Xboy will have to wait. I have an announcement to make.
There is a baby in the house!
She is beautiful and perfect, and I am much happier about this development than I expected to be. Sure, I thought I would be pleased to see my granddaughter. I just didn’t know how intensely happy I would be. I remember crying in the middle of the night and dirty diapers and the constant need for attention even after a long, exhausting day at work.
I forgot about the magic of a tiny, perfect little life in my arms. I forgot about the tiny yawns and the soft breath and the absolute peace of an infant’s slumber. And I never before knew what it was to be a grandparent. It is a different feeling, knowing the joy without the stress and fear of the ultimate responsibility.
It was a wonderful thing to wake up this morning with Granny bringing that girl into our room for some snuggling before I had to get ready for work. It is a wonderful thing knowing I’ll go home later today to watch her sleep on her mother’s chest.
I think I like this.
I should add, with perfect objectivity, that my granddaughter is the most beautiful baby alive. I told my daughter after the long, hard labor, that I was glad she didn’t get one of those ugly babies. She did well. Despite my fears and frustrations, despite the poor choices that got her into this, she did well.
Unexpectedly, the baby’s father was at the delivery. We didn’t expect him to show, but he did. And he passed out! That’s my favorite part of the story. The guy passed out, and they had to revive him with smelling salts. I want someone to tell that story at my funeral.
My second favorite story was from yesterday. Instead of cigars, I’m passing out bottles of beer in celebration. I made pink labels with the baby’s name, date of birth and weight. When I was in the store yesterday buying the beer to celebrate my granddaughter’s birth, the checker asked for my ID!
I’m a happy man.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
And Now, Meet the Drama Queen
Since there is nothing else to do while we await the arrival of grandchild number one, perhaps this is the perfect time to introduce the other migrane machines--I mean “adorable teenagers”--in our life.
You already know something about The Daughter, who is soon to give us The Granddaughter. She is Granny’s oldest. Granny’s other bundle of joy is a high school sophomore we’ll call The Drama Queen, for reasons that will soon become obvious.
Our lovely Drama Queen--like her mother and sister, she is lovely--has only two settings: Totally Drama and Comatose. The Totally Drama setting is on whenever she is awake. At this setting, everything is critically important, and everything is an emergency.
Let’s say, for example, that Gramps eats her two-day-old half-eaten hamburger out of the refrigerator. Her response, in a loud, high pitched voice that wakes up the neighbor’s cat three blocks away, will include the following significant facts:
You already know something about The Daughter, who is soon to give us The Granddaughter. She is Granny’s oldest. Granny’s other bundle of joy is a high school sophomore we’ll call The Drama Queen, for reasons that will soon become obvious.
Our lovely Drama Queen--like her mother and sister, she is lovely--has only two settings: Totally Drama and Comatose. The Totally Drama setting is on whenever she is awake. At this setting, everything is critically important, and everything is an emergency.
Let’s say, for example, that Gramps eats her two-day-old half-eaten hamburger out of the refrigerator. Her response, in a loud, high pitched voice that wakes up the neighbor’s cat three blocks away, will include the following significant facts:
- I was going to eat that.
- You knew I was going to eat that.
- Now there is nothing to eat in the entire house and I will die of starvation.
- Everybody else always eats my food and I never get to eat what I want.
- I was going to eat that.
- My life is completely unfair.
- I was going to eat that.
Listen in to this representative conversation between Drama Queen and Granny-to-be:
DQ: Can you pick my friends and me up from the movies on Thursday?
G: Thursday? You mean Thanksgiving Day?
DQ: Yeah, I guess.
G: That is a family day. You’re not going out with your friends.
DQ: Oh my God, Mom! I have plans!
G: It’s Thanksgiving Day, for heaven’s sake. We have plans on Thanksgiving Day every year. Didn’t you think of that?
DQ: But Mom, you know I wanted to do this for a long time.
G: You’re staying home with us.
DQ: That’s not fair!
G: Nevertheless, that’s what’s happening.
DQ: You never let me do what I want. This is so not fair. I’m so mad my whole body is shaking. I want to scream.
