At the aquarium beneath the Mall of America, dads can do the seahorse thing and put on a fake belly that reads "I'm a Seahorse Dad." Corny, yes. But fun.
Archive for June, 2009
I’m Mr. Seahorse
Tuesday, June 30th, 2009
If you like your children's books with a healthy dose of gender-equality (or better yet, widespread destruction of traditional gender roles), you really ought to be reading your kids "Mr. Seahorse," an Eric Carle book on all of the fathers of the sea and the way that the whole pregnancy/egg-hatching thing becomes dad-first when it happens under water.
At the aquarium beneath the Mall of America, dads can do the seahorse thing and put on a fake belly that reads "I'm a Seahorse Dad." Corny, yes. But fun.
At the aquarium beneath the Mall of America, dads can do the seahorse thing and put on a fake belly that reads "I'm a Seahorse Dad." Corny, yes. But fun.
Two Big Posts Today
Tuesday, June 30th, 2009
At day camp pickup yesterday, one of the instructors reminded me that we need to bring a white t-shirt today because the kids are going to make tie dye. When I remembered to tell my wife last night, we had forgotten that the kid and I turned every piece of plain white clothing we owned pink last summer during our own tie dye adventure. The neighborhood wig shop sells white tees, but they only
Just Do Something
Tuesday, June 30th, 2009
By Greg Primm
I’ve written about waiting on God before. In that post I made the conclusion that “if I give up control of the end, if I release to God the final chapter and live obedient to him daily, he’ll take me right where I need to be.”
I still agree with that . . . but I’ve been reading a book lately that is shifting my thoughts just a bit. The book is Just Do Something, by Kevin DeYoung. DeYoung is a young pastor who, in the book, counsels Christians to settle down, make choices, and do the hard work of seeing those choices through. Too often, he writes, God’s people tinker around with churches, jobs, and relationships, worrying that they haven’t found God’s perfect will for their lives. Or—even worse—they do absolutely nothing, stuck in a frustrated state of paralyzed indecision, waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting for clear, direct, unmistakable direction. But God doesn’t need to tell us what to do at each fork in the road. He’s already revealed his plan for our lives: to love him with our whole hearts, to obey His Word, and after that, to do what we like.
See, what’s always bothered me a little is this notion that God has a specific roadmap laid out for all the decisions we will make in our lives. As a Christian, I’ve always been taught that “God has a special plan for my life”. While I agree that there is a plan for my life, I’ve come to believe that the plan revolves around only two things: loving God (becoming more like Christ) and serving people. Beyond that, I think our lives could take several different paths and still be within God’s will.
Does that mean God doesn’t take an interest in some of the details of my life? No. I think it means that God is more concerned that our focus is on Him and His people rather than on which job to take. Or which house to buy. Or whether we should get fries with our meal. The fact is, if we are focused on the right things, God will use us no matter where we find ourselves living or working.
The bible has lots of examples of people receiving visions from God — specific instructions on where to go, what to do, etc. But there are many instances where it appears God didn’t provide clear direction. Take Paul for instance. If anyone would seem to have a direct line to God it would have been Paul, right? Of course and he did receive direct instruction from God. His amazing conversion story immediately comes to mind. But even Paul appears to have made numerous decisions without direct input from God.
It seemed good to the Holy Spirit . . . Acts 15:28
Paul had decided to sail past Ephesus to avoid spending time in the province of Asia, for he was in a hurry to reach Jerusalem . . . Acts 20:16
After I go through Macedonia, I will come to you—for I will be going through Macedonia. Perhaps I will stay with you awhile, or even spend the winter, so that you can help me on my journey, wherever I go. I do not want to see you now and make only a passing visit; I hope to spend some time with you, if the Lord permits. 1 Corinthians 16:5-7
Not exactly the sound of a guy who’s got his entire map laid out in front of him!
I don’t want to get too deep with this, but this concept has the potential to be a paradigm shift for many who find themselves, like me, with dreams and goals that lie just out of reach. If God doesn’t provide clear direction. If I am seeking God and serving people. Should I still be waiting on Him to set the table for me? Ponder that and let me know what you think.
I’ll leave you with a quote from a great American that fits this subject perfectly:
When you come to a fork in the road . . . . take it. Yogi Berra
Photo credit: Fergal OP
Friday Afternoon Street Urchin Blogging
Friday, June 26th, 2009
A few moments ago I held my baby in the rocker and listened to his murmuring around the mouth of the bottle. Every afternoon for over a year now I have done this until he falls asleep, at which point I set him down in the crib and creep out of the room. Today he just pointed towards his crib and said, "In." I put him down giggling and chattering, sure that he wouldn't be falling asleep any time
My Little Ballerina Girl
Thursday, June 25th, 2009
There are certain first moments I’m going to remember about my daughter forever: the day she was born in a tub, her first word (which by the way was “dada”), the day she took her first real walking steps, the first birthday party with the Elvis impersonator, the first day of preschool, and now I can add her first ever ballet recital to the list.
