Thor - Norse God of Parenting or Liar

I just saw this little 2 mins of footage...

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Is this guy for real? Starts off with "I've never lost my temper with him" (his 4-year old). "Never given him a time out or never seen a reason to punish him". He just does alot of re-explaining and ensures that he and his son deals with the problem through rational dialogue.

Wow. Bullshit meter hits DEFCON 4. His way of dealing with issues doesn't even work with my wife, let alone kids. Sorry. Just being honest.

Where Did All These Grandparents Come From?

Watching this video on JuiceBoxJungle, it seems like everyone's grandparents are spoiling their little grandchildren rotten. And the kids WANT to hang out with their grandparents. What's the deal? Where were these folks when I was growing up?

Now, I loved my mom and my dad's parents immensely. And my stepmom's folks treated me great too, plus they are/were exceptional characters (think Castanza's parents). In fact, there's probably not someone that I respect more in life than my dad's dad, Grandpa Robert. He was a great man, as loving as there can be, as generous as any.

But that doesn't mean it was all-out fun with Grandpa Robert. We'd be much more likely to be spoiled generously rotten with US Savings Bonds, not Sprite. That said, if my bro and I ever wanted to get out of the tri-state area, it would have to be Grandpa Robert and Grandma Edna. In fact, I was 25 years old before I ever was with one of my parents south of Wash DC or north of Boston. We just didn't travel. So, when the grandparents offered to have my bro and I fly down to Florida during their annual pilgrimage, we were all for it. Probably 8 (me) and 10 at the time, we boarded that People's Express flight headed to West Palm with incredible anticipation. Even though we knew that we were in for a few days of retirement community living with grandparents and Aunt Helen and Uncle Mac, it didn't matter. Even though I was about to see Uncle Mac walk around his condo in a t-shirt and nothing else (still burned in my memory), no worries. Even though the 6 hour car trip at 54 MPH was painfully slow. It was all well worth it. For our goal was DISNEY WORLD.

As we arrived at the park on that beautiful sunny day, my smile was a wide as could be. And two hours of rides only widened it. And then came lunch. Sweet! Maybe hot dogs followed by funnel cake with powdered sugar. Or maybe pizza topped off with some shaved ice. The dining choices were limitless. Wait. Why are we going to a park bench and what is grandma pulling out of that large sack that she's been carrying? "Boys, we made lunch for you". Oh, the disappointment! Well I guess PB&J would have to suffice. "Wait...what is this?" "It's a sardine sandwich. That's what we brought and that's what you'll eat." I'm surprised that the Mickey police didn't arrest my grandparents on the spot for this travesty. I'm not sure if the sardines came in some briney mess, or if it was some unknown mayo combo...but regardless, this sandwich was not touching my lips. And kids can't hide their disgust.

I stayed hungry that afternoon. We know that our grandparents weren't exactly happy with our behavior, yet the trip was well worth it.

So, I'm not sure what kind of grandparent I'll be. But I'm pretty sure that at some time, my little grandchild is going to go home and tell his parents that he's (or she's) so hungry because Grandpa would only offer up some borscht and gefilte fish.

Grandpa Robert, Grandma Edna- you will always be with me.

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We Can't Be Right - We Don't Read

Reading is not my strong suit. Sports pages, no problem. A good novel, at least 1 per year. A self-help manual for how to be better at my job, no chance. A 200-page guide on how to be a parent, are you kidding?

About 6 months before the first guy was born, Amazon started shipping us every parenting book under the sun. My wife read them. Me...not so much. I'm sure Spock is right and the whispering baby lady is always right, but I don't have the energy for this. I don't learn this way. I wait for the pain and then react.

About the same time, I was forced to go to a birthing class. It was some 8 week class that could have been compacted into a 3 week class. Definitely a bit better if you want me to pay attention. Besides the out-of-date videos, ONE thing sticks in my mind. Teacher passed around some board with a bunch of holes showing us the difference between 1cm and 10cm dilated. That was cool and scary. Size of a bagel. And not one of those mini ones. Wow. Truth is I don't really remember anything else, but didn't need to. When my wife's water broke and met her at the hospital, I learned that the class was a total waste of time. You want her to get the damn epidural and then have the doctors and nurses take over. No matter what I did, there's no way that I could possibly screw up birthing.

