A friend of mine from college was in town recently so we got together to catch up. Seeing him again was great because it brought back some great memories and encouraged me about today’s young people.

For the record, I feel I’m 90 years old when I write “today’s young people.” However, in this context it’s true. My friend’s son is in his senior year of high school. My kids are 3 and 5. I don’t feel like an “old” dad but, suddenly, having a good friend talking about his near-adult child made me feel weird.

Having a kid forces you to grow up immediately and become more mature. What would I have done had I become a father in my 20s rather than my mid-30s? I know lots of guys who became dads in their early 20s. It all worked out fine for them. But for me, it seems alien and out of place. Being a dad and, more importantly, being mature enough to parent responsibly is something I couldn’t even fathom until I was in my mid-30s.

My friend and I met for lunch at a fast-food restaurant with one of those attached playground rooms. He marveled that my sons were always by my side. They always wanted to be near me. They’d pop out of the playground room to ask questions, play peek-a-boo and generally be cute.

“One day, they just stop wanting to be with you all the time,” he said. “They get their license, get a group of friends and you’ll see them for dinner. Maybe.”

I peppered him with questions about raising older children. As his son is applying for college, I asked about that process. He was frank about the costs, how much he could cover and how much debt he’d have at the end of four years. It was shocking to realize that the total cost for four years of college for the two of us cost only slightly less than one year of college for his son.

But he also put some of my concerns at ease. Some things had changed for the better since we went to college. For starters, a rising freshman now has an idea of what to expect employment-wise from their proposed major. They know their job possibilities, where those employment opportunities are located and how much they’ll realistically earn after graduation. We never had an idea of how much money it takes to exist, make it, succeed or prosper in the real world. Believe me, had those information fields been filled in for me when I was in college, I would’ve gone after a more stable and profitable profession.

My friend went on to tell me about some of our school friends who now owned small businesses, were chefs, city planners and one who is a high-ranking explosives expert for a large state bureau of investigations. We marveled at how we all ended up in such a diverse arena of employment.

My friend had to start his drive home. He left me feeling that the kids who are going to college today aren’t going in as blind as their parents did back in the day. It was also a great reminder that no matter how annoying, tiring, messy, repetitive and frustrating small children can be; a day will come when I’m not as cool to them as I am now.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

A version of this first appeared on Daddy Mojo and ran here in 2015. It has since been updated. Photo: PublicDomainPictures.net

The best fatherly advice I received before we had our son was so simple and straightforward that it’s the only tip that stood out among the clichés most people offered me.

The advice?

“Just be there.” 

As simple as it sounds, the decision to consciously be present with your children goes deep. Just think back to your favorite memories of your parents. Do you remember the toy you opened on your seventh Christmas? Or the present you got for your 14th birthday? I highly doubt it.

But I’d bet you remember playing basketball with your dad. Or putting a puzzle together with your mom. What about playing video games with an uncle? Or cooking with your grandmother. Do you remember the connection you felt when you played a board game with your entire family? Even though my dad sucked at basketball and my mom always cheated at board games those are my favorite childhood memories and why I have a strong bond with my family.

This is why I didn’t mind quitting my job and becoming a stay-at-home dad. And if you’re an at-home dad I’m assuming you probably feel the same way. You want to be a part of your children’s life. You want to have that connection. It’s easy to be present like this when your kids are babies because you’re holding them or playing with them most of the day.

But as they grow older, they become more independent and it becomes too easy to start letting distractions come between you and your children. Distractions like email, chores, Netflix, Facebook, YouTube, exhaustion, smartphones, errands, Threads, Instagram, video games … did I say Netflix?

These are my main offenders at least. They plot against my relationship with my son and slowly try to drive a wedge between us. But I found that if I stand up to them and keep my relationship with my kids in mind, they’re weak enemies.

What’s my solution to be present more often? As often as we can, my wife and I take an hour and turn off all of the electronics in the home, especially smartphones. We use this time to play with blocks or toy soldiers, draw, paint, paste, build, role play, go for a walk, bike ride, go to the park, or do anything that involves us connecting. This one-on-one time is so important to your child’s development and it’s something you don’t want to leave out of your relationship with your kids.

Why is it important? Because one day they’ll be … teenagers! 

OK, everybody calm down, you can stop crying now.

