For those who haven't read my first installment, or want/need a refresher - point your finger (read: mouse) HERE and CLICK!
After a few minutes of collective silence while we unpacked, we decided to leave our pricey room in Coolsville and step out of ZaZa and up McKinney for a good old fashioned Friday afternoon Happy Hour.
To borrow a line from Prince - We went in through the out door as we entered the pool area, which is not called the pool area at ZaZa. No. At ZaZa the pool is an urban oasis. Hotel ZaZa is what they call a boutique hotel. It is small (I guess 250 rooms), eclectic, luxurious, etc. Again, extremely nice. Each room is different. No cookie cutter play here people. Some have an asian flair. Others are modern. The hallways are lined with striking photographs of famous people. Each floor has an area by the elevator that has coffee in the AM, newspapers, and a little chalk board with all the days info hand written (stocks, scores, weather, etc.) In the afternoon, they put out tea and candies. There's funky seating in the common areas, and pieces of art - all unique. All the rooms have what they call a shag bag - has a rubber, some fruit scented sliquid (read: motion lotion), etc. The suites have themes (shagadelic is one.) In the Lobby, you have expanded seating areas, complete with nice coffee table books. Trays, and other large glass devices are filled with candy.
The Hotel's restaurant at ZaZa is Dragonfly. Dragonfly is one of the hot places to go in Dallas. It serves as the Hotel's restaurant during the morning and day, and at night it becomes an ultra chic club that is standing room only, long lines to enter, etc. That is why we were given our 48 hour (the length of our stay) passport to Coolsville. The card, not to be confused with our key, this was an actual card, would get us into the hotel (bypassing any lines) at night, and preferential treatment in Dragonfly. At night the Urban Oasis (read: pool) becomes the outside patio area of Dragonfly. Again, we'd never been but in the ultra hip Dallas world, Dragonfly is the shit. All of the above is running through my head as we go in the out door to check out Dragonfly and the Urban Oasis. I have heard a lot about Dragonfly, but, being a 37 year old Husband/Father, I hadn't dusted my ass down to Uptown in months. All I knew about Dragonfly was hearsay. When I saw it with my very own eyes, I was shocked. It was small. The pool (damn! Urban Oasis - they'd shitcan me in day if I worked there for not getting that straight) was the size you might find in a friends backyard. Again, VERY nice, but not big. Funky and large beach balls floated in the hot tub, water fall. Smaller ones floated in the pool. Extremely nice lounge chairs and sofas surround the pool, which reminded me of Ozzy Osbourne's if you've ever seen that show on MTV. The restaurant was small too. Which again surprised me, based on all the stories I've heard about it - but made sense considering the size of the hotel. Normally in Dallas, bigger is better. Not at ZaZa. Better is better.
Curiously, after a few moments of gawking around the Urban Oasis like the touristas we were (are), and less than 30 minutes in Coolsville, we decided it was time for splitsville up McKinney Avenue. We went to the Idle Rich Pub, and sat on the patio. As we sat in the late afternoon sunshine, quaffing our pints and watching the denizens of Uptown scurry to and fro we started talking. Care to guess the subject? Survey says: Our Boy(s). Those nearby would only have to eavesdrop on our gripping conversations (toilet training, removal of the plug, discipline philosophy) to realize that we were in fact, tourists, on a two day pass from the 'burbs. Sitting with all the hipsters of Uptown, I felt, well, un-cool, and wondered if our in-town weekend at ZaZa would be a folly? My last lucid though before the beer kicked in was this: Can the Trendoid at the front desk of ZaZa revoke our passports to Coolsville?
A few pints later I didn't care, as the clock approached 7:00 - we decided to bug out of the Pub and walk back (some would say stumble) to Coolsville. The plan was to see what was shaking at ZaZa and then retire to our room and relax before we went to dinner. We were curious if ZaZa was hopping yet. We also both needed to bathe. We'd been to the Texas State Fair earlier that day, and well, the Fair is pretty damn dirty. As we rounded the hacks in front of ZaZa (The Hotel is on a small side street off of McKinney for those that are into directions, thus you have to walk off McKinney and down a long wall - where the cabs are lined up - and then you turn into the Courtyard, circular valet drive - you cannot park your own car at ZaZa - they charge you $18 a night for the pleasure), I immediately noticed that the place still looked like a fancy Hotel. Complete with goofy October decorations - and OU/Texas decorations from the previous weekend. No lines of people trying to get into the place. It was pretty subdued. Granted, it was only 7:00. Most of the Prada People, like vampires, only come out after dark. As we entered the front door, greeted by ZaZa's version of Carlton (if you dig that Rhoda reference) - I was a bit sad that no one wanted to see my passport.
