The Legacy of the Little Shadow

I've got a strong bond with my father.  In that regard I was quite spoiled growing up.  Being between twelve and eighteen years younger than my five older siblings I had a bit of a monopoly on him as I was growing up.  When you throw in that he was the principal of my grade school (Kindergarten-fifth grade) and he retired at age 55 at the same time that I "graduated" from fifth grade.

From middle school through my high school graduation it was Dad, not Mom (although she did join us from time to time) taking me to doctor, dental, and orthodontic appointments.

He's told me stories over the years of how, when he was a boy, visiting his extended family in Connecticut he'd follow his Uncle Charlie around everywhere he went to the extent that Uncle Charlie nicknamed him his Little Shadow.  Much like my father had been to his uncle, I was my father's "little shadow" when he would be out running errands.

Now, as a father myself, I see the same dynamic taking shape with my daughter and I.  While I know many of the errands I run would likely go much faster without her, I've come to quite enjoy having her with me despite this.  It's our time to bond, much like my father with Uncle Charlie, and me with him.

Sami and I will go to Dominick's on the weekends to visit "The Cheese Table" where she throws away her normal finicky eating habits and becomes a rather adventurous little cheese connoisseur.  She's tried everything from Stilton to Wensleydale, Manchego to Limburger, Brie to Habanero Jack.  When she's particularly good on our outings I treat her to unscheduled stops at PetSmart to see the kittens, fish, guinea pigs, chinchillas, hamsters, gerbils, and parakeets, or to McDonald's for a yogurt parfait, or to the Fox Valley Mall so she can ride the carousel in the food court.

It's got to the point where, even if I'm driving past a place I know I need to stop on my way home from work, I'll go home first to pick up Samantha so I can bring her with me.  I hope that someday she looks back on our outings together with the same fondness that I look back on my outings with my own father when I was growing up.

Adventures in Parenting

Yesterday afternoon when I got home from work, my daughter came running up to me.  Did she say "Hi Daddy!" or "I Love you Daddy!"  or "Glad you're home!" or even "Go outside, Daddy?" like she normally does?  Nope.  She came running up to me gave me a hug and said, "Hi, Nice to meet you, guy."  She reminded me (more than a little bit) of Mindy from Animaniacs who always referred to her mother as "Lady" and any man (father, mailman, construction workers, etc.) as "Mr. Man."  She does also call my wife & I by our first names (a habit we're trying to break her of). 

A few minutes later we were upstairs in her room and she was trying to close one of her dresser drawers.  Her dresser is wooden so the drawers are heavy.  She struggles a little with them.  As she was trying to close the drawer she said, "Oh shit!"  My wife & I didn't acknowledge it as it's best not to.  Then Sami walked away and I remarked, "At least she used it in the right context."

She started potty-training a little over a week ago.  It was all her idea, not ours.  Last Monday when my wife was getting her dressed she was insistent that she wanted to wear undies, not a diaper.  So my wife decided that since she's asking, she must be ready for it.  She's been pretty good about it for the most part.  Yesterday she only had one accident... and a major meltdown.

I'm not sure what spawned the meltdown.  My wife had gone out to exchange some clothes at JC Penney. Sami wanted to color so I went to the kitchen drawer where we keep her crayons and coloring book and started to take out her crayons and coloring book and she started crying hysterically saying "No color."  So I'd start to put them back away and she said, "I WANT TO COLOR DADDY!" So again, I started to take out the coloring book and crayons... Rise & repeat a few times with increasing waterworks and more voluminous protestations.  With nothing else working I took Sami upstairs and gave her a bath to calm her down.  This was/is a bit of a no-no because the schedule is dinner - bath - stories - bed.  We've been particular  about this since we started potty-training her.  The idea being that she's in her undies before her bath and goes into a diaper for the night after her bath.  Because I did the bath before dinner, I put her back in her undies afterwards and then put her in a diaper after dinner.  It threw her schedule a little out of whack and the wife person was not entirely pleased with this scenario as she's the one who has to deal with the wee one all day and throwing her evening schedule off could result in a messed up sleep schedule (ie. Sami rising earlier than usual-- as she had yesterday morning... at 5:45 am when I got up-- normally she sleeps until 7:30-8 am ish).  Luckily due to her early morning, short nap, and long day yesterday she actually DID sleep through the night last night.