I know you don’t want to think about it now, especially you guys out there with a little princess to protect. However, laying the groundwork by being present now is important. It helps build a solid foundation for your relationship with your children. You’ll want that when the tween and teen years arrive because you will want them to trust you enough so they can talk to you. That talk may be about drugs, alcohol or sex. It may be about bullying or sadness they are experiencing. It may just be about how their day went.

Now that you’re done reading this distraction, turn off your electronics and go find your kids. It’s time you did something together.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

This post first appeared on the Chicago Dads Group blog in 2015. It has since been updated. Photo by Ketut Subiyanto via Pexels.

I spent three wonderful weeks on a family trip to Ireland this past August. When, like me, you have two young children with you, a trip like that isn’t exactly a vacation. It’s an adventure.

Travel puts a lot of stress on kids and families. So while there are sights to see, wonders to explore and memories to be made, there are also many hurdles to overcome. One important thing I learned on this trip is that no matter who or what you encounter while traveling, kindness matters.

I’m going to start with the end of the story. We returned home after an eight-hour flight from Dublin to Philadelphia. The time difference was a killer, and there was no food on the plane my kids were willing to eat. My daughter, age 5, sat next to me on that incredibly long, exhausting flight. She’d made it through the plane ride without too much fuss. However, by the time we gathered our baggage in Philly, the stress of the journey and the exhaustion of a three-week trip all came crashing together.

She screamed. She threw a massive tantrum in the terminal. Hungry and exhausted, the one thing my daughter wanted and needed was to hold my hand. I happily offered it despite trying to juggle suitcases. I understood how upset she was and I wasn’t mad at all.

Then a stranger approached us.

This woman marched straight to my daughter and me and announced in a booming voice, “You’re parenting all wrong. You need to beat some sense into that girl.”

WTF.

I didn’t curse. Instead, I told the woman she was wrong and to leave us alone. I was appalled. And angry. This stark, crazy scene felt like a “Welcome back to ‘Murica” moment for us. Because one thing we’d seen in Ireland was a completely different attitude toward children. One I was not accustomed to.

Kindness.

Changes of countries, changes of attitudes

Everywhere we went in Ireland, people bent over backward to be kind and help. It didn’t matter if we were at a playground, in a department store or on a street. People saw that we had kids and treated us with great empathy and compassion.

Two weeks before our encounter with rudeness upon returning home, we had an opposite experience. My 8-year-old son melted down on the streets of Killarney. He’d been refused a lollipop and decided that required staging a tantrum. He lay on the side of the parking lot near some pubs and refused to move. He screamed a bit too. And while my wife and I did our best to handle the situation, strangers came by.

“Is there anything I can do?” said one.

“Oh, I’ve been there,” said another. “So sorry for this, but it’ll get better soon.”

Kindness. Just an attitude of kindness everywhere.

Perhaps it is a cultural thing. Irish laws are different. We quickly noticed every indoor area designed for kids (such as soft play centers) came equipped with a double-locking alarm mechanism to prevent kids from running out or strangers from going in. We noticed every place we went, even the tiniest middle-of-nowhere towns, had handicapped-accessible unisex bathrooms with changing tables — something we once struggled to find in America. Perhaps this mindset toward a “care culture” transcended laws and permeated into the general public?

Kindness comes in many forms

As we explored Ireland, we kept encountering that same kindness again and again.

One restaurant had nothing the kids wanted to eat. The chef marched out, offered to make something just for them, and soon did.

Our kids appeared bored while we checked into one hotel. A worker spotted them and then hurried over with coloring books.

When we tried taking a tour that was sold out, a stranger offered us his tickets on the spot, noting that I had younger kids than he did.

These were not isolated incidents. They were a pattern of kindness and compassion and understanding that children have different needs, everywhere we went in the country.

Back to that moment in Philly. Perhaps that woman was an isolated example. Or perhaps not. I vented about her rudeness later to a friend in New York. My friend said that three times in the past month someone told her to beat her son. This advice came from strangers who didn’t know her or her kid. The expectation to some is that kid needs and adult needs are the same, therefore kid behaviors and adult behaviors are the same.

I’m no longer mad at the rude woman. I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for everyone else who thinks it’s appropriate to say such things to parents. In the future, I wish all people, parents and non-parents alike, would treat others with a bit more kindness.

The world could use some more of it right about now.

Photo by Yan Krukau via Pexels.com

Of all the words you could’ve used to describe my life before marriage and kids, “routine” would not be one of them.