After showers (note the "S" as in two - much to my chagrin) we dressed and decided to yet again, split Coolsville and head back up to McKinney Ave. We decided to hit S&D Oyster for dinner. After a very light dinner and with a plethora of bars, restaurants, clubs, etc at our disposal on McKinney Ave...we made the exciting choice of going back to the Idle Rich Pub. Living on the EDGE! Actually, it was nice. Again, we sat and drank some pints and had a little more food and talked. This time it wasn't all Boy(s) - but they still took up a good chunk of our conversation and thoughts. Not all of which were in the warm and fuzzy vein. For instance at the clock hit 8:15 - I made a mental note that I wasn't having to give the Elder Boy a BATH! Go ME! Chug a pint!!!!! Wow, we're actually NOT there...high five! It was nice having beers with just my Lovely Bride. I couldn't even remember the last time it was just us in such a carefree setting.
TO many pints later, we stumble back to Hotel ZaZa. The clock was fast approaching 11:00, and this time even before we get to the Hacks - still on McKinney Ave. - I could tell things had changed at Coolsville. The place was NUTS! Cars stacked deep trying to get into the circular driveway, and valet. People walking up from parking off street. FINALLY - the place was living up to its hype. As we rounded the corner into the Hotels driveway and Dragonfly's entrance - we were hit with a massive line. I'm talking Studio 54-esque line. People dressed to kill, waiting to get into this hallow place. Burly man at the velvet rope keeping the throng out, while letting a few people into the inter sanctum. Even in my likkered up state I was ready and quickly whipped out my Coolsville passport - and quickly and, by golly, cooly entered ZaZa. The others on line, left in my dust, must have wondered -who's that cat? probably not. But we were in, and about to see Dragonfly, in all its Friday night glory for ourselves.
Until next time...To be Continued - Part III
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Monday, October 25, 2004
Lionel Richie is full of Shit!
Easy, like Sunday morning? Our weekend was not ever close! For those keeping score at home, Team Tinsley had a crappy weekend. Figuratively. Literally. As I BLOGGED last time my Lovely Bride did not have the Taiwan Flu which she can catch from (D)runco. She had some sort of bug. I slept on sofa city Thursday night in an effort to not get infected. Didn't work. I got it too. Real hard. I had fever. Everyone else had diarrhea. Having the shits is bad enough for most anyone, add Boy(s) and diapers, and well its not real fun. But (knock on wood, pray, sacrifice a goat!) the Boy(s) seem to only have that affliction and not the fever, for that, my glass is half full. Enough of my pity party. Let's get to the good stuff. Funny - not necessarily like on TV - more in the when it rains it pours vein - thankfully I'm (read: You) reading about it, and its not happening to me.
Suki (our cat) is bulimic. She often comes inside in the AM, runs over to her food bowl, meows incessantly about the level of food (it can be full, and she'll still complain,) then gorges herself. After that she'll go get some water, and then hits the food bowl again (repeating the above, crying, etc.) and eats even more. Then, about 50% of the time, she'll start making her funky, "Oh shit, I'm going to puke" meow - and then, she pukes. Usually in the hall. Business as usual at Team Tinsley. I grab some Brawny and clean up the puke, curse Suki, who gives me an insolent look and goes back outside.
Coincidentally this past Friday AM, as Carter leaves the front of the house, the Little Warrior decides he wants his Mommy. He starts his head down robot crawl after her. Only trouble is, there is a huge mound of Suki puke between him and his Mommy. You can see where this is going Dear Reader, the Little Warrior blazed on through the puke, loses his traction, and, falls into it. Nice. Frustrated by his spin-out, he flails around a bit more, before being rescued by his Mommy. Friday morning fun.
Saturday. I'm zombie fever boy. Laying in bed. The Little Warrior starts stirring at 6am. This is normal behavior for him. We should get him a paper route he wakes up so early. Point. We let him play in his crib until he becomes bored, and annouces (by crying) that he's ready to get out of his bed. In my feverish haze, I reckon he played for another 30 minutes or so, before my Lovely Bride answered his call...problem was he has the shits...and shit everywhere. Complete diaper failure. Not knowing any better, he rolled around, played, painted, etc. in said shit for 30 minutes. Good morning sunshine.
We all seem to be doing better in time for the work-week of course. Which is good. I'd hate for the Boy(s) to get the funk and be sick over Halloween.
Until I BLOG again...Boo.
Suki (our cat) is bulimic. She often comes inside in the AM, runs over to her food bowl, meows incessantly about the level of food (it can be full, and she'll still complain,) then gorges herself. After that she'll go get some water, and then hits the food bowl again (repeating the above, crying, etc.) and eats even more. Then, about 50% of the time, she'll start making her funky, "Oh shit, I'm going to puke" meow - and then, she pukes. Usually in the hall. Business as usual at Team Tinsley. I grab some Brawny and clean up the puke, curse Suki, who gives me an insolent look and goes back outside.
