Comfort

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Out of Control

May 2, 2010 | 6 comments

Nothing shatters the illusion of control like being a parent. It starts the moment that baby comes screaming into the world (at least for dad; for mom, the feeling might start some nine months earlier). We knew we were in for an adventure when the delivery nurse—a woman who had witnessed thousands of births—responded to Squirts’ noisy arrival by saying, “Well, isn’t he dramatic!” Let the fun begin!

From there, the appearance of control has continued to crumble:

  • You never really appreciate the simple ability to decide when to sleep, eat or use the facilities until your carefree life turns on a dime to an hourly schedule of all those things.
  • Shopping for a birthday gift at Target takes on a whole new meaning when you turn back to the cart just in time to see your two-year-old projectile vomiting into the basket.
  • Driving to church becomes directed by a map marked with every easy-in/easy-out restroom to avoid another commando Sunday.
  • The five minute trek across the amusement park to the Shamu show takes 25 minutes because there’s so much for a four-year-old to see. Daddy, look at that rock! Mommy, I found a stick! Hey, that guy is old!

And those are just a few of the moments from the first four years. I’m in denial about what the future holds.

Last summer, DeDe and I met some people who have their own unique perspective on the illusion of control when we traveled with her church praise team to Northern Ireland. Read the rest of this entry »

Faith in an 8 oz. Squeeze Bottle

April 25, 2010 | 3 comments

One night this week, I was in the family room listening to Squirts and his mommy go through the nightly pre-bedtime ritual: brush teeth, use mouth wash, go potty, and head to bed, all narrated with a steady chatter of dialogue between the two. But then, as they moved from bathroom to bedroom, the normalcy of the routine was broken. Squirts punctuates the ongoing conversation with an appropriately confused, “What the hell?!”

Yes, our four-year-old son busted out with “What the hell?!” And, I later learned, he had used the phrase in a correct, though totally inappropriate, context. The outburst was, of course, followed by his mommy’s calm, but insistent explanation about the evils of words like that. Squirts apparently understood the potentially dire consequences of the phrase he’d just used, because the last thing I heard him say before the bedroom door closed was, “Mommy, please don’t tell daddy what I said.”

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Smooth.

March 14, 2010 | 5 comments

Squirts tends to the nosy side, which I freely admit he inherited from my side of the family. What he hasn’t inherited is the subtlety to be nosy on the down low. His nosiness consists of full-on staring. You know, the turn-in-your-seat-and-ogle-at-the-lady-with-“funny eyes” kind of stare.

So, it’s boys night out while mommy is at choir practice and we’re waiting to order at our favorite taco place. After busting him several times for openly gawking at other people, I launch into a fatherly lecture about the dangers of staring.

At four years old, Squirts may be a little young to teach stealth techniques for eavesdropping and people watching. So, a few scare tactics seems more appropriate:

  • If you stare too hard, you could actually burn a hole in their skin.
  • Your eyes could stick like that.
  • If they catch you staring, they have the right to take you home with them. Forever.

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