G: Yes, dear, that’s nice.
DQ: Ooooh, I’m so mad. That’s not fair. (Stomps off down the hall.)
And that’s our middle child in a nutshell. Her entire world crashes down around her every day, but somehow she just manages to keep it together until the next big crisis, such as when her trollish parents won’t give her a birthday party worthy of MTV’s My Super Sweet 16.
NEXT TIME: Meet the final member of the cast, my son, who believes that life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and eight hours a day of uninterrupted Xbox time are all natural human rights. Let’s call him Xboy.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Ready or Not...
There should be a new addition to our household within four weeks.
I’m not ready for this. Granny, who has apparently forgotten what it is like to have a screaming, pooping, needy infant in the house, can’t wait. Our daughter can’t wait. Her sister can’t wait. Am I the only sane one in the house?
I will admit that I have had some pleasant moments daydreaming about teaching my young granddaughter about the infield fly rule, reading to her, taking walks with her and watching birds in our backyard together. (Do you think she has to learn how to walk before she can learn to chase cats?) Nevertheless, her arrival will mark the beginning of an extremely stressful transition. That is the nature of things, even in the best of circumstances.
In the last couple of weeks, we are getting not-so-subtle hints that this may not be the best of circumstances. Start with a healthy dose of teenage drama, stir in a hormonal girl with a baby on the way, add a dash of young man with the common sense of earwax, broil over a half dozen angry late-night telephone conversations, and you have a potent stew that will make your stomach turn.
Yes, for about the sixth time since my daughter became pregnant, she and the father of the child have broken off all contact. This has been the most angry and bitter of the breakups to date. There is a possibility that they will never attempt to patch things up. But the odds are also good that within a few weeks, my daughter will be convinced she can never live without the boy.
One of the issues is child support. He doesn’t think he should be saddled with the indignity of being forced by the state to pay. My daughter should trust him to do the right thing, he says. I’d be more convinced if he were already doing the right thing by his first child. He has a track record, all right, and he’s dropped the baton every time.
Due to his anger (perhaps fear?) over the possibility of being forced to pay his fair share as well as the results of a few other games that high school kids know how to play so well, venom is being sprayed liberally in both directions. I really hope that by the time my granddaughter is old enough to understand what is going on in the world, my daughter and the father will have at least learned to be civil. No child should ever witness that sort of hatred between parents. It makes me sad to think that my granddaughter might be so abused.
In one conversation, the boy first said that if he had to pay child support, he wouldn’t ever have anything to do with the child. Then, in the next breath, he said he’d go to court to get custody of her. You can imagine that shook up my daughter more than a little bit. At this point, she doesn’t want him to have anything to do with the child. And all this with less than a month to go.
My belief is that someday these two kids will settle down and mature enough to figure out that doing right by their daughter is their first responsibility. I just hope they learn that lesson before they do too much damage to this little girl who doesn’t deserve any of it.
I’m not ready for this. Granny, who has apparently forgotten what it is like to have a screaming, pooping, needy infant in the house, can’t wait. Our daughter can’t wait. Her sister can’t wait. Am I the only sane one in the house?
I will admit that I have had some pleasant moments daydreaming about teaching my young granddaughter about the infield fly rule, reading to her, taking walks with her and watching birds in our backyard together. (Do you think she has to learn how to walk before she can learn to chase cats?) Nevertheless, her arrival will mark the beginning of an extremely stressful transition. That is the nature of things, even in the best of circumstances.
In the last couple of weeks, we are getting not-so-subtle hints that this may not be the best of circumstances. Start with a healthy dose of teenage drama, stir in a hormonal girl with a baby on the way, add a dash of young man with the common sense of earwax, broil over a half dozen angry late-night telephone conversations, and you have a potent stew that will make your stomach turn.
Yes, for about the sixth time since my daughter became pregnant, she and the father of the child have broken off all contact. This has been the most angry and bitter of the breakups to date. There is a possibility that they will never attempt to patch things up. But the odds are also good that within a few weeks, my daughter will be convinced she can never live without the boy.