Coincidentally this past Friday AM, as Carter leaves the front of the house, the Little Warrior decides he wants his Mommy. He starts his head down robot crawl after her. Only trouble is, there is a huge mound of Suki puke between him and his Mommy. You can see where this is going Dear Reader, the Little Warrior blazed on through the puke, loses his traction, and, falls into it. Nice. Frustrated by his spin-out, he flails around a bit more, before being rescued by his Mommy. Friday morning fun.
Saturday. I'm zombie fever boy. Laying in bed. The Little Warrior starts stirring at 6am. This is normal behavior for him. We should get him a paper route he wakes up so early. Point. We let him play in his crib until he becomes bored, and annouces (by crying) that he's ready to get out of his bed. In my feverish haze, I reckon he played for another 30 minutes or so, before my Lovely Bride answered his call...problem was he has the shits...and shit everywhere. Complete diaper failure. Not knowing any better, he rolled around, played, painted, etc. in said shit for 30 minutes. Good morning sunshine.
We all seem to be doing better in time for the work-week of course. Which is good. I'd hate for the Boy(s) to get the funk and be sick over Halloween.
Until I BLOG again...Boo.
Friday, October 22, 2004
M..... F.....!
For those few misguided souls out there that read this here BLOG and think I'm Father of the Year material (you obviously don't know me personally) I have a story for you on what a flawed human being I truly am. In Polly want a #@$%ing cracker? I BLOGGED about my quest to not curse in front of the Boy(s). I reported in that entry that I was doing a fine job. Well, Dear Readers, I failed miserably last night.
It was Thursday night, and I've had a tough week. Long work days, and on Wednesday My Lovely Bride had (D)runco which meant I had Boy(s) duty by my lonesome. Tired. Beat. That was me.
Back to Thursday - I was looking forward to Lap Sit. No, I wasn't hitting the Titty Bars. I'm talking me and the Elder Boy at the Richardson Public Library from 7-7:30pm for a reading program. A Dad and Lad thing. I really dig it. He does too. Anyway, come Thursday my Lovely Bride was not feeling well. At first I suspected the Taiwan Flu. She did have (D)runco the previous night. I was wrong. She truly was sick, and was having a tough time. Being a typical male bastard, my first thought was how this was going to impact my already grueling week at work. Would I have to stay home and help? What great timing. After I did the mental rubber band on the wrist (if you are interested in this curious habit, email me, I won't bore everyone else) and figured I'd take both Wyatt and Ethan to Lap Sit. My Lovely Bride did it x2. Why couldn't I. What I didn't factor into this equation was the fact that the Elder Boy liked the fact that it was just us. No Wyatt. Hmmm. We discussed (Lovely Bride and I) just laying low and not mentioning it, and seeing if she thought she could watch Wyatt and if not, Ethan wouldn't remember and we'd do something else and give her a break. Ethan not remember? Were we nuts? The kid has the memory of an elephant. Sure enough after dinner, unprovoked, he starts talkin about the Library and Toula (Toula is the star turtle - as in puppet - at this Lap Sit.) My Lovely Bride didn't want to deny her firstborn some alone time with yours truly - and like the great Mom she is, sucked it up and said she'd watch Wyatt. We should go. BUT, I needed to change Ethan's diaper before we left as it hadn't been changed for hours. Ok. No sweat. Except, Ethan was now outside playing and didn't want to extricate himself from that activity. Each time I asked him if he was ready, he'd give me his standard five more minutes. The kid can't tell time people. He doesn't own a watch. I've never seen him look at a clock. My point, 5 minutes can turn into 30 quick. It was 6:40 by this time and I had to change a diaper, and get shoes on him. Not as easy as it sounds...trust me. Each minute that passed, I'm getting more and more uptight about being late. I know. Uptight about Lap Sit what a dink! But that's me. I finally wrangle him into the house and get him on the chair to change his diaper. Tired. Beat. I strip off the diaper expecting to find just urine. Wrong. Poop. Poop that had been there long enough to have given him a wicked diaper rash. Which for those not used to changing shitty diapers, meant a BATTLE ROYAL to wipe the shit off of him as he screams and kicks (because it does hurt) - not fun for him, or me. Factor in the tired, the beat, the shit, the rash which upset me because I don't like to see my Boy(s) hurt, and the fact that nearing three years old he won't tell us when he's shit himself, no matter how often we tell him that keeping it there causes the rash - I was extremely frustrated and agitated and well, the first thing I said was this: Mother fucker.
I didn't yell or scream. I said it in my normal voice. Actually in more of a sad sack, dejected, beat sort of voice.
