I second that emotion

One of my favorite things about being a breeder, not including the actual act of breeding (insert laugh track), is watching the Boy(s) personalities manifest. What is hard wired, what is learned? That whole nature vs. nurture thing. I'm not into debating it mind you, if you want that kind of action I'd recommend this careful study on the subject. I simply like to observe the Boy(s) in our own little test tube of life.

First up, Boy #2. Wyatt. The Little Warrior. You've read or heard my tales on his war cry. How he busts out in that quintessential scream at the slightest provocation. Generally good natured, as in excited. Never in anger. For most of his 13 months, the Little Warrior has been easy going. Then, as he approached the one year mark, which is about the two month mark of him being ambulatory - he started showing a fiery temper. Now, the way I told you about his scream, and you said, yeah, he screams, assuming that I'm embellishing his exploits to make my BLOG a better read. Nope. For those that have seen him in action, you know what I'm talking about. So, by saying that, consider this: His temper is fierce. We thought the Elder Boy had a temper. Wrong. It doesn't get anywhere near the Little Warrior's. He literally shakes with rage when something makes him mad. The two biggest catalysts for his rage is Ethan taking something away from him, and or when he can't master a fine motor skill that he feels he should be able to do, and or that Ethan can do. He's been walking for two or so months, so he assumes he should be able to do other things that he's not quite ready to do based on seeing his big brother do them. When this happens, look out. Scary mad. Shakes. Falls on the ground. Head butts the floor (we have tile and hardwoods, no carpet.) Now, both me and my Bride have bad tempers, but for the most part we keep them in check in front of the Boy(s). Yes, we've lost it a few times. Nothing that would compare with the Little Warrior's fits though. Put one on the board for nature.

Speaking of nature. Ethan turned three recently. We held his 3rd Birthday Party, titled "Ethan's Truck Extravaganza". It was a blast. He had a great time, and as the title of his party suggests, got a lot of truck related booty. Some of which were truck books. In one of these books, there is a spread with logging equipment. Two lumberjacks in some big rigs tearing down a forest. On the far left side of the page, low, there is a picture of a blue jay flying away from the vehicles over the wreckage that was once a forest. Each time we reach this spread, Ethan gets upset and asks me 'why they knocked down the birds home.' I was so taken back the first time he asked me, that I didn't know what to say. Finally, I pointed to the forest beyond the workers and said the bird was flying over there, that's where he lived. Ethan didn't buy that, and asked again, why they would knock down the birds home, where was he going to live. Upset by it. I later discovered that his Mom casually mentioned the bird the first time she read the book. It is curious that the artist of the book would place a bird in the spread. Perhaps some hidden tree hugger propaganda? Who knows. That's not the point. Empathy. Our three year old son is worried about that fictitious blue jay. So much so that each time we read it, we have to have a 5 minute discussion on the subject. Just what you want to do after a long day, conduct a lecture on the deforestation of the earth and the effects on our enviroment with your three old. While having our third discussion in as many days on the blue jay's plight a very old memory came bubbling up from my unconscious. I'm watching a TV show with a bunch of people in a lifeboat. Their boat had sunk. For whatever reason, they have a dog with them, and well, for some reason they had to get rid of the dog to try and save themselves. So, they cast the poor dog from the boat. I remember him swimming off into the fog away from the lifeboat, and realizing, he was going to drown. It crushed me. I cried. Hard. So bad, that Jerr or Joyce had to change the channel. I remember being told it was just make believe, that it wasn't real which didn't ease my emotional reaction to it. Very much like (sans the tears) Ethan stresses about the bird. Not sure how this one goes, probably a combination of both nature and nurture?

It is strange how the mind works. How these emotions or maybe, personality traits form as the Boy(s) develop. How they mirror some of my traits. Good and bad. It is shocking to see the ghost of my youthful former self in the brown eyes of Ethan as he worries about a fictious blue jay. It is equally, if not more shocking to be reminded of my anger issues when Wyatt rages on the floor. I want to stop time, and explain the reasons why they shouldn't be doing what they are doing based on my life experiences doing the same damn things. Hell, I'd like to hop in that spaceship and go back and tell my youthful self the same thing. Alas, I'm not Cher, all I can do is try to be a better person, good husband, and father, and lead by example, and provide the Boy(s) with a safe, secure, and loving environment to figure it out for themselves. Fingers crossed I don't screw it up to bad.

