,
but I always looked ahead
I never thought it hopeless,
despite what I had said
Fate is never simple,
and destiny's no end;
it's just a new beginning,
a chance to not pretend
It introduces meaning
and the ones we put above
It lets you slip into a life
that fits more like a glove
On a morning to remember,
eighteen past the seven
One more greets the world
No more days unleavened
All our fears they fade away,
but soon they'll be replaced
Late nights in a darkened room,
our future in a face
On a morning in September,
not yet a month had passed
"Cherish all the time you have,
they grow up oh so fast."
In the middle of the whirlwind,
there's calm before the storm
There's silence in that moment
when many thoughts are born
Where will our journey take us?
What will tomorrow bring?
What's next to discover?
And what next will we sing?
In the middle of the kitchen,
the sacrifice we make
Shaking up reality,
just trying to awake
I never dreamed in focus,
but I always looked ahead
I never thought it hopeless,
despite what I had said
Fate is never simple,
and destiny's no end;
it's just a new beginning,
a chance to not pretend
It introduces meaning
and the ones we put above
It lets you slip into a life
that fits more like a glove
I am ready for the challenge,
for which I think I'm made
But only one thing's certain:
of this I'm not afraid
With you to walk beside me,
sometimes a step ahead,
we've found a comfort level;
we've made our queen-sized bed
I am ready for the unknown,
a happy masochist
We're in this thing together --
small joys and laundry lists
Saturday, November 5, 2011
A short rebuttal to Mom
Case,
1) Your Grandpa Pallister was quite adept with chopsticks in his heyday, so let's hope that's one of those traits that skips a generation.
2) Wraps are the food of the Gods -- if the Gods were a group of cheap single guys with no patience for cooking.
3) Your Mom has a few quirks of her own, chief among them her mystical understanding of me. If you're ever lucky enough to find someone who "gets you," especially if she's as funny and hot as your Mom (embarrassed yet?), hang on and enjoy.
Love,
Dad
1) Your Grandpa Pallister was quite adept with chopsticks in his heyday, so let's hope that's one of those traits that skips a generation.
2) Wraps are the food of the Gods -- if the Gods were a group of cheap single guys with no patience for cooking.
3) Your Mom has a few quirks of her own, chief among them her mystical understanding of me. If you're ever lucky enough to find someone who "gets you," especially if she's as funny and hot as your Mom (embarrassed yet?), hang on and enjoy.
Love,
Dad
That's What Sushi Said
OK, Magoo, we have a special guest blogger today. Take it away, Mom!
My Dearest Little Case,
When I first met your dad, he had a lot of issues. To be honest, Case, your dad was weird. He would randomly do push-ups in public places. Because he was bored. He didn't have online banking. Seriously, he would drive twenty miles to the closest bank just to check his balance. He wore horrifying Bears shirts that homeless men would burn in their trash cans. He played his music so loud that Helen Keller donned ear plugs in her grave.
Now, I knew your dad was going to be a great father. So I wasn't worried about that when I found out I was pregnant. But it occurred to me he might pass on some of his quirks. Yes, quirks is a better word than "issues." And I wondered how he might adapt once you arrived. Would he blast his music at the playground? Would social services intercept our family if the two of you happened to be walking under a bridge together? These were concerns that plagued me.
Well, my concerns were unfounded. Sort of. As I type this your father is singing "Who Let the Dogs Out?" to you. I hope by the time you read this, all members of the Baja men have been eaten by Rottweilers. But, if not, you should Google (is that still around?) the song. And mock your father. He also currently has you dressed in gym teacher gray sweat pants and a shirt with yellow tractors that has no business being matched with your current athletic wear. But I will scurry you away shortly to change your clothes. Your father has no awareness that I do this on a regular basis.
But, beyond these small transgressions, your father has basically become a new man since your arrival. He dresses (a little) bit better. He recently added sleeves to his general wardrobe. He is more cognizant of his swearing. That doesn't mean he's stopped. He's just more aware. This is a substantial change. And instead of relaying hisboring Rain Man Bears statistics and anecdotes, he talks about you. And his pride in you. And your overall infant perfection. Seriously, your parents cannot get over the fact we created something as beautiful as you. Maybe your dad can write a post about that later. I digress. But last night there was a little incident that illustrates your father and his recent transformation to the 19th-century modern male. (Again, 19th century is an improvement)
We went out for sushi. This, by itself, is a shocking area of advancement for your father. This is a person who made spaghetti wraps before you were born. (As a side note, your dad is obsessed with wraps. It's another one of his quirks. Every freaking night I ask him what he wants for dinner. I can roast a chicken, make homemade soup, bake a little ziti, whatever he wants. Without fail he responds "How 'bout some wraps?" It's not even a dinner food!! )
I had to explain sushi to your father once we got there, but I give him credit for going into the situation open-minded. We got some basic sushi rolls -- nothing too weird. I like eel, but your dad has his limits. And he's probably right. So we started off with a little salad and ginger dressing. Your father gingerly (pun!) handled his chopsticks as he attempted to escort a little lettuce into his mouth. One attempt. Two attempts. Three attempts. Four attempts. Five attempts. Six attempts. Seven attempts. Eight attempts. We were basically counting Indians at this point. The entire waitstaff is standing mere feet away, completely transfixed. I attempted to help your father by capturing his failure with my camera phone.