Ethan. Laying there. Naked. Shit all over him. Diaper rash. Smiles at me as the clock does the quarter to the hour (6:45 - remember my uptightness about getting there by 7pm) chime thing and says...Mother Fucker.
Until I BLOG again...Rubber band on the wrist x100 for saying MF in front of Ethan!
It was Thursday night, and I've had a tough week. Long work days, and on Wednesday My Lovely Bride had (D)runco which meant I had Boy(s) duty by my lonesome. Tired. Beat. That was me.
Back to Thursday - I was looking forward to Lap Sit. No, I wasn't hitting the Titty Bars. I'm talking me and the Elder Boy at the Richardson Public Library from 7-7:30pm for a reading program. A Dad and Lad thing. I really dig it. He does too. Anyway, come Thursday my Lovely Bride was not feeling well. At first I suspected the Taiwan Flu. She did have (D)runco the previous night. I was wrong. She truly was sick, and was having a tough time. Being a typical male bastard, my first thought was how this was going to impact my already grueling week at work. Would I have to stay home and help? What great timing. After I did the mental rubber band on the wrist (if you are interested in this curious habit, email me, I won't bore everyone else) and figured I'd take both Wyatt and Ethan to Lap Sit. My Lovely Bride did it x2. Why couldn't I. What I didn't factor into this equation was the fact that the Elder Boy liked the fact that it was just us. No Wyatt. Hmmm. We discussed (Lovely Bride and I) just laying low and not mentioning it, and seeing if she thought she could watch Wyatt and if not, Ethan wouldn't remember and we'd do something else and give her a break. Ethan not remember? Were we nuts? The kid has the memory of an elephant. Sure enough after dinner, unprovoked, he starts talkin about the Library and Toula (Toula is the star turtle - as in puppet - at this Lap Sit.) My Lovely Bride didn't want to deny her firstborn some alone time with yours truly - and like the great Mom she is, sucked it up and said she'd watch Wyatt. We should go. BUT, I needed to change Ethan's diaper before we left as it hadn't been changed for hours. Ok. No sweat. Except, Ethan was now outside playing and didn't want to extricate himself from that activity. Each time I asked him if he was ready, he'd give me his standard five more minutes. The kid can't tell time people. He doesn't own a watch. I've never seen him look at a clock. My point, 5 minutes can turn into 30 quick. It was 6:40 by this time and I had to change a diaper, and get shoes on him. Not as easy as it sounds...trust me. Each minute that passed, I'm getting more and more uptight about being late. I know. Uptight about Lap Sit what a dink! But that's me. I finally wrangle him into the house and get him on the chair to change his diaper. Tired. Beat. I strip off the diaper expecting to find just urine. Wrong. Poop. Poop that had been there long enough to have given him a wicked diaper rash. Which for those not used to changing shitty diapers, meant a BATTLE ROYAL to wipe the shit off of him as he screams and kicks (because it does hurt) - not fun for him, or me. Factor in the tired, the beat, the shit, the rash which upset me because I don't like to see my Boy(s) hurt, and the fact that nearing three years old he won't tell us when he's shit himself, no matter how often we tell him that keeping it there causes the rash - I was extremely frustrated and agitated and well, the first thing I said was this: Mother fucker.
I didn't yell or scream. I said it in my normal voice. Actually in more of a sad sack, dejected, beat sort of voice.
Ethan. Laying there. Naked. Shit all over him. Diaper rash. Smiles at me as the clock does the quarter to the hour (6:45 - remember my uptightness about getting there by 7pm) chime thing and says...Mother Fucker.
Until I BLOG again...Rubber band on the wrist x100 for saying MF in front of Ethan!
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Like Fonzie...
As most who read this here BLOG know, I'm 37. I don't feel 37. Don't think I look, or act, 37. Not that being 37 is bad. I think of 37 the way I did as a 21 year old - at 37 a person is heading down hill toward the big 40! Fast. Gaining speed. Middle age up ahead - Population me! Be that as it may, if you asked me if I was still cool (like Fonzie, not like Dazed and Confused) I felt the answer would be a resounding correctamundo. I thought myself fairly hip in a thirtysomething sort of way. Or so I thought until my lovely bride and I decided to check out of suburbia by checking into Hotel ZaZa in the tony Uptown area of Dallas. Granny and Pops (read: Jerr and Joyce Tinsley) came up to do Boy(s) Patrol - and we were off for two nights sans Boy(s). It wasn't a lot of time, and paled in comparison to our original plan (Northern California Wine Country Trip,) but two nights with no bath duty, diaper changing, kiddy spoons, bottles, etc. sounded pretty damn good.
