Been a while. Short update: I'm out of the Corps, finishing my Masters Degree, and working as an Engineer. I have a daughter now, so chalk that up to three. NO MORE, either. Took care of that ;)
Just got back from 10 days abroad. Japan and Taiwan. I lived in Japan for two years and did the Asian circuit (Korea, Thailand, Guam, etc) but I somehow skipped Taiwan. It was awesome.
And you would not believe some of the things the Generalissimo and his fellow KMT hauled across the strait. Good god...weren't they worried about things like continuity of government and survival? Who has time for giant (albeit beautifully carved) rocks?
My trip home was something of a waste as far as sleep was concerned, because I was busy thinking about how to act when I got home.
You see, my spouse slept with our roomate while I was gone.
Fun, right? They didn't even wait a full day.
Now, I have obviously asked him to move out, because ripping out someone's trachea and making needlepoint art with their entrails is, apparently, in bad form.
This still leaves me with a quandary. Fight in front of the kids? No. Treat her with disdain and etc that will be seen by the children? Also not an option. Storm out and 'leave' her? Yeah right. Guess who would win custody. Yup. Ovaries win every time, regardless of who is actually the better option. So what do you do?
In my case, be polite, respectful, and completely removed. No physical contact, no intimate conversations, and only discuss the matter in private. I've made it clear that we have, at best, a legal relationship at this point. It's the only way I can survive, and still act in a manner that will not impact my kids. They should not have to suffer for their parent's sins.
Besides, it would have put a damper on the ninja party that ensued.
The Japanese have it in their wacky heads that Americans are shameless consumerists with not a lick of financials sense, and will spend their hard-earned money on almost anything.
Oddly enough, they're right. I bought my boys two complete Ninja outfits, masks, hoods, robes and all. My daughter got a beautiful silk kimono with a pink sash. The boys promptly donned their ninja suits and ran off to play, and while I had the foresight to not buy them the accompanying wooden katanas, I did not realize that they'd caught some WWE on the telly while I was gone.
Five minutes later, I walk into the kitchen, to the sight of fists flying, and daggers (plastic knives) bouncing off the cabinets. Before I could react, my 2 year old (who now wears 4-5T) picks his almost-7 year old brother UP, and suplexes him. I'm not talking about an oops-he-flipped-him.
This was a full suplex, demonstrated with all the energy and heedless vigor a little boy can produce. Dwayne Johnson would have been proud. And so was I.
Does that make me a bad parent? Oh, sure, there was remonstrations and corner time for beating up your brother, and comfort for the eldest (who took it quite well, actually. Ninjas don't cry). But hot damn. My kid has a future in wrestling, at the least!
This highlights the differences between them nicely. The oldest is average in height, normal in build, but he's the artsy-craftsy type. He loves to build stuff, play outside, and kick a ball around, but he's insanely creative. His 'little' brother likes legos just as much, but that's where the similarities end. He has actually informed me that he very much likes rocks and dirt, and that sticks are fun. He's ALL boy. Crayons are boring, and if he can't break it, hit it, build it, or run headlong into the wall with it (yeah...he does that. on purpose.) he isn't interested.
My daughter, of course, was adorable in her little kimono, and she's been a lady from the day she came out. She's tiny (20th percentile) but healthy, and is very ladylike. She likes girl colours, dresses, being clean, and being picked up.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Thursday, December 1, 2011
My kid is Bear Grylls
Today was an unusual day. I've been pretty under the weather, but being a Marine, that rates just below "needing a haircut" as a reason to leave work. For military folk, you know exactly what I mean. It's complicated by the fact that I am not a medical professional, and the "professionals" at the Naval Clinic seem to have about as much medical training as my 5-year old.
But I digress...today was unusual, because I was sent home on account of being sick. I had gone to the Naval clinic, but they handed me a cold-pack (generic NyQuil and some lozenges) with no attempt at further diagnosis. My superior, however, caught me hacking blood & phlegm into a trash-can, and correctly deduced that, just perhaps, I might be ill enough that Halls Cherry Drops weren't going to cut it. The fact that my voice is reminiscent of Barry White with throat cancer might have been a clue as well. Or maybe it was the fever.
In any case, sanity prevailed. Which, for those of us in the Service, is a rare instance indeed. Short of an open wound or missing limb, the only thing that will get you home early is a house fire.