Now that the boys are a bit older, I'm still lost but I don't really care. No books are going to help me. No class is going to change my ways. Unless you can come up with a bagel board-like way for me to learn, it just won't happen. So when I'm not doing it the "right" way, just know that I know you are right even if I don't admit it.

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Sleeping Hell

I've got plenty of friends who say that their children always sleep in their own bed and the kids must stay in their room until 7am at the earliest. They can't be as good of a parent as me. No chance. I'm developing my parenting skills constantly, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Little guy wakes up at 1am and wants to jump in our bed...no problem. I'm there to teach him he's got to go back to his bed. He comes back at 1:20am...no problem. Hop in. Teaching him that persistence is a good trait.

2:30am rolls around and I feel a leg and arm pushing into my back. Good work. My education on boxing out to get a rebound is paying dividends. 3:20am when the older guy realizes that he's the only one sleeping alone, he comes into the room. No chance on telling him that he's out of luck. After all, we've been working on equality and fairness. It's time to make sure he knows that I'm true to my word.

It's barely 5:30am and the boys are now up. I'm in charge during these hours while mommy is out swimming. This is when push really comes to shove. There's not 2 worse hours in the day than those early morning hours. No stores to go to, no errands to run, no parks that are open. Nothing. It's just me and a finish line (when kids go to school) that is so far in the distance. Around 6am and it's like the 20 mile mark of a marathon. The Wall. Agony. Could the clock move any slower? I feel like there's no way to push through, but somehow I get that parenting high (low?). A few games of Sorry, some soccer in the playroom. At last, the kids hop in the car and I have once more completed the bedtime to schooltime cycle. Anyone can do 7am-7pm, but I'll take you on 7pm-7am anyday.

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When My 6-Year Old Loses

I'm thrilled that my children love sports, especially my 6-year old. I'd like to think that bouncing the ball off his head when he was a 9 months old steered him that way, but who knows? (The ball was one of those very light ones!). Now, he'll play anything, got a roster spot on a U8 soccer team, has a golf swing that makes me drool with envy and ran an 8-minute mile in a recent Turkey Trot. He has an engine that won't quit. He's also is uber-competitive. And that becomes a problem sometimes.

This MLK day, I had my 2 boys at the park. The 6-year old naturally suggested a game of football (tackle, except for dad) and the 4-year quickly went along with it. As customary, my 4-year old and I form one team...and the 6-year is by himself. It was 14-14 and we had to get going home soon. Now, against the proper rules of parenting, I declared "Next touchdown wins!". Usually, I let the older guy win since he cares more. But I decided to switch it around. I made a key defensive stop and then drove with my little guy down the field. On 4th and goal, a nice shovel pass connected. As the 4-year old caught it, the 6-year old reached out and pushed him to the ground. My arms went up for Touchdown!

Almost immediately, the 6-year old's eyes started to tear. "It was incomplete. The ball hit the ground!" Arguing and crying ensued for a minute. I announced "After further review, the replay was inconclusive and therefore the ruling on the field stands. Touchdown!". More tears. The 4-year old was no happier that he won or lost, but the 6-year old wasn't taking the news well. A couple more minutes of tears later, we finally started our walk home. In all the seriousness that a 6-year old can muster, he asked "Dad, can we get an instant replay machine?" So, if anyone has an old instant replay machine, there's a 6-year old in the market.

I truthfully like the 6-year old's competitiveness, as long as it can remain in check. Each child is different and my older one gets the praise that he needs (and I knock down his ego every once in awhile). I'm not sure I'm exactly following the recommendations from JuiceBoxJungle on how to handle the competitive youth, but I definitely realize that my 2 boys have a different perspective on winning, results, etc.

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