We got off to a bumpy start by experiencing some typical Friday afternoon Dallas rush hour. I guess the traffic gods wanted us to think we were traveling farther than we actually were since the 15 minute drive turned into 60. By the time we hit Uptown, I was uptight.
First clue we were in coolsville happened at check in, when we got what I perceived as insouciance from the trendy front desk person. At first, dressed all in black, he was warm, and friendly - sunny.
"Hello Sir, Welcome to Hotel ZaZa".
I gave him our name and he did the rat-a-tat-tat on his computer. As our booking info came up on the screen his sunny disposition turned partly cloudy.
"Oh. You booked through Hotels.com."
I was still tense from the beating of a drive and had to fight the temptation to grab him by his perfectly coifed hair. Hell, If life were like the movies, I would have said, "Don't push me, I'm damn close to the edge!" Alas, it is not, and I just gave him a wordless nod and prayed that we wouldn't be in the custodian suite.
A few taps on his keyboard and he handed over our keys (which are now cards, but they still call them keys) and our 48 hour passport to Coolsville (more on that later.) Juan whisked over at the ready to take us upstairs. I soon realize that my custodian suite worry was, as usual, unfounded. I doubt there is a bad room in ZaZa. Juan led us into our room which looked stellar to me, and started unloading our bags when the wife took issue with the room. It only had a jungle shower, no bath. She wanted a full on bath. She got on the blower and called (I'm assuming trendoid) the front desk who quickly moved us to another room on the same floor that had a bath, shower, etc. Very nice. Make no mistake from my wiseass ramblings, Hotel ZaZa is NICE. I highly recommend it in spite of whatever fun I might make at its expense. Actually my expense, since it is EXPENSIVE! Trendoid can give me all the shit he like, I payed 50% less through Hotels.com than I would have if I had booked direct to ZaZa. Juan quickly hooked us up with the new room and even went downstairs to get our new cards (keys). As he handed them over, I had my usual, oh shit, what do I tip internal dialogue. I hate to tip. Not that I hate to let go of the money, its more about not knowing the appropriate amount to tip. I probably end up over tipping in an effort to look like I know what I'm doing, thus making it perfectly clear that I in fact don't. It is pretty messed up actually, the amount of stress I put myself through over something so silly as a tip for Juan the bellboy. I tipped him ($5) and Juan wished us a nice stay, and closed the door (temporarily) on our suburbian lifestyle. Vacation! We were both silent As we stood in the middle of Coolsville, taking in the nice room, and thinking of the long weekend that lay ahead. After a few moments of thoughtful reflection, still silent, I started to think (and I'd bet you a sixer my Lovely Bride was too):
Now what?
Until I BLOG again...Part II
We got off to a bumpy start by experiencing some typical Friday afternoon Dallas rush hour. I guess the traffic gods wanted us to think we were traveling farther than we actually were since the 15 minute drive turned into 60. By the time we hit Uptown, I was uptight.
First clue we were in coolsville happened at check in, when we got what I perceived as insouciance from the trendy front desk person. At first, dressed all in black, he was warm, and friendly - sunny.
"Hello Sir, Welcome to Hotel ZaZa".
I gave him our name and he did the rat-a-tat-tat on his computer. As our booking info came up on the screen his sunny disposition turned partly cloudy.
"Oh. You booked through Hotels.com."
I was still tense from the beating of a drive and had to fight the temptation to grab him by his perfectly coifed hair. Hell, If life were like the movies, I would have said, "Don't push me, I'm damn close to the edge!" Alas, it is not, and I just gave him a wordless nod and prayed that we wouldn't be in the custodian suite.
A few taps on his keyboard and he handed over our keys (which are now cards, but they still call them keys) and our 48 hour passport to Coolsville (more on that later.) Juan whisked over at the ready to take us upstairs. I soon realize that my custodian suite worry was, as usual, unfounded. I doubt there is a bad room in ZaZa. Juan led us into our room which looked stellar to me, and started unloading our bags when the wife took issue with the room. It only had a jungle shower, no bath. She wanted a full on bath. She got on the blower and called (I'm assuming trendoid) the front desk who quickly moved us to another room on the same floor that had a bath, shower, etc. Very nice. Make no mistake from my wiseass ramblings, Hotel ZaZa is NICE. I highly recommend it in spite of whatever fun I might make at its expense. Actually my expense, since it is EXPENSIVE! Trendoid can give me all the shit he like, I payed 50% less through Hotels.com than I would have if I had booked direct to ZaZa. Juan quickly hooked us up with the new room and even went downstairs to get our new cards (keys). As he handed them over, I had my usual, oh shit, what do I tip internal dialogue. I hate to tip. Not that I hate to let go of the money, its more about not knowing the appropriate amount to tip. I probably end up over tipping in an effort to look like I know what I'm doing, thus making it perfectly clear that I in fact don't. It is pretty messed up actually, the amount of stress I put myself through over something so silly as a tip for Juan the bellboy. I tipped him ($5) and Juan wished us a nice stay, and closed the door (temporarily) on our suburbian lifestyle. Vacation! We were both silent As we stood in the middle of Coolsville, taking in the nice room, and thinking of the long weekend that lay ahead. After a few moments of thoughtful reflection, still silent, I started to think (and I'd bet you a sixer my Lovely Bride was too):
Now what?