Me being sick, we stayed in tonight for a movie and some popcorn, and I learned something about my 2 year old. He's a survivalist. Now, this kid is the antithesis of his older brother. He's built like a battle tank. He's actually only 20 months old, but he's already into 3 year old clothes. Size 9 shoes, size 5 diapers....he's a beast. And he's NOT fat. He has also personally destroyed at least 7 expansion gates in his life thus far, but moving on...
Since Merry Melodies don't interest him, he was orbiting the living room, being two, and coming in for handfuls of popcorn every few. We were only letting him grab so much because we try to limit his 'non-healthy' intake. What I did not realize was that in addition to eating it, he was stashing it. We limit him, so what does he do? Store it. In the Fisher Price shopping cart. In the Little People House, in the block box, in the corner of the room, and on the loveseat under the pillow. Little caches everywhere. I didn't figure it out until I had cut him off, and I still saw him eating it a few minutes later!
Don't ever make the mistake of thinking you are smarter than your kids. They'll prove you wrong in a heartbeat.
Now I need to go pick through the blocks.
Jas
But I digress...today was unusual, because I was sent home on account of being sick. I had gone to the Naval clinic, but they handed me a cold-pack (generic NyQuil and some lozenges) with no attempt at further diagnosis. My superior, however, caught me hacking blood & phlegm into a trash-can, and correctly deduced that, just perhaps, I might be ill enough that Halls Cherry Drops weren't going to cut it. The fact that my voice is reminiscent of Barry White with throat cancer might have been a clue as well. Or maybe it was the fever.
In any case, sanity prevailed. Which, for those of us in the Service, is a rare instance indeed. Short of an open wound or missing limb, the only thing that will get you home early is a house fire.
Me being sick, we stayed in tonight for a movie and some popcorn, and I learned something about my 2 year old. He's a survivalist. Now, this kid is the antithesis of his older brother. He's built like a battle tank. He's actually only 20 months old, but he's already into 3 year old clothes. Size 9 shoes, size 5 diapers....he's a beast. And he's NOT fat. He has also personally destroyed at least 7 expansion gates in his life thus far, but moving on...
Since Merry Melodies don't interest him, he was orbiting the living room, being two, and coming in for handfuls of popcorn every few. We were only letting him grab so much because we try to limit his 'non-healthy' intake. What I did not realize was that in addition to eating it, he was stashing it. We limit him, so what does he do? Store it. In the Fisher Price shopping cart. In the Little People House, in the block box, in the corner of the room, and on the loveseat under the pillow. Little caches everywhere. I didn't figure it out until I had cut him off, and I still saw him eating it a few minutes later!
Don't ever make the mistake of thinking you are smarter than your kids. They'll prove you wrong in a heartbeat.
Now I need to go pick through the blocks.
Jas
Sunday, November 27, 2011
It cleans the house and does the laundry. It does this whenever it's told.
Ah...Sunday. The Day of Rest. The one day of the week where patronizing Chik-Fil-A is not an option.
Also the second day I can get anything done around the house. There's sweeping, laundry, the remodeling (currently finishing the master bedroom), yard-work, trash....all valid tasks.
Many of which could have been accomplished during the week. By my 'stay-at-home' spouse.
I know, I know. I'm complaining. But...it's my blog. Go read James Patterson if you need some fluff.
I run Marine games by day, and a contracting job by night, so I pretty much live for the weekends. I've heard more than once that I'm crazy, but frankly, we need the money. Day care ain't cheap.
Oh, yeah. Day Care. The oldest is in school all day, and the younger is in day care all day. I have a 'stay-at-home' spouse, so why on earth do I have the younger in care? Because, sad as it sounds, the Day Care provides a better environment. I have come home to food caked on the floor, dirty diapers scattered throughout the house, and toys clogging the toilet. Where is my intrepid spouse in all of this? Hard at work....
...on Cafe World. Curse you, Zynga.
Prior to marriage, we dated extensively (3 years), and were engaged for 8 months. I was clear: 'I don't care if you stay home or not. If you want a job, a career, I'm all for it. BUT, if you do decide to stay home, I would want the house & kids looked after.' Bottom line: Everybody works in a family. Nobody rides for free. If you aren't contributing financially, it should be by other means. So if anyone is looking for a theme-of-the-day, there you have it.
I'm certainly not the chauvinistic bastard who thinks a woman's place is in the kitchen. Role reversal doesn't bother me in the least; I'd be just as content to be the home-maker if she was bringing home the bacon. Heck, I do both jobs as it stand now!