Over the weekend I took Sami with me to Blockbuster so she could pick out a kids movie.... big mistake.  She didn't want to be carried, she wanted to walk around on her own and she didn't want to have to hold Daddy's hand.  I won't speak for other parents but this was my first time EVER alone out with my daughter in underpants instead of a diaper.  Given her age I wouldn't have let her walk around on her own in Blockbuster regardless, but letting her do so in undies while she's still being potty-trained seemed like an especially bad idea.  This resulted in a more public meltdown than the one I experienced last night.  I'd try to carry her and she'd squirm like crazy.  I'd put her down and try to get her to hold my hand and she'd try to pull away and escape.  The whole time of course the waterworks were in full force. 

So I sped up the process and got the movies and got out.  Luckily we made it home in dry undies (yes, both of us).

Last night my wife & I were watching Against the Wall.  It's a new series about a female cop who gets a promotion into the Internal Affairs dept. of the Chicago PD.  Her brothers and father are all beat cops who aren't at all keen with her career move as they have a very negative opinion of IA.  Anyway last night was really playing up the father/daughter relationship and I was getting a bit misty-eyed thinking that some day that will be Sami & I.  It's not entirely surprising that I was reacting that way as I can't even listen to songs like Bob Carlisle's Butterfly Kisses ("She'll change her name today, She'll make a promise and I'll give her away, Standing in the brideroom just staring at her, She asks me what I'm thinking, And I said I'm not sure, I just feel like I'm losing my baby blue"), Peter Cetera's One More Story ("I can't believe just how fast you're growing, I'm gonna cry when you're old enough to go and be on your own") Harry Chapin's Tangled Up Puppet ("I'm a tangled up puppet, all tangled up in knots, and the more I see what used to be, the less of you I've got") without getting choked up any more.  It just makes me treasure my one on one time with Samantha that much more.  I take over the parenting as soon as I get home (to give my wife a bit of a break) and I get up with her and get her breakfast on Saturday & Sunday mornings.  It's our routine, it's when we bond and those are my favorite times of the day.  And since my wife gets up with her Mondays-Fridays I put her to bed every night, read her stories... That's our routine and she seems to really like it as well.  I've watched my nieces and nephews grow up so I know how fast time flies and I know there's nothing I can do to slow it down or stop it so I'm just trying to be present for as much of it as possible.  I may not be able to stop her from growing up but at least I have some control over how many shared memories and experiences we have.

I'm still keeping my journal for her.  Once every few weeks or months I write a letter to her in a journal.  I'm going to give her that journal either on the day she graduates high school the day she graduates college, or the day she gets married (I haven't decided which, yet). 

Parenthood

Back in early May the writer's group I'm involved with met at Ballydoyle's Irish Pub in downtown Aurora.  Somehow the conversation shifted to the topic of parenthood.  All of us in attendance are/were married.  What I found interesting was that of the 6 of us-- 3 of us had opted to have children and the other 3 had not.

One of the things that came up were people who let their children's lives consume them.  We all know people like this.  They are our bright, energetic, interesting friends.  As soon as they have children, our friends disappear.  They cease to exist on their own terms and become extensions of their children.

There's nothing wrong with parents being active in the lives of their children.  They should be, but not at the expense of their identity and sense of self.  Admittedly some aspects of this conversation made me uncomfortable.  From the moment I became an uncle, just shy of 5 years old I knew I wanted to someday be a parent.  I've grown up with my nieces and nephews.  I babysat some of them, changed a few diapers, fed a few of them... all long before I was ever married, let alone before my own daughter was born.

While I don't want to lose my sense of self and don't believe I have, the moment my daughter was born all of the other aspects of what make me who I am faded into the background a bit.  That moment I'd been waiting for since I'd become an uncle for the first time all those years before was there and it exceded all of my wildest expectations.

I've attempted writing about parenthood in the past, I'm generally reluctant to do so though.  It's not that I don't like discussing that aspect of who I am it's more that I feel no matter how hard I try no words can do justice to what I feel and what I'm trying to describe.  It's almost ironic-- the one facet of my personality I feel is most important is the one that often leaves me at a loss for words. 

I also tend to consider myself a somewhat private person.  Yes I do share a considerable amount of information, opinions, tastes and what not-- but I inevitably have control over what I do and don't share and I know that I rarely break down that wall when I write.  There's a distance that I try to keep between myself and what I write whether it's on here, in my short stories, or in any of my other writing.  I sometimes wonder if the barriers, the degrees of seperation between myself and my writing keep my writing from being as good as it might otherwise be.  On a larger scale I wonder if those degrees of seperation keep me from being as good a "me" as I can be as I've come to realize I don't keep those barriers up merely in my writing I keep them up in my life. 