A full 3 and a half hour extravaganza (not including intermission.)
I can’t honestly think of another moment that I was more anxious about. Well except maybe her actual birth, and that late-to-the party Elvis impersonator comes to mind too.
While waiting and anticipating her moment on stage, there was plenty of time to reflect on my little girl who was just a baby not so long ago. Thinking about how weird it was that she’s nearly 4 and how quick she’s growing up. Wondering if she’s paid attention in ballet this past year - especially the last 4 months dancing to the same routine. Hoping that she did her best and wasn’t that ‘one’ ballerina that I’ve heard so much about that gets stage-fright and runs off stage crying.
A million other things were running through my mind by the 3rd hour including why they still teach kids “Tap”, what college or preferably Art School she'll end up going to, and why that Lionel Richie song still haunts me at the most awkward times.
When the curtain closed on the hip-hop kids wearing bedazzled MC hammer clothes and opened for the 92nd time, the noise of “oohs” and “ahh’s” filled the auditorium and I found myself standing up nearly yelling “that’s ma’ little ballerina girl!” clapping and hooting like she just scored a basketball home run, goalie, Stanley steamer (or whatever it is they call it these days.)
I guess that’s what it feels like to be a proud parent – in a Tony Danza sort of way.
My wife, of course, sat beside me with a huge smile and tears. My eyes watered a little, just because I was laughing at how cute she looked, and how the short performance looked more like a routine out of the Muppet show -- funny little legs moving around unsynchronized; each ballerina looking at each other not entirely sure of what to do next, frilly little costumes bumping into each other.
At the end of the routine they all gave their little bows. The same bow she’s been practicing for weeks and “had to show me” once more to make sure it was perfect before she kissed me, yelled “bye Dad!” and ran backstage.
Then that crazy Lionel Richie song popped in my head once more.
The Last Hurrah
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
We had been living the life transient and the pending move was wearing upon us all like the light at a tunnel's end that still required days of digging. We were sore and exhausted and our patience had long been packed.
Atticus worried, he fretted and he frowned. His was not a world to be upturned for the sake of flight or fancy. His was a world created by him and was lived to the extent that he found happiness in it. The move loomed upon him and rested heavily across his brow. His light lay at the entrance of said tunnel.
So it was that we decided to have his birthday party a couple of weeks early- before we left California. He needed to have his friends gather around him and wish him well. He needed the fun of a party filled with children he knew and not fear the possibility of empty chairs or faceless strangers.
He wanted all of this with a Star Wars theme.
And I added a little something that would have his name become the stuff of legend in classrooms and playgrounds:
We gave him a party and we created a memory nearly tangible. He shared it with his friends like so much cake.
There was a moment when I gathered the children around to weave them a tale of suspense and intrigue. I usually do this at parties.
I explained that due to our Star Wars theme there had been reports of Empire activity in the outer-limits of our drive. I nodded to their dry, beer-drinking parents and informed their little ears that all of the adults had pooled their money and hired a bounty hunter (when in truth none of those cheap bastards chipped in), one Jengo Fett to be exact, to hunt down the threat in our midst. To hunt down Darth Vader.
The kids ate that shit up.
I had them chanting, "Jengo! Jengo! Jengo..." when suddenly- he appeared!
Jango Fett emerged from the deepest reaches ofmy garage space and he walked stoically among the stupefied masses, one hand on his weapon and the other behind his back.
A hush fell over the children, a relative hush, and Jengo took his hand from behind him and he raised it over their frozen faces and they screamed as they realized that within his clutch was the head of Darth Vader.
Really. We did that. The kids loved it. The screams were joy and squeals and the promise of candy, which is something I didn't know about Darth Vader. His head is apparently stuffed with Laffy Taffy. That's probably the good within him that Luke was always whining about.
The party was a success and the children were happy and the parents were content that theirs was not an afternoon wasted, but rather an opportunity to drink free beer in the shade while their kids got sunburned and had the snot scared out of them. And it was good.
The only unfortunate aspect of the whole afternoon was that my good friend Joe missed Jango Fett, of whom he is a big fan. It was uncanny, really. Joe had just gone to the bodega to grab some salt and pencils when Jango arrived and then returned only moments after Jango left. Apparently it wasn't meant to be. The force works in mysterious ways.
There was a week left in California between the party and the move and it was filled with stress, long nights and backs that were tender to the touch, but the light grew all the closer and the tunnel? It echoed with the laughter of happy children.
Atticus worried, he fretted and he frowned. His was not a world to be upturned for the sake of flight or fancy. His was a world created by him and was lived to the extent that he found happiness in it. The move loomed upon him and rested heavily across his brow. His light lay at the entrance of said tunnel.
So it was that we decided to have his birthday party a couple of weeks early- before we left California. He needed to have his friends gather around him and wish him well. He needed the fun of a party filled with children he knew and not fear the possibility of empty chairs or faceless strangers.
He wanted all of this with a Star Wars theme.
And I added a little something that would have his name become the stuff of legend in classrooms and playgrounds:
We gave him a party and we created a memory nearly tangible. He shared it with his friends like so much cake.