One of the issues is child support. He doesn’t think he should be saddled with the indignity of being forced by the state to pay. My daughter should trust him to do the right thing, he says. I’d be more convinced if he were already doing the right thing by his first child. He has a track record, all right, and he’s dropped the baton every time.
Due to his anger (perhaps fear?) over the possibility of being forced to pay his fair share as well as the results of a few other games that high school kids know how to play so well, venom is being sprayed liberally in both directions. I really hope that by the time my granddaughter is old enough to understand what is going on in the world, my daughter and the father will have at least learned to be civil. No child should ever witness that sort of hatred between parents. It makes me sad to think that my granddaughter might be so abused.
In one conversation, the boy first said that if he had to pay child support, he wouldn’t ever have anything to do with the child. Then, in the next breath, he said he’d go to court to get custody of her. You can imagine that shook up my daughter more than a little bit. At this point, she doesn’t want him to have anything to do with the child. And all this with less than a month to go.
My belief is that someday these two kids will settle down and mature enough to figure out that doing right by their daughter is their first responsibility. I just hope they learn that lesson before they do too much damage to this little girl who doesn’t deserve any of it.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Baby Shower of Death Claims One Old Victim
Has it really been more than four stinking months? This means either I am a lazy slob or things have been absolutely crazy at the Old People’s Home.
Let’s go with that second thing.
Since I live in a house with three women (and a teenage boy on the weekends), then it goes without saying that things are a little nuts even in the best of times. Add a pregnant daughter, a wife who is starting a new job, a heart attack for my father-in-law and a rapidly diminishing stock of beer on hand, and you can imagine why I am wondering if Armageddon is just around the corner.
Today, let’s discuss the pregnancy. The good news is that mother and baby are both healthy, and there are only about five weeks until the due date. Now for the craziness. My daughter has been in the hospital three different times to calm early contractions. Until the most recent checkup, the baby was breech. And, what could have been the coup de grace to my sanity, the baby shower.
Ah, yes, the baby shower. It seems harmless enough, doesn’t it? Even the words that make up the phrase “baby shower” seem gentle and relaxing. After all, who doesn’t like a cuddly baby or a refreshing summer rain shower? When someone mentions a baby shower, don’t you immediately think of images of women in hats and gloves, with doilies and teapots nearby?
A baby shower is anything but harmless, especially if my wife is planning it. “But dear,” she will say, “It was very successful.” Yes, it was an incredibly successful event, but for someone of my personality, it was a torture so horrendous that the only people who should ever be subjected to it in the bowels of hell are Hitler, and players and fans of the San Francisco Giants.
One thing you should know about my curmudgeonly self is that I believe that no person should, under any circumstances, ever, ever, ever, ever spend money. This baby shower had to be spectacular. This baby shower had to be perfect. And it was. Unfortunately, we had to sell our house to pay for it. (On the positive side, we did receive some roomy cardboard boxes that will serve very well until the first winter rains.)
The baby shower also involved people. Despite the fact that my job requires me to interact with people intensely on a daily basis, I am not a people person. In fact, I would be perfectly happy if my wife and I were the only two people on earth. She could putter around Asia during the day while I tinkered in Africa. Then, we could meet back in South America in the evenings to watch baseball on the couch. I could go for that.
But at the baby shower, I actually had to talk to people and act like a congenial host. I think I did a pretty good job. Only once did I shove somebody’s face into the cake (which my daughter decorated, by the way). I may have even smiled a couple of times.
Thankfully, that’s all over and done. The new clothes and toys are put away. My daughter’s room is ready to receive the baby, and we’re all relaxing a little and waiting for the granddaughter to arrive. The next 18 years should be smooth as glass. Right?
Right?!
Let’s go with that second thing.
Since I live in a house with three women (and a teenage boy on the weekends), then it goes without saying that things are a little nuts even in the best of times. Add a pregnant daughter, a wife who is starting a new job, a heart attack for my father-in-law and a rapidly diminishing stock of beer on hand, and you can imagine why I am wondering if Armageddon is just around the corner.