If asked why, I guess I do this because I believe we all have to keep a piece of us that is ours and ours alone it's that piece of us that keeps us from completely losing that sense of self.  Is it right or realistic to believe that the moment I open up that last bit of myself-- putting EVERYTHING on the table that I run the risk of someday losing that sense of self, that which makes me a unique individual?  Is it selfish to keep a small piece of my identity to myself?

Discovering the art of feigned innocence

This weekend I was folding and putting away laundry as I was keeping an eye on my daughter wandering around and getting herself into and out of mischief.  After putting away the last bits of laundry I started looking around to see what kind of mischief she'd got into.

We keep all of our photo albums on a bookshelf in our guest room.  As I walked to the guest room doorway I noticed ALL of the photo albums strewn across the floor.  I took a peek in my daughter's bedroom and saw her playing so I went in and started picking up the photo albums and putting them away.

My daughter shows up in the doorway a moment or two later with a surprised look on her face and says, "OH NO!"  As if to say, "How did that happen?"  My daughter is 17 months old.  I didn't think they were supposed to figure out the feigned innocence routine quite this young.  And if she's figured it out this young...  I'm in REAL trouble when she gets older.

The 30 Day Meme: Day 5 - My Definition of Love (in great detail)

Love, as a word, gets tossed around far too liberally and freely.  The word is entirely insufficient to truly describe the full depth and breadth of emotion it encompasses.  Love is a feeling that betrays description... With that in mind below are three ocassions when I experienced love:

On April 16th, 2005 as I first saw my wife in her wedding gown being led toward me by her father and feeling my breath being taken away and my jaw hitting the floor.

On September 27th, 2008.  My wife opened the bathroom door holding three seperate pregnancy tests all displaying Plus signs! 

At 8:14 pm on 6/1/09 hearing my daughter's first cries as she entered the world, tears of joy filled my eyes (I'm an emotional sap, what can I say?)  After she was cleaned up, the nurse handed her to me to show my wife and then led the two of us into the recovery room while we waited for my wife to join us.  As I held her, all swaddled up she stopped crying and looked directly into my eyes.  From that moment she had Daddy's heart wrapped around her little finger.

Life imitating art?

This weekend I experienced an instance of life imitating art somewhat-- no I didn't find myself in a well lit corner diner nor did I spend a Sunday afternoon on the Isle of Le Grande Jatte.  No my experiences more closely resembled the events of my Premonition writing exercise. 

I was at Home Depot with my daughter.  I often bring her with me on my weekend errands just to give my wife a break and because I like having the little spudlet around.  So we were looking for a new screw for the knob on our closet door.  For some reason the screw for that particular closet door was/is about an eighth of an inch too short.  So the knob never screws on tight and we're constantly pulling it off whenever we go to open that closet door.

So I have an associate helping me find what I'm looking for and I'm pushing my cart with one hand and holding my daughter in my other arm (she was getting fussy in the cart so I picked her up-- possibly a bad idea on my part...  but she has Daddy wrapped around her little finger).  Then I feel my left leg getting wet and notice that the little munchkins diaper had leaked.  So I thanked the associate for his assistance, went and paid for my other purchases (one of which was a bottle of Sprite that my little sprite had been playing with before I'd removed her from the cart).  So I get out to the car put my daughter in her car seat, get in the driver's seat and open my bottle in a re-enactment of Mt. Vesuvius vs. Pompeii...  Suddenly not only were my shorts stained by my daughter's "leak" but my shirt, the steering wheel, and the driver's seat were also awash with Sprite. 

When it rains, it really does pour.

A year ago...

Yesterday was my daughter's first birthday.  As such it conjured all manner of flashbacks to last year:

My wife was induced on the evening of May 31st last year.  We had our dinner and went to the hospital as scheduled.  We watched Game 2 of the Stanley Cup finals from her hospital room.  The initial drugs were given but no labor... until the morning of June 1st.

After waiting all day with little or no dilation, at 7 pm my wife's OB showed up and indicated that with such little progress on the dilation front it was time for a C-section.

So I tossed on some scrubs and was led to the recovery room while my wife was prepped for her C-section.  By the time my wife was finally brought in to be prepped for surgery, it was almost 8pm.  Her parents and sister were in the waiting room.  I was dressed to the nines (if you consider hospital scrubs to be chic that is!) and waiting patiently to be summoned to sit by my wife and offer my support during her surgery.