There was a moment when I gathered the children around to weave them a tale of suspense and intrigue. I usually do this at parties.
I explained that due to our Star Wars theme there had been reports of Empire activity in the outer-limits of our drive. I nodded to their dry, beer-drinking parents and informed their little ears that all of the adults had pooled their money and hired a bounty hunter (when in truth none of those cheap bastards chipped in), one Jengo Fett to be exact, to hunt down the threat in our midst. To hunt down Darth Vader.
The kids ate that shit up.
I had them chanting, "Jengo! Jengo! Jengo..." when suddenly- he appeared!
Jango Fett emerged from the deepest reaches of
A hush fell over the children, a relative hush, and Jengo took his hand from behind him and he raised it over their frozen faces and they screamed as they realized that within his clutch was the head of Darth Vader.
Really. We did that. The kids loved it. The screams were joy and squeals and the promise of candy, which is something I didn't know about Darth Vader. His head is apparently stuffed with Laffy Taffy. That's probably the good within him that Luke was always whining about.
The party was a success and the children were happy and the parents were content that theirs was not an afternoon wasted, but rather an opportunity to drink free beer in the shade while their kids got sunburned and had the snot scared out of them. And it was good.The only unfortunate aspect of the whole afternoon was that my good friend Joe missed Jango Fett, of whom he is a big fan. It was uncanny, really. Joe had just gone to the bodega to grab some salt and pencils when Jango arrived and then returned only moments after Jango left. Apparently it wasn't meant to be. The force works in mysterious ways.
There was a week left in California between the party and the move and it was filled with stress, long nights and backs that were tender to the touch, but the light grew all the closer and the tunnel? It echoed with the laughter of happy children.
Visit. Punch. Cookies. Comment. Leave.
A Local TV Broadcast That Puts It All Into Perspective
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
OK. It's official. If you are a TV producer doing a national piece and you don't try to book Jeremy Adam Smith, you're doing your job wrong. I love this piece, which -- visually -- isn't that different from the run-of-the-mill dad story. But it makes clear that we're dealing with changing gender roles and that is what makes this trend interesting.
Donating Your Dadness to Science
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
More good stuff from the academy. If you meet the criteria, consider checking it out:
FATHERS WITH BABIES STUDY
Every day, in the United States alone, over 10,000 men become the fathers of new babies. Surprisingly little is known about the social and emotional experiences of fathers with babies and young children. In an interest to improve the well-being of new dads – and to foster the well-being of their children and families – the purpose of this study is to better understand the experiences of dads with babies, as well as the causes and consequences of the joys and challenges these fathers face.
ABOUT THE STUDY
This study is being conducted by Dr. Will Courtenay, in collaboration with the Center for Men and Young Men at McLean Hospital, Harvard Medical School. Dr. Courtenay is an internationally recognized researcher and scholar whose work focuses on understanding and helping men and fathers. Dr. Courtenay has served on the clinical faculty in the Department of Psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, and the University of California, San Francisco, Medical School.
Taking part in this study means completing an online survey. In the first part of the survey, you will be asked some background information about you and your baby. In the rest of the survey, you will be asked about experiences you’ve had as a father and with your spouse or partner, as well as your attitudes on a variety of topics. You will also be asked questions about your feelings and behaviors that relate to your moods. The survey should take about 20-25 minutes to complete.
The survey is completely anonymous. You will not be asked to identify yourself or provide any identifying information.
WHO SHOULD PARTICIPATE
For this study, we are interested in the participation of adult males over 18 years of age, who have had a baby (or babies) within the last year. If you are not an adult male over 18 years of age and have not had a baby (or babies) within the last year, thank you for your interest in the study, but please do not continue with the survey.
All fathers of babies are invited to participate, including fathers who have adopted, fathers who are gay, and fathers whose spouses or partners gave birth to their babies.
WHY YOU SHOULD PARTICIPATE
Fathers have an enormously positive impact on their babies and young children. We understand this from lots of good research. But the impact that babies have on their fathers, is relatively unknown. Your participation will help to generate a greater understanding of the experiences of dads with babies. We hope that, ultimately, this greater understanding will help foster the well-being of fathers, their children and their families as a whole.
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
If you would like additional information about the study, or have questions about it, you can contact Dr. Will Courtenay at DadsStudy@MensDoc.com to answer any questions about the survey.
Helping a boyfriend deal with a vicious ex
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
Dear Mr. Dad: My boyfriend’s former wife does not co-parent with him at all. I have seen vulgar emails, heard her use foul language in front of the kids and tell them “your father is kicking us out of our home.” She signs them up for things without confirming it with him but expects for [...]
Streets With No Name
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
This past winter, the snow stayed so long we almost forgot what the ground looked like. In Detroit, there is little money for plowing; after a big storm, the streets and sidewalks disappear for days. Soon new pathways emerge, side streets get dug out one car-width wide. Bootprints through parks veer far from the buried sidewalks. Without the city to tell him where to walk, the pilgrim who first