With no real responsibilities other than work a decade ago, I never really knew what my day would hold from one day to the next. I came and went as I pleased. It was the life – at the time, of course.

But fatherhood changes things. It’s transformative. And those changes can be a rude awakening if you’re not prepared or equipped to deal with them. 

Friday night lights out

I think back to just a few Fridays ago. I was hanging out on the couch in the evening, decompressing after a long week. The kids were asleep and my wife was upstairs watching one of her shows. Alone I sat, aimlessly flipping channels and scrolling on my phone. Looking at my contacts, it quickly became apparent that most of my friends who I would consider sending a “what’s the move?” text to in the same boat as me – parents worn out from the week and not willing or able to get out and do anything.

So just as the story goes for most Friday evenings these days, that night ended with me falling asleep while watching TV. A thrilling turn of events. 

That’s my routine now. A life that was once free-flowing and spontaneous, is now structured and predictable, with little-to-no wiggle room. From school and daycare pick-up and drop-offs, to weekend activities, to bedtime routines, the look and feel of my days as a dad rarely changes. I know what needs to be done and when. Rinse and repeat. 

Accept today’s routine, change is coming fast  

While having a routine and structure can be tedious, it’s ideal for how I’ve chosen to approach fatherhood. My kids are 5 and 2 so stability and consistency is vital to their development at this stage of life. Their routine has pretty much been their norm since birth and it keeps things somewhat in order. For me, however, it has been and still is at times tough to accept.

For all its joys and rewards, dealing with the lifestyle changes that come with fatherhood is tough. I’ve struggled with the loss of my “old life.” I’ve longed for just one weekend where my responsibilities could be put on the shelf so I could go to happy hour. Or just hang out with my friends. Or maybe play a round of golf.

Don’t get me wrong, I do get out and have fun here and there. But the “heres and theres” are few and far between. The routine of fatherhood is where I am now. I’ve come to accept that, even though I’m surrounded by energetic little people, the loneliness I feel navigating through the day-to-day routine is just for a season. Kids grow up. Their needs and demands of you will change until one day it will pass.

But for now, I’ll keep checking my Google Calendar daily to make sure I know where the kids need to be, and when.

Tips for breaking out of a parenting rut

If the routine of parenting is running you down, first realize that you are not alone. Then do something about it. Here are some helpful tips from online parenting experts about practicing self-care and changing things up:

• Schedule a date night with your spouse/partner. Hire a sitter and take a night every few weeks to have a quiet dinner out or catch a movie or a concert.
• Find time to decompress every day. Whether it’s five minutes of peaceful meditation, a walk around the block or a cup of coffee in a corner cafe, take a break for some quick relaxation.
• Join a parenting support group. Whether online or in real life, there’s a like-minded group of moms and dads to commiserate with and draw strength and support from. Dads can find a local City Dads Group, join the The National At-Home Dad Network or one of Fathering Together’s popular Facebook groups.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

Science and religion are on a collision course in my household.

Religion. Science. Are they independent or intertwined? How exactly do you explain the confluence of the two subjects to three children under age 6, especially when they’re the ones who bring it up?

Naturally, I explained the evolution/creation issue as well as I could, thoroughly confusing my kids in the process. The screenplay goes thusly:

Scene: A father and his three kids are driving to a park in a late-model SUV

SIX-YEAR-OLD: Hey Dad, I have a question. Who were the first people?

DAD: Well, that’s a good question, babe. So, if you read the Bible, it says that the first two people were a man named Adam and a woman named Eve. God made them first.

But, if you talk to a scientist, he or she might tell you that the first people came from monkeys. That’s known as evolution.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Wait. Monkeys are people?!

DAD: No, but long, long, long ago, monkeys started to kind of change into people.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: So when I was born I was a monkey?! Cool!

SIX-YEAR-OLD: Ugh. You were never a monkey.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Dad just said …

DAD: Well, bud, that’s not exactly what I said. See, with evolution there’s this thing called genetic mutation and it takes years and years and years to happen …

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: [Confidently] The sun is old.

DAD: Yes, the sun is old. So, kind of like as many years old as the sun. It takes thousands and thousands and millions of years. Imagine if a monkey had a baby and that baby had a baby and that baby had a baby…after that happens for years and years, monkeys could become people.

Now, some people say that just the Bible is right and others say that just science is right about evolution.