In the OR, I was glad I had the scrubs on.  it was downright chilly in there.  The scrubs didn't breathe.  They held in my body heat.  About 4-5 minutes after being brought in I heard a cry.  My wife & I had opted to NOT find out the gender.  So the doc asked me if I wanted to be the one to tell my wife what we had.  The doc instructed me to stand up so I could see over the curtain and pried my poor cold child's legs apart. 

From the moment I laid eyes on her I was a goner.  She had me wrapped around her little finger already.

One of the nurses cleaned her up and handed her to me so I could introduce her to her mommy quickly before my daughter & I were rushed into the recovery room so the doc could put the missus all back together.

I remember her eyes were open and looking up at me.  We'd narrowed the list of possible names for girls down to two.  Samantha and Olivia.  I tried both names out on her... Every time I tried to call her Olivia she started bawling at me.  Every time I called her Samantha she calmed down.  She'd chosen her own name.

Over the past year I've watched her firsts... First bath, first haircut, first time in the car, first time crawling, first teeth (she seems to get 2 at a time).  I've relished the joy and wonder in her eyes as she sees things for the first time. 

As she grows older I look forward to watching more of her firsts and grasp as frantically as I might to the sands of time to slow them down a bit.  The past year has flown and I know that time will only pass faster as she grows older. 

Human bones = teething rings?

My daughter is part vampire or perhaps zombie or cannibal... or maybe my clavicle and collar bone are actually teething rings.  If she develops an inexplicable unwavering desire to shop at IKEA I'll know she's a zombie (it's an obscure Christopher Moore reference-- read The Stupidest Angel for full explanation).  If she develops an addiction to Spam-- well that would indicate cannibalistic tendencies (another Christopher Moore reference-- read Island of the Sequined Love Nun for full explanation).  But she hasn't shown an aversion to sunlight and she's been sleeping through the night since she was about 6 weeks old so I don't think she's a vampire.  I am concerned that once she's learned to walk and is out of her crib I'll wake up in the night in extreme pain and find her gnawing on my shoulder like a dog to a nice meaty bone. 

The one thing I have learned is it's rather difficult to discipline 10 month olds.  She laughs at my wife & I when we tell her "NO!" And she's got that adorable grin that is just too infectious so we end up laughing at her laughing at us... a vicious cycle. 

She has started solid foods, but I'm really hoping that she doesn't have any plans to add "the long pig" to her personal menu (again read Island of the Sequined Love Nun for further explanation).

Hangin' out at the Shedd

Apparently the company I work for gives generously to the Shedd Aquarium here in Chicago... so generously that the Shedd Aquarium offered free admission to all employees plus up to 3 guests. For an extra $6.95/person we were able to upgrade our ticket to get us into the Oceanarium as well. My wife & I have some close friends who have a 2 year old and a 15 month old so we invited them along. Since all of our kids are under 3 they all got in free.

We did still have to pay for parking and the nearest covered parking for the Shedd Aquarium is the North Parking garage of Soldier Field. From there, being on the lake, in the winter, on a chilly day, well to say the 2-3 block walk to the Aquarium was "brisk" would be a gross understatement.

Once we got inside we took my daughter out of the stroller and carried her. so she could better see the fish, frogs, turtles, dolphins, penguins, and Beluga whales. She talked to many of the fish she saw. She also quite enjoyed the penguins and had a nice chat with them (although I doubt they could hear her through the thick glass).

Her most common word is "Da da da da da", and while yes it sounds like she's saying "Dada" and was saying that while I was holding her, she also says that when my wife is holding her, when she's pointing at her high chair, lamps, my in-laws cat, and just about anything and everything else you can imagine. She does sometimes say "mamamama" too and a few times it has been in the correct context and this weekend she did utter "Gampa" but neither of her grandfathers were present at the time. I think she knows that "Dada", "Mama", and "Gampa" are words but I don't think she's quite grasped their context or meaning just yet. I'll take what I can get though, and I do find it adorable that she says "Da da" in such a way that she sounds like she's excited to be telling you the world's greatest secret. It comes out as an ecstatic little whisper.