Until I BLOG again...

I love you for sentimental reasons

One of the reasons I like to read and learn about Eastern Religions, namely Buddhism, is because I have an extremely hard time letting go - example: I've had a gray T Shirt for a decade. It looks it too. Should have been trashed years ago. But, I hold on, because, well that T Shirt reminds me of things, places, a time, and I don't want to lose that connection. Funny side story about me, If I do get the nuts to get rid of something, like the Gray T Shirt, I'll almost always burn it. Yes, you read that correctly - I burn it, or will destroy it in some other ritualistic way. I'm a freak. I admit that. That's not the point of today's BLOG. Now, that I've told you that, consider this: We've removed Ethan's crib from his room, into Wyatt's room, and removed Wyatt's crib (which was a hand-me-down) out of the house completely.

You can well imagine the psychic funk this put me into - considering the T Shirt story. It was compounded by the fact that it went down this past Saturday, while I was at work. Granted I'm the quintessential un-handy man, and really wouldn't have been all that much help in getting it apart and back together in Wyatt's room, that's not my point. My point is, that as I put Ethan to bed in his Crib (something I've pretty much done, every night since January 2002) on Friday night, and got him out on Saturday AM, I had NO idea that it was the last time I'd do it. Silly. Yes. Sentimental. For sure.

Ethan is now sleeping (and doing fine I might add) in his big bed. At three years of age, this is how it should be, something we should rejoice, a milestone on this safari of life.

Every time Ethan and Wyatt pass a milestone, take that big step, I see it for what it truly is: a step away from me, and their Mom. I know that is the point, our job as parents, to raise happy, good Boy(s) that can make their way in this world. Doesn't make it any easier though, especially for a Boy Named Stu that has a hell of time letting go...alas I'm far from being the Buddha of Westwood Drive.

At least the crib didn't leave the house entirely, since it is now in Wyatt's room. This is not only good for my psyche, but also for the ozone layer and my marriage. I'm not sure how either would handle me burning the crib in our backyard.
Until I BLOG again...Let Go.

I Rise, I Fall

Today, Ethan Gentry Tinsley is 3 years old. Hard to believe in more ways than one. Before E, we weren't sure we'd be able to become breeders. But, after an early pregnancy scare, and a cautious first trimester, Carter had an uneventful pregnancy. Her due date was set for January 17, 2002. My Lovely Bride was in labor most of Wednesday, January 16, at work, teaching her class at Dover Elementary. I got the call, in the afternoon, that she was in early labor. I dusted my behind home, and well we waited. Carter had a HUGE fear that she would go to the hospital only to be sent home - that it wouldn't be time. It being our first child, we were green, and didn't know what to expect. So, we sat around the house, looking at each other for awhile, and then decided to do a lap around the block to see if we could speed things up - as well as take Sophie (a.k.a. Dog Dog) on her nightly walk.

I'll never forget, walking down Westwood and up Ridgedale, as the sun was setting. It is a walk that we still, often take, but now we're four strong, and back on this cool Wednesday evening, it was just the two of us, and our old dog. It took us a long time, as you can well imagine, with Carter being in labor. When we got back to the house, I cooked up a frozen Digorno Pizza, and reread the instruction manual for the true signs of labor.

By 8pm, we decided it was time to go to the hospital. A long night of labor followed, and on Thursday, January 17, 2002 at 7:23am Ethan Gentry Tinsley forever changed our lives. He made us Team Tinsley. He also, I firmly believe, cleared the way for Wy. As I said a few weeks back, on Wyatt's Birthday, Ethan and Wyatt are without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to me. We are truly, doubly blessed.

Until I BLOG again...Happy Birthday Bub, Dad loves you.

I'll do anything...

No happy shiny BLOG today, for it is a truly sad day for a dear friend and his family. His daughter, Kebra should be sixteen today. She died last July.

Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's had to be grievous, today must be unbearable. My heart aches for their loss.

Hug your kids, tell them you love them. Talk to them. Don't sweat the small stuff. All the things we know, and should live, but swept up in the day to day, we often forget. Don't forget. If you lose sight of that, think about this: What would Rick and his family do for one last hug.