SIX-YEAR-OLD: I think it’s probably the Bible. Right, Dad?

DAD: Well, what if they’re both right? The Bible says God took six days to make the Earth. But who knows how long a day in God’s mind is? I don’t. And I can’t act like I have a clue about that. Maybe a day for God is like a day for us. Or maybe a day for God is like a million years for us. I have no idea. But I think it’s possible that God set in motion the science that made monkeys become people over a very long period of time.

SIX-YEAR-OLD: [Semi-satisfied grunt of approval.]

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Hmm … [10 seconds pass by] … Yeah, but why doesn’t Curious George have a tail?

DAD: I think we’ve had enough hard truths for one day. I’ll explain how PBS and the publishing industry lie to you another time.

About the author

Matt Norman, an at-home dad of three, is a former organizer of our Austin Dads Group chapter. A version of “Debating Evolution, Creation” first appeared on his blog, And So It Has Come To This, and then here in 2018.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by Lewis Roberts on Unsplash

Being a stay-at-home dad with a daughter has particular challenges.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my daughter. She can be the sweetest, most compassionate, caring and loving person. I cannot describe how much I love her hugs and kisses.

But she always wants to go into the women’s restroom. Whenever we are out, I always pause before deciding what to do. Do I just let her go by herself? What if she locks herself into the stall, can’t turn on the water or reach the soap? How do I not look awkward waiting patiently outside the women’s room?

In public places, such as airports and parks, I prefer to take her with me into the men’s room. However, when she has to go, she has to go! One time, we were at a park when she just ran into the women’s room, and as I ran after her, I stopped in my tracks when I saw the security camera at the entrance. I didn’t want the cops to show up and arrest me for going after a girl in the women’s room!

I was almost arrested once. One day at Santa Monica Pier here in Los Angeles, my daughter was about to pee her pants but we found the men’s room closed for cleaning. I stood at the door of the women’s room, yelling inside every 30 seconds to make sure she was OK. Just as she finished up, a cop car showed up to “check” that I wasn’t some “weird guy” on the pier Once the officer saw my young daughter, he understood my predicament.

Taking her to the men’s room can be equally awkward now that she knows that boys have penises and girls have “jinas.” She asks why boys get to pee at the urinal and she cannot. Sometimes she walks up to other people while they are using the urinal. This is when I realized the concept of privacy isn’t inherent; it has to be taught. Add to that the judgemental looks you get from others when a father helps his daughter to the men’s restroom. Those looks of indignation that “mom” should be doing it (or the assumption that there is even a mom) or that unsolicited advice on how to raise your child. Y

Another restroom challenge is when I have to go and ask her to “stay put” for just enough time to allow me to finish my business. Most of the time, she listens. One time, however, we were visiting the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. She was so thrilled by the experience of seeing the bridge that she forgot to tell us she had to pee, and she started to pee in her car seat. We quickly jumped out of the car to go to the restroom and clean up. It was a big public restroom with dozens of people coming in and out.

After I had cleaned her up, I asked her to wait while I used the facilities. But she wanted to see the bridge again! I almost peed my pants as I ran outside— zipper still down and screaming her name—to catch her. Thankfully, I caught her just before she stepped into the road to cross the parking lot.

I breathe a sigh of relief when a family restroom is available because we can all use the restroom together without a challenge arising. I can change my toddler. We can both go to the restroom in private. I don’t have to worry about her running out the door. It’s nice to see more restaurants, malls and public sites have family restrooms. Sadly, too many non-family people use them for the same reason that I like using them–privacy. It is frustrating when I have waited patiently, too many times, outside the family room just to see a non-parent come out and don’t care even to apologize when they see a family waiting–even when my daughter is doing the “potty” dance. We need more family rooms and stricter enforcement of rules around them so actual families can use them.

Fellow dads—how do you navigate going to the restroom challenge in public facilities? How do you address privacy issues? Do you have any fun stories to share? Post them in the comment section!

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This blog post, which first appeared on our L.A. Dads Group blog in 2017, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

The drive home from preschool is a highlight in the day-to-day work schedule of this daddy, and it usually goes like this:

• Take 20 minutes to walk up or down half a flight of stairs, depending on which exit we take.
• Wander semi-aimlessly down the sidewalk adjacent to an extremely busy downtown street.
• Stop to look at “treasures” along the way — stuff like acorns and rocks and the occasional bug or cigarette butt.
• Coax children into the truck and buckle them into their seats.
• Slip into the driver’s seat and drive off [after checking email, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram].
• Halfway through our 15-minute drive home, The Boy falls asleep. The Girl complains I’m not playing enough “girl songs” on the radio before nearly falling asleep.