Well anyway the Aquarium-- I do have one somewhat serious complaint-- it is not at all stroller friendly (and thus would not be wheelchair friendly either). At one point we were at the lowest level of the Oceanarium. We were told that in order to get to the cafeteria we would have to take the elevator UP two floors walk down the hall, and take a different elevator back down 1 floor. The elevators were just large enough for two strollers... and there were a lot of people with strollers there, thus there were usually lines for the elevators. It got to the point where we were just carrying the strollers up and down stairs-- an inconvenience for us, but dowrnight impossible for those in wheelchairs.

We did check out "Fantasea", the Shedd's show featuring dolphins, Beluga whales, a hawk, and penguins. During the intro video that was shown we heard, "People come from around the world come to Chicago specifically to see the Shedd Aquarium." As Jerry Seinfeld would say, "Who ARE these people?" Maybe I've been spoiled by the Monterey Bay Aquarium, Sea World (Orlando, FL), and Marineland (St. Augustine, FL) but to me the Shedd was not an Aquarium I would consider to be THE reason for coming to Chicago. Maybe one of many reasons, it might make the top 10, but I doubt it would even crack my top 5.

At any rate, it was almost as amusing to us as the time we went on a lake shore boat tour at Navy Pier with a friend from out of town and during the safety schpiel before the tour started it was mentioned that the weather on Lake Michigan can turn into "a fierce maelstrom" on a moment's notice (which is especially funny to hear on a bright sunny July day... when the boat doesn't even venture outside the breakwater).

Sammie's favorite toy/Burning the Midnight Oil II: Still Not Tired!

So one of my daughter's favorite toys is Daddy's face. She loves the putty like stretchability of my cheeks, and those lovely handles on the side of my head known colloquially as "ears" and my nose... don't even get me started there.

She squeals with delight as she stretches, bends, and twists my facial bits.

Due to taking a later afternoon nap than usual she was burning the midnight oil again last night. She did not want to go to bed. I told her the story of Hansel & Gretel (as best I could from memory), I read her a couple of her books, I even sang her a lullaby (an actual lullaby, not my old standbys: neither Lola by the Kinks nor John Jacob Jingleheimerschmitt) but she wasn't having any of that. So I let her play with her favorite toy for a bit, I tried to get her to lay down, I tried turning out the lights... none of it was working.

Finally my wife & I put her on our bed between us and turned out the lights... at that point it became a race to see who would fall asleep first-- her or us. She was more tired than she realized and was out within a few minutes.

Colts Win, Saints Win, My Daughter Wins...

Considering my team (the Cleveland Browns) had a 5-11 season and were generally one of the laughingstocks of the NFL I really didn't have much of a vested interest in either of yesterday's games. I was happy when Baltimore was defeated (as next to the Steelers, the Ravens are my least favorite team-- as is the case with most Browns fans). But with Pittsburgh missing the playoffs and Baltimore being eliminated already I had no strong feelings about any of the teams playing... So I'll skip the first two and go straight to the third match-up of the evening...

My wife & I have been blessed with a daughter who is generally a good sleeper. For the most part she's been sleeping through the night every night since she was about 5 or 6 weeks old. Initially it was for about 6 hours straight, but by the time she was 3 or 4 months old it's been more like 8 to 9 hours straight. So once she's asleep, we're generally "golden."

Getting her to sleep in the first place is a different story. Last night she did NOT want to go to bed. We know the tell tale signs that she's tired; the rubbing of the eyes, the yawning, the drooping eyelids... And after her bath last night she was exhibiting all of those signs. So we put her to bed. That was about 8:30

She may have dozed off, but she couldn't have fallen into night's sweet embrace yet as around 9 we heard the tell-tale whimpering coming over the baby monitor. I snuck up and tiptoed into her room to put her pacifier back in her mouth. That often works. She'll usually drift right back to sleep.

So I gave her her pacifier and started to sneak out the door, but in the darkness what should I see? Her head popped up like a jack in the box (she had been sleeping on her stomach) turned and looked at me over the bumper through the slats in her crib, her lip quivering. She had the symptoms of a cry coming on. But I snuck out of the room anyway-- wishing and hoping she'd just lay back down and fall asleep. Just two or three steps down the hallway towards the stairs and a full on wail comes from her room. So I returned, picked her up and attempted to soothe her back to sleep.

I thought I was successful, I really did. So I laid her back in her crib and before I even have a chance to step away her head is back up her eyes are looking at me all sad and that lip is quivering again... How can I resist that?! How can any father? So I pick her back up and take her back downstairs with me. As we pass a mirror in the hallway I notice her face light up like a Christmas tree as if to say, "HA HA! I won!"