Today, let’s discuss the pregnancy. The good news is that mother and baby are both healthy, and there are only about five weeks until the due date. Now for the craziness. My daughter has been in the hospital three different times to calm early contractions. Until the most recent checkup, the baby was breech. And, what could have been the coup de grace to my sanity, the baby shower.
Ah, yes, the baby shower. It seems harmless enough, doesn’t it? Even the words that make up the phrase “baby shower” seem gentle and relaxing. After all, who doesn’t like a cuddly baby or a refreshing summer rain shower? When someone mentions a baby shower, don’t you immediately think of images of women in hats and gloves, with doilies and teapots nearby?
A baby shower is anything but harmless, especially if my wife is planning it. “But dear,” she will say, “It was very successful.” Yes, it was an incredibly successful event, but for someone of my personality, it was a torture so horrendous that the only people who should ever be subjected to it in the bowels of hell are Hitler, and players and fans of the San Francisco Giants.
One thing you should know about my curmudgeonly self is that I believe that no person should, under any circumstances, ever, ever, ever, ever spend money. This baby shower had to be spectacular. This baby shower had to be perfect. And it was. Unfortunately, we had to sell our house to pay for it. (On the positive side, we did receive some roomy cardboard boxes that will serve very well until the first winter rains.)
The baby shower also involved people. Despite the fact that my job requires me to interact with people intensely on a daily basis, I am not a people person. In fact, I would be perfectly happy if my wife and I were the only two people on earth. She could putter around Asia during the day while I tinkered in Africa. Then, we could meet back in South America in the evenings to watch baseball on the couch. I could go for that.
But at the baby shower, I actually had to talk to people and act like a congenial host. I think I did a pretty good job. Only once did I shove somebody’s face into the cake (which my daughter decorated, by the way). I may have even smiled a couple of times.
Thankfully, that’s all over and done. The new clothes and toys are put away. My daughter’s room is ready to receive the baby, and we’re all relaxing a little and waiting for the granddaughter to arrive. The next 18 years should be smooth as glass. Right?
Right?!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
How Do I Love Thee?
A little more than seven years ago, I married a woman who was raising two children. Our marriage gave her one more. That woman has asked me many times, “Why do you love me?”
An important reason is that she is such a wonderful mother. She loves her children; she aches for them; she fights hard for their best interest in a world that is often cruel. Before I came to love this woman, she was something of a hero to me. As a single mother, she worked hard to build a life for her girls. She often took the more difficult, riskier road because it held the potential for a better future. She grabbed hold of opportunities I would have been afraid to pursue.
This woman is more than just a mother to her daughters. She became a mother to my son. In fact, she is a mother to every child. She could never turn her back on any one of the world’s children. Our home is filled with kids because she encourages them and loves them and welcomes them. (I think, on the other hand, that all kids should be shipped to an island in the middle of the Pacific until they turn at least 25.) If I want to find my wife in a crowded room, I look for the kids.
This woman is a spectacularly wonderful mother, despite her doubts. She will make an excellent grandmother. That’s why I love her.
Happy Mother’s Day, Granny!
An important reason is that she is such a wonderful mother. She loves her children; she aches for them; she fights hard for their best interest in a world that is often cruel. Before I came to love this woman, she was something of a hero to me. As a single mother, she worked hard to build a life for her girls. She often took the more difficult, riskier road because it held the potential for a better future. She grabbed hold of opportunities I would have been afraid to pursue.
This woman is more than just a mother to her daughters. She became a mother to my son. In fact, she is a mother to every child. She could never turn her back on any one of the world’s children. Our home is filled with kids because she encourages them and loves them and welcomes them. (I think, on the other hand, that all kids should be shipped to an island in the middle of the Pacific until they turn at least 25.) If I want to find my wife in a crowded room, I look for the kids.
This woman is a spectacularly wonderful mother, despite her doubts. She will make an excellent grandmother. That’s why I love her.
Happy Mother’s Day, Granny!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Redemption is Oh, So Bitter Sweet!
