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Nowadays I end up bringing my oldest son to his bed at night and sitting with him while he drifts off to sleep. This is a practice that sometimes brings me great joy... It is what it is. A little quality quiet time with my son. We start off in "mommy&daddy's room" where we read a story. Then he gets a small glass of water on the edge of our bed. He then says "I want to go to sleep in my room" and off we go. I sit in a chair next to the bed with the lights off and he settles down with his Fisher Price Aquarium on (his "fishies" he calls them), playing a rather tinny lullaby (for 6 minutes, I timed it). He may or may not get one more cycle of the aquarium (which he will reset if he wants), but usually it is enough to put him to sleep. I sneak off back to our bedroom (after usually napping in the chair for a few), and settle down... it's blissfull... most of the time. I get a little frustrated sometimes wishing my son would go to bed on his own and let me have a bit more "me-time." I sometimes want to get another comic done for my webcomic (follow K'CHK on the links area) or relax on the computer, or watching TV. As I haven't really started my webcomic but the one for now, I just put it off for another time. After all, I will eventually have more than enough time to get more done. As for TV, that's why man invented recording devices and the weekend... Still it gets to me. New parents probably feel this way. I'm in no way shape or form a new parent, but I have 2 boys both under 5. I understand the time constraints that taking care of 2 kids requires, but I didn't at first. After we found out we were having a second child, I figured we had it all covered. We'd been through the trial and tribulations of finding out what taking care of a child was like. Piece of cake, we thought. Parents expecting a second child: Be prepared to lose whatever precious time you may have had free. A second child is another ball game because now you have two infant egos to feed. When one isn't feeding or throwing an unknown tantrum, the other will be. You may know what to expect from the new child, just don't expect to have the time that you had with your first to deal with it. Become real creative on how you schedule time and you may just get a handle on it... for a little while at least. As for free time, I take it when I can get it. I don't expect to have it every day, I just bask in the moment when I can settle down and do something not child related... But the moment when my little boy snuggles in to bed with the fading lullaby in his ears... that's worth a lot more than finding a little free time. It won't last much longer, and I'll just have to get as much in as I can... before he tells me "Daddy, I'm a big boy. I can go to bed by myself..." Just a tidbit o'ken...
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My 3 year old woke up this morning crying at around 4:30am. Not too different from most mornings, except for the crying part. When I inquired as to the source of his distress, he briefly recounted that his puppet was stolen. More inquiries from myself and my wife brought out more of the story. It seems that a bad man, a witch in this case, had stolen his cow puppet. We consoled him as best as we were able and within a short time he was back to his normal self wanting to go downstairs and watch "Handy Manny" on the Disney Channel.
The moral? Dreams don't make sense. Mine certainly don't to me, and I don't attempt to try to delve into the psyche and determine what generated his. It's best to deal with the immediate issue, that of his distress. Dreams fade quickly and while you may remember most of them at a later time it's best just to let them go. Good dreams fade as fast as bad ones, so what can we do?
New parents... when bad dreams intrude on your youngster's life, comfort them. Don't try to explain that this wasn't real, because that concept is beyond the scope of most toddlers. Give them love and redirect the dream to real life, where immediate happiness awaits.
Just a tidbit o'ken...
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Why this is the way it is...
Today my oldest turns 3 years old. Man, sometimes I wonder where the time goes. I've been thinking about starting this for a long time, and now I guess is the best time to work on it. I've been thinking a lot of how much I know and want to be able to tell my children. I know that all signs point to my being able to do so, but the problem is how am I going to remember what to say when the time comes? So I set out to think about a way to do so. I figured a document on the computer would be the best way, but how to get it done when I'm not around my home PC? Well, I set up a specific blog and category just for this purpose. Now, if I have an internet connection I can tell my children what I want, I just have to remember where this is when the time comes.