This continued several times (and each time we'd get the victory grin from her when walking by the upstairs mirror)... by midnight the score was Daughter 6, Parents 0. Around 12:15 my wife told me to go to bed and that she'd get her to sleep. So that I did. I wasn't quite fully asleep when my wife finally came to bed so I took a peek at the clock... 1:15 am!!!

My wife & I were both night-owls growing up. We believe this is just God's way of balancing things out a bit...

Randomness

My wife & I have this "game." When she goes grocery shopping without me she'll ask me to guess how much she spent. I'm normally right in the ballpark with my guesses. She's only stumped me once or twice over the years. But today I think takes the cake... My guess was only $.18 off! (Yes I guess down to the cent. I started doing it just to be a smart ass but it's kind of caught on since).

I was $.18 over, otherwise I'd be doing my best to get on The Price is Right (in order to win the Showcase Showdown you have to guess the amount closer than the other contestant "without going over"). Oh well!

Did the travel thang over the weekend-- out to Fort Wayne to visit my brother and his family. This was their first time seeing the kidlet. She is an awesome little traveler. She slept most of the way there... and then we couldn't get her to bed until about 1 am. She was all smiles and took particular interest in my brother & sister-in-law's 2 dogs-- a toy poodle (about 5 or 6 years old) and a Golden Retriever/Poodle pup (about 12 weeks old). Both dogs were very good with her as well. My 18 year old niece and 21 year old nephew also thoroughly enjoyed holding and playing with the wee one.

I spoke with one of my sisters on the phone last week before my wife & I took this trip. She mentioned she was jealous and really wants to see the wee spudlet before she's a wobbly wee toddler. After receiving the Christmas photos from us, my other sister wants to fly out to see the little one. She's jealous of her husband who was out here on business last June and got to hold Sammie when she was less than 2 weeks old.

Unconventional lullabies

My daughter was a little fussy when I tried to put her to bed this evening so I opted to sing to her. I had two songs stuck in my head and neither were really lullabies (but I figure any song can be a lullaby if you sing it right).

"I met her in a club down in old SoHo
Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like
Cherry Cola
Cee-Oh-El-Ay Cola..."

that didn't seem right to me so instead I went with...

"John Jacob Jingleheimerschmitt his name is my name too
Whenever we go out
The people always shout
There goes John Jacob Jingleheimerschmitt!
tra la la la la la la la..."

I'll Have the Mashed Potatoes & Gravy... What do you mean you're out of Potaotes?!

I know I've been somewhat absent lately. It's not the words escape me. They're all still there stuck in my head waiting to get out. But prose can't exist on flowery adjectives, colorful similes, and vibrant metaphors alone. As far as writing is concerned lately I've felt like an order of mashed potatoes and gravy without the potatoes... I've got all this tasty gravy stuck in my head but I'm missing the potatoes... oh and the meat too.

I'm not sure what has caused my recent literary potato blight. And I have been trying to grow some new "potatoes." None have seemed to take root, at least not yet.

The one aspect of my life that is consuming much of my time lately is fatherhood. But I don't feel right writing about that. I treasure my special moments with my wife & daughter, I enjoy watching her milestones and all the special moments we share. But I also tend to believe there's something to be said for keeping those moments to ourselves... it makes them feel more special. Not to mention, the intensity of emotion I feel for my daughter and the extreme happiness I have when spending time with her defies the English language. That is to say, even if I wanted to write about fatherhood, I couldn't. The words don't exist. At least not in English, and short of learning Esperanto or some other obscure language I don't forsee that being a possibility in the future either.

But I am still here, a living breathing carbon-based life-form. I'm still a writer at heart. I still have the words inside me. And as soon as I have some meat or potatoes for the literary gravy swirling in the gravy boat of my mind I'll regain some semblance of a creative flair. In the mean time, flask of gravy, anyone?

Another year over, a new one just begun...

The holidays have come and gone. It's been a bit bittersweet. All of that build-up and within moments the wrapping paper is in shreds on the floor and for all the toys my daughter received her first Christmas she was considerably more interested in playing with the wrapping paper than what was wrapped in it.

There was something quite special seeing Christmas through her eyes, almost like experiencing it for the first time all over again. There was a tremendous sense of wonder and joy the whole day.