And that’s it. We rarely dig into deep conversations. The kids each refuse to discuss what they learned at school. The drive simply is what it is — a ride from Point A to Point B.

But not today.

The Girl [calling out over Robert Earl Keen’s “New Life in Old Mexico.”]: Daddy.

Me: Yeah, babe?

Her: DADDY.

Me [turning radio down and glancing in the rearview mirror]: Yes?

Her: I have a question.

Me: OK.

Her: Hey, Daddy, why don’t you go to work?

Me: Umm … Hmmm … Well, uh … [Quick! Think of something, dumbass!]

Not many adults ask why I am an at-home daddy, but when they do I usually give them some line about how it wouldn’t have made financial sense to send the kids to daycare if most or all of my work salary would go to pay for it. Truth is, the money I was making editing and doing a minimal amount of freelance writing work wouldn’t have paid for daycare anyway. Plus, The Wife’s income is head and shoulders and probably another whole person’s body above what I would ever make writing and editing.

Add in that I’ve never had a career in the true sense of the word, and the decision for me to stay home was a no-brainer for us. That last point may complicate things once the kids are all in grade school, but that’s a blog post for another day. A day far, far in the future.

Me: Well, I stay home with y’all instead of going to work because Mom and I decided it was important for one of us to be home to take care of you and your brother. We agreed that Mom would go to work.

Her: But I think Mommy should stay home. I wish she would stay home and you would go to work, Daddy.

Me: I know. Having Mom at home would be nice, but that’s not the deal we made.

[Silence]

The answer was as simple as I could make it without replying, “Just because.” I don’t know if The Girl was satisfied with my answer, but that was the end of it. She didn’t ask any follow-up questions. She didn’t whine about the way things are. It was almost as if she had a question, got an answer, and was satisfied — which is definitely a first for my 3-year-old Li’l Miss Asks A Lot.

The drive home today was a reminder that tough questions are coming soon … about everything. The questions probably will never stop coming, and I’d better have answers as often as possible. I want my kids to know they can ask me about anything at any time.

I put The Boy, who had slept through the whole conversation, in his crib and walked to the living room. The Girl was sitting quietly on the couch.

Me [nearly whispering so as to not wake The Boy]: Hey, that was a really good question you asked in the truck. You know you can ask me questions anytime you want, right?

Her [loud kid-style whispering]: Yeah. Can I have a snack and watch TV?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Matt Norman, co-founder of the Austin Dads Group, explains to his children his role as a stay-at-home dad. A version of this first appeared on his blog And So It Has Come to This. It was first published here in 2017 and has since been updated.

This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

I have a theory. It’s so revolutionary, so mind-altering, I’m terrified to unleash it on the world. I’m sure a savvy behavioral scientist will steal my idea and claim it as his own. Perhaps some pseudo-scientist will develop an outlandish experiment to test my hypothesis while giving me zero credit. Despite these obvious dangers, I’ve decided to bravely share my idea with the world.

I believe children appear to have endless energy because they actively and greedily consume the life force and willpower of their parents and caregivers.

That’s it. That’s the theory. It’s the only way to explain my children’s ability to grind my resolve into dust.

I’m sure most parents can relate, but with all humility, I’m not your average parent. My hobby — running ultramarathons — is based on willpower and longsuffering. I voluntarily push myself to the physical limit just to see how far I can go. My endurance and resolve to will myself to finish these races is my superpower, and yet . . . my 4-year-old can bring me to my knees.

Compare your life before v. after kids

If we are on even footing, human to human, I believe I can out willpower anyone on Earth. Those rare times I encounter someone with similar resolve, it’s a bad day for us both. However, my children come equipped with a genetic advantage. They can somehow extract my life force, my very essence, and use it against me. It’s the only way a 9-year-old could use logic and wit to defeat me. How else could you explain a 7-year-old with more probing questions than a special counselor investigating a former president?