But I do believe that our children watch their parents closely, especially early in life. Our example is what they see, and our lifestyle is what they learn. What do I teach my oldest when I want him to clean his room, and our room is trashed, smelling like dirty diapers? I know I haven't had time to clean it yet, but all he sees is that Daddy is full of BS. Not the best impression. I want my kids to grow up in an environment that sets the right example for them, and where they understand why that example is to be emulated (not 'because I told you so').
I'm at a loss as to what to do. I can't approach her about it. The ensuing emotional volcanic eruption usually ruins the remainder of the day for everybody, and even less is accomplished than before. Unfortunately, there are only twenty-four hours in a day, and I just can't get it all done. So far the worst that has happened is we end up living out of laundry baskets, because sanitation, safety and general order are more important to me than nicely-folded Iron-Man undies. Nobody has gotten severely ill, ingested something they shouldn't, or ran out of clean clothes to wear to school. No meals have been missed (that I know of), although many have been tossed because I wasn't there to put them in the fridge.
For now, I'll keep buckling down and pushing. Someone has to clean, has to wash, and has to mind the bills, and if I don't, it just doesn't happen. I try not to think about what happens here during the 12+ hours per day I'm working. Perhaps I am crazy, but I cannot fathom how 12 hours can pass with nothing being accomplished. Especially with no kids to mind. Sheer boredom would have me cleaning, building, cooking, moving...something. Maybe it's the ADHD?
The original projected date of completion for the master bedroom was three months ago. This is what happens when I spend my weekends catching up on housework instead of working on the house.
That wouldn't bother me so much, except that it's a major complaint. Apparently, I work too slowly.
Jas
</complain>
Also the second day I can get anything done around the house. There's sweeping, laundry, the remodeling (currently finishing the master bedroom), yard-work, trash....all valid tasks.
Many of which could have been accomplished during the week. By my 'stay-at-home' spouse.
I know, I know. I'm complaining. But...it's my blog. Go read James Patterson if you need some fluff.
I run Marine games by day, and a contracting job by night, so I pretty much live for the weekends. I've heard more than once that I'm crazy, but frankly, we need the money. Day care ain't cheap.
Oh, yeah. Day Care. The oldest is in school all day, and the younger is in day care all day. I have a 'stay-at-home' spouse, so why on earth do I have the younger in care? Because, sad as it sounds, the Day Care provides a better environment. I have come home to food caked on the floor, dirty diapers scattered throughout the house, and toys clogging the toilet. Where is my intrepid spouse in all of this? Hard at work....
...on Cafe World. Curse you, Zynga.
Prior to marriage, we dated extensively (3 years), and were engaged for 8 months. I was clear: 'I don't care if you stay home or not. If you want a job, a career, I'm all for it. BUT, if you do decide to stay home, I would want the house & kids looked after.' Bottom line: Everybody works in a family. Nobody rides for free. If you aren't contributing financially, it should be by other means. So if anyone is looking for a theme-of-the-day, there you have it.
I'm certainly not the chauvinistic bastard who thinks a woman's place is in the kitchen. Role reversal doesn't bother me in the least; I'd be just as content to be the home-maker if she was bringing home the bacon. Heck, I do both jobs as it stand now!
But I do believe that our children watch their parents closely, especially early in life. Our example is what they see, and our lifestyle is what they learn. What do I teach my oldest when I want him to clean his room, and our room is trashed, smelling like dirty diapers? I know I haven't had time to clean it yet, but all he sees is that Daddy is full of BS. Not the best impression. I want my kids to grow up in an environment that sets the right example for them, and where they understand why that example is to be emulated (not 'because I told you so').
I'm at a loss as to what to do. I can't approach her about it. The ensuing emotional volcanic eruption usually ruins the remainder of the day for everybody, and even less is accomplished than before. Unfortunately, there are only twenty-four hours in a day, and I just can't get it all done. So far the worst that has happened is we end up living out of laundry baskets, because sanitation, safety and general order are more important to me than nicely-folded Iron-Man undies. Nobody has gotten severely ill, ingested something they shouldn't, or ran out of clean clothes to wear to school. No meals have been missed (that I know of), although many have been tossed because I wasn't there to put them in the fridge.
For now, I'll keep buckling down and pushing. Someone has to clean, has to wash, and has to mind the bills, and if I don't, it just doesn't happen. I try not to think about what happens here during the 12+ hours per day I'm working. Perhaps I am crazy, but I cannot fathom how 12 hours can pass with nothing being accomplished. Especially with no kids to mind. Sheer boredom would have me cleaning, building, cooking, moving...something. Maybe it's the ADHD?