After opening gifts at home we went over to my in-laws to open yet more gifts and to spend the rest of the day with them. It was their first Christmas with a grandchild so it was quite special for them as well. I also wrote in my Daddy/Daughter journal for the first time since July! (Around the time she was born my wife & I both started writing letters to our daughter in hardback journals with the intention of giving those journals to her when she's old enough to enjoy them. It's just a little something special we want her to have when she starts on her journey into adulthood, a bit of reminder of her youthful innocence in the hopes she'll hold on to that innocence as long as possible). At any rate I was long overdue in writing a letter.

Looking ahead to the new year, I'm looking forward to seeing a whole new string of firsts for my daughter, to experience things for the first time all over again as I watch them through her eyes with wonder and amazement.

Daddy's Girl

I can count on one hand the number of singers whose voices give me chills. The first singer to have that effect on me was former Chicago lead vocalist, Peter Cetera.

Among the reasons for Peter's 1985 departure from Chicago was a desire to tour less so he could spend more time with his wife and his daughter-- eighteen years of touring can wear thin after awhile. On each of Peter's albums since his daughter, Claire's, birth he's included a song for her.

And while I'm not necessarily a fan of all of the music Peter has chosen to perform since his departure from Chicago, I'm still a tremendous fan of his voice and have a deep respect for the choices he's made in his life and career.

Now that I'm a father of a little girl myself, his father/daughter songs strike a particular nerve with me. I've taken to singing Peter's lullaby for his daughter, One More Story to Samantha before bed:

One more story then its time for bed
One more fairy tale, then rest your weary head
One more kiss, I’ll turn out the light
Everything is gonna be alright

I’ll still be here when you wake up in the mornin’
Close your eyes say goodnight

Go to sleep now, you’ve had a busy day
Hold me in your dreams, I won’t be far away
One more kiss, I’ll turn out the lights
Everything is gonna be alright

I’ll still be here when you wake up in the morning
Close your eyes, say goodnight

I can’t believe just how fast you’re growin’
I’m gonna cry when you’re old enough to go
And be on your own
But until that very moment
Everything is gonna be alright

You’ll still be here when I wake up in the mornin’
Close your eyes, say goodnight
Everything is gonna be alright

For all intents and purposes, Sammie is definitely showing signs of being a Daddy's girl. She enjoys watching hockey and football with me (in all fairness this is probably more due to the bright colorful uniforms against the white and green backgrounds respectively). She's also a bit of a night owl, much like I was growing up. She's perpetually happy and rather easy-going like me too.

I'm loving every day of fatherhood. I love watching Sammie grow and develop. I look forward to seeing the woman she'll grow up to be, but at the same time I'm in no hurry for that to happen. I treasure watching all of her firsts and making her smile and laugh. She makes leaving for work in the morning that much harder and returning home afterwards to be that much sweeter. It's bittersweet, as she achieves each first knowing that she'll never have that "first" again.

the 80s

Over the years I've accrued Billboard's Top 100 hits for every year in the eighties (except 1980)... While I have memories of music from the late seventies and the early eighties for some reason 1980 is a bit of a musical black hole for me. I looked over the hits from that year and didn't find that many that I had/have any emotional connection to.

So anyway-- I'm listening to this music and feeling this music a regular sucker punch of nostalgia and it's not just the good stuff, there's some real cornball stuff that I'd almost rather not even cop to being familiar with that is triggering some rather random memories.

So, could I re-create the 80s with my daughter by exposing her to predominantly eighties music? Maybe I need to expose her to some eighties movies too... stuff like Real Genius, Better Off Dead, One Crazy Summer, How I Got Into College, the Back to the Future trilogy, the first two Indiana Jones films... Or would that be considered child abuse?

a reflection on "The Dude On the Cereal Box"

As any of you who regularly follow this blog now know, I'm a regular follower and avid reader of Australian blogger/writer, Sam de Brito's All Men Are Liars blog. In the past his blog entries have provided inspiration or a jumping off point for some of my mental meanderings.

He had such an entry today.

And while my "wilder days" were considerably tamer than Mr. de Brito's, I found I could still relate on some level to that switch being flipped. You go through a certain chunk of your life where you're "in the now." You either don't consider the consequences of the things you choose to put in your body, or you don't care. You live your life on fast food, booze, and usually some form of "tobacco" (whether it be actual tobacco, or "wacky tobacky"). Most people go through that phase in some extreme or another.

At some point you notice others your age are drinking less, eating healthier, and/or exercising more. Deep down inside you feel a desire to "be like them." Their healthier lifestyles are more attractive to you than your gluttony, sloth, and whichever other of the 7 deadlies are present in your lifestyle repertoire. Initially you don't know how to get "there"-- to the happy healthy glow they give off. You make excuses for not doing it and realize you're still a hamster on a wheel-- going through the motions but not getting anywhere.