Until I BLOG again...Part II
Monday, October 11, 2004
Elvis is everywhere
Regular readers of this here BLOG might remember my entry about the second child conundrum. When you have the first kid, there's a ton of stuff you can read about parenthood, what to expect when expecting, etc. As far as the second (I'm sure its ever worse for the third, fourth - but - KNOCK ON WOOD - we don't want to go there) child, nothing. I retract that. There's a ton on sibling rivalry, but that's about it. No books (that I've seen.) Websites. Nothing!
You do get war stories from those that have gone before you. Parents with kid(s). They all say the same thing, for the most part. That it will be easier the second time around. You and your signifigant other will be more laid back. You don't worry as much. That sort of thing. They are right, too. It is true. However, what they fail to warn you about is the strange guilt you will experience as you graduated from Married with Child, to Children. No one I know ever mentioned this to me and my Lovely Bride. Perhaps, most choose not to admit it, fear that people will think them bad parents? Let me explain, and then you can make up your own mind. Pull up a chair. Let me pontificate.
Again, the advice about being more laid back with the second kid, is true. You don't wig out with every little cough, or bump, etc. You've been there before, know how fast it goes, are more mindful of the experiences. Don't confuse that with necessarily enjoying them. Anyone who tells you that they love the infant stage, complete with with three or four night time feedings, diaper changes, etc. is full of shit. That part is hard, the first, second, third, etc. time. The second time you just don't sweat it as much. You know it will come to pass, and have a frame of reference for what is next.
The thing that you aren't prepared for is the guilt you feel because you don't have the same amount of time, energy, etc. to give to the second kid as you did the first. You also have less time to give to the first now that the second is on the ground. Hell, if you want to get scary honest, some of the time you don't even have the desire. It doesn't mean that you don't love the #2 as much as #1 - you do. It just comes down to time. You have to divide it by two when the second kid comes along, and that is hard physically, emotionally, and mentally. Factor in the evil need to compare (not kids, the experience) and you have said guilt with a capital G,
Think I'm full of shit? I have an exercise for you. For parents with two kids, (those sans kids, contact your breeder friends so you can play along at home) gather up all the pictures you have for Kid #1 (#1 being a chronological distinction) from birth to 1 year. Do the same for Kid #2. I'd bet my beer money that you have a substantial stack in the Kid #1 pile. Kid #2 pile? Probably not so many.
I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty, or more guilt. My heavy handed point is that it is one of those strange things that you never think of when you think of having kid(s). I never worried about it, and I worry about everything. The thing I worried about the most prior to the Little Warrior hitting the ground, turned out, to be a total non-issue.
My big fear was how could I love the new Baby as much as I loved Ethan. It was just unthinkable to me how I could have such an intense bond with another child. I think a big part of it, for me anyway, was that I was an only child. I had no frame of reference with siblings, etc. It was voodoo to me. Just couldn't get my head around it, until the Little Warrior graced us with his appearance on December 28, 2003.
I quickly discovered that I would love Wyatt as much as I love Ethan. All that worry (as usual) was a complete waste of time and energy. I love Ethan/Wyatt more than anything. Which, as I'm sure you realize is sort of contradictory. How can I love Wyatt more than anything if I love Ethan as much? This concept actually trips up the Elder Boy as he can't fathom that we (read: Parents) can love him as much as we do, and Wyatt too. He feels (or so all the instruction manuals say) there is only X amount of love to give and if you give it all on one, well there's none left for two. Funny (maybe sad, actually) that my previous worry was kind of grounded in the same thought process. If Ethan or anyone for that matter, asks how I can love them both more than anything, the only explanation I have is Elvis.
Elvis?
Yes, Elvis.
Dig this.
If you asked me to pick my favorite Elvis (much like the country did in 1992 when they had to vote which era Elvis would be on his stamp.) I couldn't.
I love the young Hillbilly Cat Elvis the same as I love the old White Jumpsuit Elvis. Elvis the Pelvis ripping through Mystery Train. Genius. Elvis a bit overweight, karate kicking his way through Kentucky Rain. Genius. I can't pick. I love the both equally - they are both so different, yet, the same. That Dear Reader, is how I feel about the Boy(s). I love them both to the nth degree - more than I could ever explain here, even with the help of the King.