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On Saturday, I said good-bye to a very important person in my life, my mother. I suppose I said good-bye 3 weeks ago on the day that she died, but I don't think it hit home until this day. The preparations were exhausting for my family, as they were in charge of doing all the setup since I live farther away than all of them. Still, it was no less exhausting for me. I spent the better part of that 3 weeks preparing to say good-bye. It's hard, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If the time comes for you to say good-bye in the manner by which you are reading, I wholeheartedly recommend that you try to avoid it, unless you like putting yourself through the whole loss over again. Nevertheless, it is refreshing to know that I can still feel. And, for the future, remember who my mother was. I have been compared to an ice scuplture by friends as I can seem very unemotional. This is simply not true. I am a very private person. My strongest emotions are reserved for those closest to me, all other simply don't need to know or see my innermost feelings. That being said, I'm going to post a transcript of my good-bye, simply because I think some people would like to know... and because I think it's probably one of the most heart-felt things I've ever presented. Please be kind. What you are about to read is a transcript from my mother's memorial service. I recorded it with a MP3 player's voice recorder function, because I have never kept a record of my speeches before. When I speak, I tend to put an order of things in my mind, and rehearse the broad strokes of it back to myself. I don't prepare cards, and I don't read from a pre-written statement. These I consider to be narrowing and too defined for what I usually want to sound like. My speeches are usually one-shot deals, only remembered in the graces of hindsight. This one more than any other I wanted to hear back as it truly sounded. You'll hear me refer to Brad, the chaplain who spoke at the service. It's probably a good thing, because none of us in the family was is any state to do so. He was a nice person, for someone at a distance from the family, but he did what I don't. Scripted. Not that this is a bad thing. He was not invested in the family, and therefore needed some reminders of what he was to say. I may at some point actually post the recording (which is only my speech), but not until I've tweaked it so that it's a little clearer in some places. Without further ado, here it is... Ah… there we go… alright… [sighs] They say that a memorial isn’t really mourning a loss more than celebrating a life. That being said, good or bad, I tried to think of ways to kind of describe my mother and I really, um, had a hard time…. I mean, Brad has given a lot of good details and I wanted to be able to sum it up, maybe in a few brief succinct… succinct sentences that maybe I could do it. I found I couldn’t, really, unless I did it this way, so I’ll go ahead and say this:
My mother was… a hard woman.
And this isn’t a disparaging remark by any means because you have to look at the root word behind that: “hard”
“Hardened” for instance, because well, she grew up in the wartime and post reconstruction Japan area. My mother would tell me “Better eat all of the rice on your plate,” and I’m like sitting here thinking “but Mom, I’m done!” She’d bring up the fact that during the war, her mother would, or her father would pretty much disparage her for leaving food on the table much as I did, by picking up indi… the individual grains of rice and finishing them himself. So in that way, I guess she is hard.
“Unyielding.” Well, unyielding can mean a lot of different things in the sense of hard. My mother was steadfast and stubborn and stuck to her guns, and no matter what, she wanted to make sure that we had what we needed… and in some ways she wanted to make sure she got her way, but I think any of us who know her, that, knew that she pretty much found ways to do that…
Hard, um… hard as in determined. Determined to make sure… well, determined to make sure that, I guess, rules were followed. Certain things to be said about my mother, she would, uh, she had rules… I spent the better part of 18 to 20 years trying to get away from them… and I’ve spent the last, uh, 3 wee… 3 weeks realizing that I follow them now more than I ever have…[sighs]… Pardon me a second…
Ah… I don’t know if my brother was going to tell this story, but I will… uh, the rules of, per se… we lived in Ohio for most of my formative years, junior high and high school at the very least, and a fairly modest sized house I could say. Modest is a good word for it, with a large living room that, that rivaled two thirds that size of this area, that’s pretty nice for a house in Ohio. But it was a living room, and it was a meeting room and it was a gathering room for, for guests, and, and, and people and my mother kept it pristine and beautiful, as she did a lot of things: Gardening and everything else. My mother would vacuum meticulously and she would follow a very set pattern. She would start by the back windows, working her way acrost, and then come closer and closer, and work her way back acrost again. One would think this pattern was an aesthetically pleasing thing… no, it was another rule…Boys stay off the carpet, because if you don’t I’ll know! [laughter] The pattern is disturbed… I find myself following the same pattern, when I do, uh, vacuuming in the house. Just something I guess I grew up with.
To say my mother was a hard woman is just not a bad thing, but we can also go to the flip-side. My mother was soft… my mother was soft-hearted. Um, the cat that, that Brad had mentioned was, there was no way she would have never let that go, and pretty… sure enough, pretty much 3-4 months after the fact rather than her boys taking care of the cat, she was. Soft-hearted… that she was.
Soft as in tender. And this is probably the last thing that I’m going to share before I put down the mike and just take a drink for myself. I remember living in a, the first house, one of the first houses we lived in, in which we actually owned in Ohio off of Stallo Road, I’m sure my father and brothers remember that. I remember… I remember being upset, and I remember being upset at my mother, for no other reason than, I don’t know. She did something that upset me. “I’m running away! I’m going to run away!’ How many people with kids have… have heard that one before. I stealthily stole away into a closet… my older brother Pete’s because I figured she wouldn’t look there. And… waited. I heard my mother crying in the distance. In my tender youth I didn’t know she was faking it [laughter]… because when you’re 5 or 6 you hear crying, someone is upset. So I came out, and jumped out in front of her and said “Mommy, I’m back!” And she, uh, gathered me up in my, her arms, as she would when she was feeling that tenderness and everything was OK… Well… Mommy, I’m back and she’s not here, so I’m going to leave you with that…
Thank you for joining us today… it means a lot to mean and I’m sure it would have meant a lot to her. Thank you! My mother is rolling in heaven to know that such a fuss was made over her. She told my father that you should be nice to someone before they die, because afterwards, it doesn't do any good for them. Too bad, Mom. Memorial are for rememberance and if I have anything to say about it, you'll be hearing from me for a long time.
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