Many never get off the wheel, some need a little trigger (isn't that an Elvis Costello song?) to be pulled or a little switch to be flipped in their lives. My switch came in the form of a baby girl-- a daughter I want to see grow up, whose life I want to be there to witness. I want to be around long enough to be a strong compass for her-- to give her life direction... and when she's old enough, impart the wisdom of the aforementioned Sam's book No Tattoos Before You're 30:What I'll Tell My Children.

Fatherhood

They say there's nothing quite like it, that it's indescribable-- that first moment when you lay eyes on your first child, a life brought into the world by you and your wife-- a life you're suddenly responsible for. Whoever "they" are, they're right.

Everything I thought it could and would be-- completely blown out of the water by an intense maelstrom of pure joy and unconditional love.

Monday night, June 1st, 2009: 8:14 pm-- hidden behind a surgical curtain as doctors carefully make the necessary incisions, I was holding my wife's hand, providing words of comfort. Then I hear it, a baby's cry-- at this point I still don't know whether it's a baby boy or girl.

The doctor gives me permission to stand and look behind the surgical curtain, obstructing my view and for the first time I see my little girl... Right then and there, I'm a goner. The tears well up and start pouring out of me. She's absolutely beautiful and I'm already in big trouble because she already has Daddy wrapped around her little finger.

After cleaning her off, she's given to me so I can introduce her to her mother as she's being stitched back up. The nurses briefly take her back to take some blood and run some tests on her.

As they finish stitching up my wife, my daughter & I wait in recovery for Mom to join us. Her eyes are as open as my heart as I offer her soothing words of comfort and encouragement. I decide to try out a couple of possible names my wife had picked out on her.

"Olivia?" She screams at the top of her already very strong lungs. Apparently, she's not a fan.

"Samantha?" She quiets down and looks me in the eyes... Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke I try again.

"Olivia?" Again my eardrums are pierced by pitches I'm still getting used to.

"Samantha?" And again she goes quiet and looks me in the eyes. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a winner.

When my wife finally joins us in the recovery room, I tell her that I left the name completely up to our daughter and told her that our daughter was Samantha.

I continued holding Samantha as my wife recovered, feeling a little guilty that my wife had done all the hard work, but I was the first to enjoy the results of all that she had been through and was continuing to go through. At the same time I felt well and truly spoiled that I was getting this precious bonding time with my little girl so soon after her big debut.

Almost three weeks have passed and I'm enjoying every precious second I spend with my little girl whether my wife & I are watching her sleep, or she's wide awake at 3 am ready for a feeding and watching us trying to sleep. When she's awake she's alert, her eyes looking around and taking in all these new sights, sounds, and smells. When she's feeding her eyes lock on my wife or my eyes. When she's asleep her arms raise above her head in what we've come to call "the hockey pose" as it resembles a hockey player cheering after scoring a goal.

I've already started her "musical education" with a bit of Supertramp and Steely Dan. While I'd love to introduce her Dream Theater, I don't think she's quite "there" yet so that will have to wait a bit. In the mean time she'll learn about Chicago, Toto, Little River Band, Poco, Boz Scaggs, and Genesis (and if her Mommy gets her way U2 and The Rolling Stones as well).

More Daddy Practice

Over the weekend I was able to get in a bit more Daddy practice. Friends of the wife & I had a small birthday party for their 2 year old son. Since I showed up a little before my wife I had the pleasure of hearing the little tyke asking for my wife, "Uncle Toni." Kids are cute at that age. I also had a blast holding and making funny faces for his 3 1/2 month old sister.

After he opened his presents, I got down on the floor and played with his toys with him. Something tells me, when my little one makes his/her big debut, leaving for work in the morning will be much harder for me. Not just because of the lack of sleep, but because leaving a little cutie like that can't be easy. I still remember visiting my sister and watching me niece's eyes light up when her dad would get home from work. My sister would say, "Daddy's home!" and my niece would just start glowing. And to think now she's a junior in college... this is going to make me sound really old, but they really do grow up too fast don't they?

Well I'm off to another appointment with the wife at the OB (not to be confused with "The OC"-- my wife's doc looks nothing like Mischa Barton), let's see if we can continue to resist the urge to find out whether we're having a little boy or girl...