Until I BLOG again...Peace and much love to the Selah family, who've taken a very personal, and tragic event and created a foundation all about inspiring teenagers to make good choices, to see that there is a light at the end of the tunnel...for more info, to volunteer, or donate visit: KebbSmiles.com

I found my thrill...

Strangely enough that is the first thing that came to my mind on New Years Eve morning - bright and early - crick of the crack as I say - while I surveyed the damage in the Elder Boy's room. After I took in the spoilage, I muttered (under my breath) F *Bomb* Ritchie Cunningham. Those versed in Happpy Days know that he would often bust out the first few lines of the famous, Blueberry Hill when doing well in matters of the heart. Confused?

Let me back up to the night before, dinner. Me and my Lovely Bride were preparing to go to a party. An actual, adult, hire one of them there baby sitters, night. We were excited. She (babysitter) was scheduled to arrive at 7:30 and we wanted the Boy(s) fed, bathed, and ready for night night. We figured the Younger Boy would be no problemo. He's ready to hit the hay by 8pm. Doesn't matter who's there. 8pm, time to go to bed. The Elder Boy was exicted that Bridgette was coming to babysit, as well as having our permission to stay up later than normal. Not sure if all that excitement and anticipation, led to the fact that he would eat nothing at dinner (thus thwarting the above plans somewhat) but blueberries. We're talking damn near a quart of blueberries.

Jump forward. I hear him moaning at about 4am. I went to bed at 1am. I'd had beer at the party and smoked a Hookah (it was a Middle Eastern themed going away party - and it was flavored tobacco - not only am I not cool like Fonzie, I'm not cool in the other way either.) My point - I felt like moaning myself, as I stumbled, blindly into his room. I came to the conclusion, that he had a nightmare. I decided to take him from his crib to the big bed in his room (where he naps and we read books before night night time) and bed down with him, offering up some Daddy comfort. Figured he'd go back to sleep, and I could ease him back into the crib and return to my bed. I noted a strange smell, but, after a quick poop check, I decided it was something else - possible me, my tongue felt like a cat had shit on it after the Hookah. Snuggling up, we were both out in minutes.

YAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

I awoke with a start, as Ethan is projectile puking on me. If you've seen the movie Stand By Me. That pie eating, pukefest. That kind of puking. I should also state, that at nearly three years of age, Ethan has never, ever, vomited. Sure, he spit up a few times as a baby, but never a true vomit. Thus, he was quite freaked out by the whole process, but at the time, falling off the bed, blueberry bile puke all over my t-shirt, I wasn't yet prepared to comfort. At about the same time that I hit the floor, it hit me, he must have puked in his crib earlier, and in my addled state, I didn't get that. Father of the Year - NOT. Standing up while he retched on the bed, I looked into the crib, and well, yes. Puke. Blueberry puke. Chunky. Blue. Yuk.

Considering it was now 6am, and that 2 out of 2 beds in his room had puke on them, not to mention the damage on the floor since I had fallen off the bed after having a good amount of vomit on my chest, I decided to strip the Boy and myself, and head to my bed. Murphy (anyone with kids can probably see where this is heading) and his F (BOMB) ing law, about 30 minutes later, he puked in our bed. Not as much as before, but still puke. We have 2 cribs, one day bed, and our bed in the house. As of 6:30am on December 31st, 3 of the 4 were befouled...and again, I found my thrill, blueberry puke, fouled.

The Elder Boy puked a few more times that morning, but pretty much after the last one in our bed, figured out the warning signs, and knew to hit the head. Carter, having prayed to the porcelain god on more than one occasion, offered up some helpful vomiting tips, and well he was fine. In fact, he was all but well by mid morning. Mommy and Daddy weren't as lucky. Needless to say we spent (actually it was more My Lovely Bride than me) New Years Eve Day and Eve washing load after load of laundry. My t-shirt was so bad, it had to be thrown away. Blueberry puke wins the stain war with Tide. In between loads, we ran around with a can of Lysol, trying to kill the germs so the Little Warrior wouldn't get it. All in all, we were wiped by the end of the day, and didn't even make it until midnight to ring in the New Year, or at least hear the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire as ourHispanic community goes ape shit and fires their guns into the air. Carter was out by 9pm. I was night night be 11pm.

Until I BLOG again..Merry New Year!