Until I BLOG again...Man o man, What I want you to see, Is that the big E's, Inside of you and me!
You do get war stories from those that have gone before you. Parents with kid(s). They all say the same thing, for the most part. That it will be easier the second time around. You and your signifigant other will be more laid back. You don't worry as much. That sort of thing. They are right, too. It is true. However, what they fail to warn you about is the strange guilt you will experience as you graduated from Married with Child, to Children. No one I know ever mentioned this to me and my Lovely Bride. Perhaps, most choose not to admit it, fear that people will think them bad parents? Let me explain, and then you can make up your own mind. Pull up a chair. Let me pontificate.
Again, the advice about being more laid back with the second kid, is true. You don't wig out with every little cough, or bump, etc. You've been there before, know how fast it goes, are more mindful of the experiences. Don't confuse that with necessarily enjoying them. Anyone who tells you that they love the infant stage, complete with with three or four night time feedings, diaper changes, etc. is full of shit. That part is hard, the first, second, third, etc. time. The second time you just don't sweat it as much. You know it will come to pass, and have a frame of reference for what is next.
The thing that you aren't prepared for is the guilt you feel because you don't have the same amount of time, energy, etc. to give to the second kid as you did the first. You also have less time to give to the first now that the second is on the ground. Hell, if you want to get scary honest, some of the time you don't even have the desire. It doesn't mean that you don't love the #2 as much as #1 - you do. It just comes down to time. You have to divide it by two when the second kid comes along, and that is hard physically, emotionally, and mentally. Factor in the evil need to compare (not kids, the experience) and you have said guilt with a capital G,
Think I'm full of shit? I have an exercise for you. For parents with two kids, (those sans kids, contact your breeder friends so you can play along at home) gather up all the pictures you have for Kid #1 (#1 being a chronological distinction) from birth to 1 year. Do the same for Kid #2. I'd bet my beer money that you have a substantial stack in the Kid #1 pile. Kid #2 pile? Probably not so many.
I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty, or more guilt. My heavy handed point is that it is one of those strange things that you never think of when you think of having kid(s). I never worried about it, and I worry about everything. The thing I worried about the most prior to the Little Warrior hitting the ground, turned out, to be a total non-issue.
My big fear was how could I love the new Baby as much as I loved Ethan. It was just unthinkable to me how I could have such an intense bond with another child. I think a big part of it, for me anyway, was that I was an only child. I had no frame of reference with siblings, etc. It was voodoo to me. Just couldn't get my head around it, until the Little Warrior graced us with his appearance on December 28, 2003.
I quickly discovered that I would love Wyatt as much as I love Ethan. All that worry (as usual) was a complete waste of time and energy. I love Ethan/Wyatt more than anything. Which, as I'm sure you realize is sort of contradictory. How can I love Wyatt more than anything if I love Ethan as much? This concept actually trips up the Elder Boy as he can't fathom that we (read: Parents) can love him as much as we do, and Wyatt too. He feels (or so all the instruction manuals say) there is only X amount of love to give and if you give it all on one, well there's none left for two. Funny (maybe sad, actually) that my previous worry was kind of grounded in the same thought process. If Ethan or anyone for that matter, asks how I can love them both more than anything, the only explanation I have is Elvis.
Elvis?
Yes, Elvis.
Dig this.
If you asked me to pick my favorite Elvis (much like the country did in 1992 when they had to vote which era Elvis would be on his stamp.) I couldn't.
I love the young Hillbilly Cat Elvis the same as I love the old White Jumpsuit Elvis. Elvis the Pelvis ripping through Mystery Train. Genius. Elvis a bit overweight, karate kicking his way through Kentucky Rain. Genius. I can't pick. I love the both equally - they are both so different, yet, the same. That Dear Reader, is how I feel about the Boy(s). I love them both to the nth degree - more than I could ever explain here, even with the help of the King.
Until I BLOG again...Man o man, What I want you to see, Is that the big E's, Inside of you and me!
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Do a little dance...
Pretty much since he has been able to walk, the Elder Boy has had the wonderful habit of dancing in front of the TV. Actually, he does it in front of the TV to certain theme songs. Lately, he's added singing to the mix. It is a classic.
We have a whole series of Hard Hat Harry tapes. Hard Hat Harry is a character in said videos, actually he's a (insert the theme) genie. For example, two little kids are coming home from school, walking around a construction site, and find a thermos. They open it - BAM, Hard Hat Harry the Construction Genie appears to grant them three wishes. They want to learn about construction sites, equipment, etc, and Hard Hat Harry knows all about that. We have HHH Videos on Police, Boats, Construction, and Trains. Each one has a snappy theme song that plays after the kids discover the genie. After we establish our two kids (its always two kids?), and the Genie, they always fade to the snappy theme song that plays much like a music video for that particular genre.