17 years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful lil' girl who thought me to be perfect in everyway ... "I was her hero."
Through the years, she saw me for who I really was - a struggling single mom, who made (and continues to make) her share of mistakes. A parent herself who is afraid to let her children make their own mistakes and is constantly "trying to fix things", a mom who desperately wants to be a friend .. and now I am no longer her hero, but the one person that she spits angry, hurtful words at whenever things do not go her way.
This 17 year old girl has had to pay for my mistakes. Money has been tight. I can't always buy her the $100 shoes that she must have or buy her fast food for dinner every night. I am not always there when she needs me; the last minute ride to the mall nor do I always say yes when she asks if she can stay out til 3am with a group of friends that I barely know.
How is she paying?
She will be having a child of her own in 5 months. And while I do know that she is fortunate enough to have me as a parent who will do what I can to help her graduate from high school, pursue her nursing career; I also hope that I am around long enough to say those famous words that all grandmothers were born to say ...
"I told you so!"
Through the years, she saw me for who I really was - a struggling single mom, who made (and continues to make) her share of mistakes. A parent herself who is afraid to let her children make their own mistakes and is constantly "trying to fix things", a mom who desperately wants to be a friend .. and now I am no longer her hero, but the one person that she spits angry, hurtful words at whenever things do not go her way.
This 17 year old girl has had to pay for my mistakes. Money has been tight. I can't always buy her the $100 shoes that she must have or buy her fast food for dinner every night. I am not always there when she needs me; the last minute ride to the mall nor do I always say yes when she asks if she can stay out til 3am with a group of friends that I barely know.
How is she paying?
She will be having a child of her own in 5 months. And while I do know that she is fortunate enough to have me as a parent who will do what I can to help her graduate from high school, pursue her nursing career; I also hope that I am around long enough to say those famous words that all grandmothers were born to say ...
"I told you so!"
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Tuesdays with Curmudgeon
My profile picture features an old guy that may seem, at first glance, generic. It's really me.
Though I don't use a cane yet, the hunched-over posture comes from the heavy weight of realizing that I will soon be 40 and a grandfather. Granny thinks some of the poor posture comes from all the beer in my gut dragging me down, but what does she know? She's old, too.
The most telling part of the image is the hand resting on the painful lower back. I have actually suffered from an on again, off again back injury for about 8 years. In recent times, however, the pain has been much more on than off. My basketball buddies are beginning to wonder if I have become a homebody. The people with whom I work have suggested every remedy in the book, from chiropractors and pills, to acupuncture and voodoo.
You can't see my eyes in that image. I have had near perfect vision to this stage in my life. Now I am old. I have a hard time reading the scores at the bottom of the screen during SportsCenter, which makes life almost unbearable. I am sure that glasses are not far off the horizon for me.
Oh yes, you'll surely tell me. My home hasn't been destroyed by cyclone. I still have all my limbs. Only one of my teenaged children is pregnant. I should be thankful, you say.
I say, bite me. I'm old, and I'm getting crotchetier by the minute.
Though I don't use a cane yet, the hunched-over posture comes from the heavy weight of realizing that I will soon be 40 and a grandfather. Granny thinks some of the poor posture comes from all the beer in my gut dragging me down, but what does she know? She's old, too.
The most telling part of the image is the hand resting on the painful lower back. I have actually suffered from an on again, off again back injury for about 8 years. In recent times, however, the pain has been much more on than off. My basketball buddies are beginning to wonder if I have become a homebody. The people with whom I work have suggested every remedy in the book, from chiropractors and pills, to acupuncture and voodoo.
You can't see my eyes in that image. I have had near perfect vision to this stage in my life. Now I am old. I have a hard time reading the scores at the bottom of the screen during SportsCenter, which makes life almost unbearable. I am sure that glasses are not far off the horizon for me.
Oh yes, you'll surely tell me. My home hasn't been destroyed by cyclone. I still have all my limbs. Only one of my teenaged children is pregnant. I should be thankful, you say.
I say, bite me. I'm old, and I'm getting crotchetier by the minute.
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