Our server finally stepped in, probably after she had posted a video of this debacle to YouTube. But instead of handing your father a fork, she handed him "chopstick helpers," which is basically a device used to train toddlers on how to use these tricky utensils. Your father looked a little sheepish. I did not make fun of him AT ALL. But your dad gamely went ahead and utilized his new tools. One attempt. Two attempt. Three attempts. Four attempts. SCORE!!! Lettuce made it into his mouth!!! (Lettuce really is not worth THAT much effort, Case). But we laughed, and your father's dexterity with chopsticks improved through the next few courses, and we left dinner with a good story, a good picture, and less than 1,000 calories in our stomachs.
I guess my point in those above paragraphs, and in sharing that silly restaurant story, is that I have some hopes for you, my dear. And they are related to your dad.
I hope you are quirky, because it means you don't depend on what other people think about you. And you think for yourself. Your life will be richer for it.
I hope you are willing to try new things. Keep an open mind, but don't feel bad if something is not for you.
I hope you can laugh at yourself. And be a good sport. There is so much humor in the world, in almost every single thing we do. Sometimes it's hard to see that after a long day. Or after a night of no sleep. But a little laughter can make a casual experience so much more fun. Or make a bad experience tolerable. Just look around you. Humor is there.
Finally, I hope I get to guest write on here a little more often. I have so many stories to share with you -- and almost all of them involve making fun of your dad. We will have a lot of laughs at his expense. :)
But I hope you take away a little something from this, too. Yeah, you guys will have some tough moments as you grow older. I'm sure you and I will, too. But I hope that every once in a while, after you have rolled your eyes at yet another one of your dad's quirks, you will also remember these words. And why I am sharing them with you.
Your dad is a great man. He's just dressed in the wrong clothes.
My Dearest Little Case,
When I first met your dad, he had a lot of issues. To be honest, Case, your dad was weird. He would randomly do push-ups in public places. Because he was bored. He didn't have online banking. Seriously, he would drive twenty miles to the closest bank just to check his balance. He wore horrifying Bears shirts that homeless men would burn in their trash cans. He played his music so loud that Helen Keller donned ear plugs in her grave.
Now, I knew your dad was going to be a great father. So I wasn't worried about that when I found out I was pregnant. But it occurred to me he might pass on some of his quirks. Yes, quirks is a better word than "issues." And I wondered how he might adapt once you arrived. Would he blast his music at the playground? Would social services intercept our family if the two of you happened to be walking under a bridge together? These were concerns that plagued me.
Well, my concerns were unfounded. Sort of. As I type this your father is singing "Who Let the Dogs Out?" to you. I hope by the time you read this, all members of the Baja men have been eaten by Rottweilers. But, if not, you should Google (is that still around?) the song. And mock your father. He also currently has you dressed in gym teacher gray sweat pants and a shirt with yellow tractors that has no business being matched with your current athletic wear. But I will scurry you away shortly to change your clothes. Your father has no awareness that I do this on a regular basis.
But, beyond these small transgressions, your father has basically become a new man since your arrival. He dresses (a little) bit better. He recently added sleeves to his general wardrobe. He is more cognizant of his swearing. That doesn't mean he's stopped. He's just more aware. This is a substantial change. And instead of relaying his
We went out for sushi. This, by itself, is a shocking area of advancement for your father. This is a person who made spaghetti wraps before you were born. (As a side note, your dad is obsessed with wraps. It's another one of his quirks. Every freaking night I ask him what he wants for dinner. I can roast a chicken, make homemade soup, bake a little ziti, whatever he wants. Without fail he responds "How 'bout some wraps?" It's not even a dinner food!! )
I had to explain sushi to your father once we got there, but I give him credit for going into the situation open-minded. We got some basic sushi rolls -- nothing too weird. I like eel, but your dad has his limits. And he's probably right. So we started off with a little salad and ginger dressing. Your father gingerly (pun!) handled his chopsticks as he attempted to escort a little lettuce into his mouth. One attempt. Two attempts. Three attempts. Four attempts. Five attempts. Six attempts. Seven attempts. Eight attempts. We were basically counting Indians at this point. The entire waitstaff is standing mere feet away, completely transfixed. I attempted to help your father by capturing his failure with my camera phone.
Our server finally stepped in, probably after she had posted a video of this debacle to YouTube. But instead of handing your father a fork, she handed him "chopstick helpers," which is basically a device used to train toddlers on how to use these tricky utensils. Your father looked a little sheepish. I did not make fun of him AT ALL. But your dad gamely went ahead and utilized his new tools. One attempt. Two attempt. Three attempts. Four attempts. SCORE!!! Lettuce made it into his mouth!!! (Lettuce really is not worth THAT much effort, Case). But we laughed, and your father's dexterity with chopsticks improved through the next few courses, and we left dinner with a good story, a good picture, and less than 1,000 calories in our stomachs.
I guess my point in those above paragraphs, and in sharing that silly restaurant story, is that I have some hopes for you, my dear. And they are related to your dad.
I hope you are quirky, because it means you don't depend on what other people think about you. And you think for yourself. Your life will be richer for it.
I hope you are willing to try new things. Keep an open mind, but don't feel bad if something is not for you.
I hope you can laugh at yourself. And be a good sport. There is so much humor in the world, in almost every single thing we do. Sometimes it's hard to see that after a long day. Or after a night of no sleep. But a little laughter can make a casual experience so much more fun. Or make a bad experience tolerable. Just look around you. Humor is there.
Finally, I hope I get to guest write on here a little more often. I have so many stories to share with you -- and almost all of them involve making fun of your dad. We will have a lot of laughs at his expense. :)
But I hope you take away a little something from this, too. Yeah, you guys will have some tough moments as you grow older. I'm sure you and I will, too. But I hope that every once in a while, after you have rolled your eyes at yet another one of your dad's quirks, you will also remember these words. And why I am sharing them with you.
Your dad is a great man. He's just dressed in the wrong clothes.
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