The original projected date of completion for the master bedroom was three months ago. This is what happens when I spend my weekends catching up on housework instead of working on the house.
That wouldn't bother me so much, except that it's a major complaint. Apparently, I work too slowly.
Jas
</complain>
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Thanksgiving the First
I've never blogged before.
Should anyone actually read this, it'll be painfully evident within a few seconds that I'm a complete novice. Frankly, I'm not too convinced that I'll have time to keep up with it. I can't figure what is making me start a blog, except for the desperate personal need to get my thoughts on "paper". The act of typing it out is a form of meditation and relief, and who knows? I might even get some meaningful feedback. A diary would require I hand in my Man Card, and hey, it's the Twenty-First Century.
Why Blogger? Probably because I can come back later, read my own blathering and laugh a bit. Because it offers a forum that's anonymous. The fact that my handwriting looks like that of an angry third-grader with palsy may have a bit to do with it as well ;)
Eh...honesty compels me to admit that holding a pencil requires concentration and not a small bit of pain. Old injury, that.
So on the hubris-laden assumption that someone may actually read this, here's me:
Firstly, vis-a-vis the title, I am a Father. Not a dad, a sperm donor, or a child-support check writer. A Father.
I care deeply for my children. They are my entire world, my reason for being who and what I am, and I know I've only got one chance to do right by them. All the same, I am not a 'buddy' or a 'pal' parent. Like it or not, I'm the authority in their life, the one who has to teach them right from wrong, social cues, mores and morals, how to use the potty, and why the world is poorer for Leslie Nielsen's passing.
I'm also a husband.
A US Marine.
A Tim Taylor-esque DIY nut, who purchased a foreclosure with dreams of grandeur.
And finally, a closet gun nut. No, not the kind that pistol-whips a fellow Wal-Mart shopper over the last jar of pickled pig's feet. The kind that likes putting lead on paper at increasing distances, testing my skills, and exercising my 2nd Amendment Rights to protect my family.
Why am I bothering with this? As I said, I need to organize my thoughts, and the great thing about Blogger is anonymity. I get all the benefits of a journal without the heinous writer's cramp. I get the opportunity to see if I really am crazy, or if there are a couple of like-minded folk out there after all.
Mostly though, I just get to vent.
If anything I say offends someone, it's a damned big Internet. Piss off.
If anything I say actually means something to someone, I'd be fine if you wanted to tell me.
Should anyone actually read this, it'll be painfully evident within a few seconds that I'm a complete novice. Frankly, I'm not too convinced that I'll have time to keep up with it. I can't figure what is making me start a blog, except for the desperate personal need to get my thoughts on "paper". The act of typing it out is a form of meditation and relief, and who knows? I might even get some meaningful feedback. A diary would require I hand in my Man Card, and hey, it's the Twenty-First Century.
Why Blogger? Probably because I can come back later, read my own blathering and laugh a bit. Because it offers a forum that's anonymous. The fact that my handwriting looks like that of an angry third-grader with palsy may have a bit to do with it as well ;)
Eh...honesty compels me to admit that holding a pencil requires concentration and not a small bit of pain. Old injury, that.
So on the hubris-laden assumption that someone may actually read this, here's me:
Firstly, vis-a-vis the title, I am a Father. Not a dad, a sperm donor, or a child-support check writer. A Father.
I care deeply for my children. They are my entire world, my reason for being who and what I am, and I know I've only got one chance to do right by them. All the same, I am not a 'buddy' or a 'pal' parent. Like it or not, I'm the authority in their life, the one who has to teach them right from wrong, social cues, mores and morals, how to use the potty, and why the world is poorer for Leslie Nielsen's passing.
I'm also a husband.
A US Marine.
A Tim Taylor-esque DIY nut, who purchased a foreclosure with dreams of grandeur.
And finally, a closet gun nut. No, not the kind that pistol-whips a fellow Wal-Mart shopper over the last jar of pickled pig's feet. The kind that likes putting lead on paper at increasing distances, testing my skills, and exercising my 2nd Amendment Rights to protect my family.
Why am I bothering with this? As I said, I need to organize my thoughts, and the great thing about Blogger is anonymity. I get all the benefits of a journal without the heinous writer's cramp. I get the opportunity to see if I really am crazy, or if there are a couple of like-minded folk out there after all.
Mostly though, I just get to vent.
If anything I say offends someone, it's a damned big Internet. Piss off.
If anything I say actually means something to someone, I'd be fine if you wanted to tell me.
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