Take the train one. Kids are walking along a rail road track (great life lesson for young kids, walk along a train track!) and find an old signal man's light, rub it, BAM. Hard Hat Harry (but since it is trains, he's wearing a conductor's hat - which doesn't make sense to me, since he's supposed to be Hard Hat Harry - he should always have the Hard Hat.) Fade to the train theme song, two minutes of snappy song, with trains trains trains on screen. Ethan goes ape shit for this. Loves it. He'll sit and patiently watch the intro, but as soon as the song starts, he's up and dancing like a whirling dervish in front of the TV. It is, for me, pure joy to watch him do this. Funny too. As I wrote a few graphs back, he has now added singing to his act. He doesn't sing along to the whole song, he repeats the last line of a verse. Example.
TV/VIDEO:
We're riding on the rails...
ETHAN:
...rails...
TV/VIDEO:
In a big old steam locomotive..
ETHAN:
...locomotive...
You get the picture. He does it on all the videos, and dances non-stop. Often, when the song part ends, and it gets back to the gripping story line, Ethan will politely request to watch it again. Rewind. Repeat. Other times, one dance is sufficient and he gets sucked up in the story.
Again, it is pure joy to watch my Eldest Boy dance, because, well, the music moves him and he's firmly in the moment. One down note to the above, and the main reason I want to BLOG about this (posterity people - so we don't forget in the Buck Rogers future) is that lately he has become a bit self conscious when he dances and sings. At times he'll get upset if you watch him to intently. I'm sure it is just part of growing up, becoming more socially aware of what others think, and having reservations about yourself, etc. I know he's not yet 3 - I shouldn't be a dork and over think it. But, deep down I realizes that this singular habit of his, will more than likely fade as he gets older because of the self conscious thing. He might do it, but he won't do it in front of me is my point.
If Ethan or the Little Warrior ever solicit my advice on dancing..."Dad, how do we dance?" I have my answer ready and waiting. I'll tell the Boy(s) this..."with abandon!"
Until I BLOG again...Get down tonight.
We have a whole series of Hard Hat Harry tapes. Hard Hat Harry is a character in said videos, actually he's a (insert the theme) genie. For example, two little kids are coming home from school, walking around a construction site, and find a thermos. They open it - BAM, Hard Hat Harry the Construction Genie appears to grant them three wishes. They want to learn about construction sites, equipment, etc, and Hard Hat Harry knows all about that. We have HHH Videos on Police, Boats, Construction, and Trains. Each one has a snappy theme song that plays after the kids discover the genie. After we establish our two kids (its always two kids?), and the Genie, they always fade to the snappy theme song that plays much like a music video for that particular genre.
Take the train one. Kids are walking along a rail road track (great life lesson for young kids, walk along a train track!) and find an old signal man's light, rub it, BAM. Hard Hat Harry (but since it is trains, he's wearing a conductor's hat - which doesn't make sense to me, since he's supposed to be Hard Hat Harry - he should always have the Hard Hat.) Fade to the train theme song, two minutes of snappy song, with trains trains trains on screen. Ethan goes ape shit for this. Loves it. He'll sit and patiently watch the intro, but as soon as the song starts, he's up and dancing like a whirling dervish in front of the TV. It is, for me, pure joy to watch him do this. Funny too. As I wrote a few graphs back, he has now added singing to his act. He doesn't sing along to the whole song, he repeats the last line of a verse. Example.
TV/VIDEO:
We're riding on the rails...
ETHAN:
...rails...
TV/VIDEO:
In a big old steam locomotive..
ETHAN:
...locomotive...
You get the picture. He does it on all the videos, and dances non-stop. Often, when the song part ends, and it gets back to the gripping story line, Ethan will politely request to watch it again. Rewind. Repeat. Other times, one dance is sufficient and he gets sucked up in the story.
Again, it is pure joy to watch my Eldest Boy dance, because, well, the music moves him and he's firmly in the moment. One down note to the above, and the main reason I want to BLOG about this (posterity people - so we don't forget in the Buck Rogers future) is that lately he has become a bit self conscious when he dances and sings. At times he'll get upset if you watch him to intently. I'm sure it is just part of growing up, becoming more socially aware of what others think, and having reservations about yourself, etc. I know he's not yet 3 - I shouldn't be a dork and over think it. But, deep down I realizes that this singular habit of his, will more than likely fade as he gets older because of the self conscious thing. He might do it, but he won't do it in front of me is my point.
If Ethan or the Little Warrior ever solicit my advice on dancing..."Dad, how do we dance?" I have my answer ready and waiting. I'll tell the Boy(s) this..."with abandon!"
Until I BLOG again...Get down tonight.
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