Yeah, sure, it’s possible I’m not as special as I think I am. However, I reject that reality. Instead, I’ve invented an outlandish, borderline supernatural explanation for why children erode parents’ defenses. As crazy as it seems, it does make sense. Let’s look at the evidence. (And remember, you’re reading this theory on the internet — I’m not obligated to offer any — let alone, REAL — evidence yet I’m offering it.)

Firstly, I bet you had more energy before you had children. Morning wake-ups were easier. Drink a glass of wine while following a complex recipe? Easy-peasy. Staying up beyond 10 p.m.? Non-issue. Reading a book was a relaxing, calming experience; you could easily finish a chapter without losing consciousness. But then, kids …

Secondly, I bet you used to do stuff. Any stuff. All the stuff. Hobbies. Social lives. Yard work. You know — stuff! Your only consideration was whether you felt like doing stuff. There was no one else to interfere. No one else draining your will and resolve. It was just you. But then, kids …

Thirdly, remember sex? I do. It’s how we got ourselves into this mess.

Fourthly . . . well, I’m still stuck on the sex part.

Oh, the endless questions, negotiations

Now, I have a confession. All of the above is admittedly nonsense. It’s a cover. An elaborate explanation to give me the courage to say: I’m tired, and I feel like I’m losing.

I probably shouldn’t view parenting as a winning or losing proposition, but it all feels so contentious. Each interaction with my kids is a complex negotiation. My oldest, for example, has begun questioning every request or decision my wife or I make, and she needs detailed explanations to be satisfied.

Eat your dinner. Father, how much food do I have to eat?

Pick up your toys. Mother, how many toys would be acceptable?

Brush your teeth. All of them, dear parents? And just how many minutes of this would constitute sufficiently brushed?

It’s exhausting.

Meanwhile, my middle son is a cliché “boy,” and everything has become physical. He runs around the house like a raging Viking, plundering my other kids of their safety and me of my will. By the time my youngest makes her move on me, I’m like a limping antelope asking the cheetah, “Just make it quick.”

Worst of all, these little soul suckers are only 9, 7, and 4.5 years old. What will I have left in the tank when requests start to involve dating, driving and the really scary shit?!

I look at other parents who have survived and wonder: How?

Is this what good parenting feels like?

I’m terrified of the future and I question my ability to navigate what lies ahead. Already I struggle to keep up. School and sports. Birthday parties and play dates. So many dance practices, cheer practices, and cheer AND dance competitions. Do I spend enough time with them individually? Does one of them feel like they don’t get enough attention? Is there enough time for each child to pursue his or her own interests?

I’ve told other moms and dads that if they are stressed about their parenting decisions, it means they’re doing something right. I wonder if I can take my own advice? Is it truly evidence I’m doing my best? Who the hell determines why my “best” is, anyway? Why do I keep asking so many questions? Is THIS where my kids get it from? Crap.

There is some pseudo-science part of my brain that may believe children have a secret, cosmic superpower that allows them to drain us of our life force. Maybe that’s the alternate reality explanation I need to get myself through the parenting quagmire of endless questions and chronic bickering. Perhaps, in some alternate universe, I’m winning awards for parenting aplomb, but in this world, the words of the English band Bastille say it best: “What can I say? I’m survivin’, crawling out these sheets to see another day.”

So go — observe your kids from a distance. If they make eye contact, and their eyes shine and glow as they drain you of will and life, remember life-force energy vampires are real, and those damn kids always know what we do in the shadows.

Photo of life-force drained father: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

I’d be lost without Google Calendar. In many ways, it’s my own little digital personal assistant.

Every meeting, trip, doctor’s appointment, party invitation, important birthday, sports practice and game, and more fill the days, weeks, and months on my computer screen and phone. 

Yay, technology!

As I’ve aged, having a detailed calendar has become a necessity. If it isn’t on there, forget about it. I’m not going to be on time. Hell, I might not even show up at all. I could get away without writing down appointments and such when I was younger. Dentist appointment next Thursday at 9? No problem, I’ll remember. Flag football practice on Mondays? I’ll be there. 

But life has changed thanks to fatherhood. The responsibilities I have as a dad require me to be as organized and on top of things as possible. In the blink of an eye, it seems, my once sparsely populated calendar has transformed into a colorful smorgasbord that is exciting, rewarding, stressful, and exhausting, all at the same time.

Their activities are now your activities

As a dad of a 5-year-old son, I’m now fully immersed in the “activity” phase. And I’ve leaned into it 100 percent. As dads, it’s an unspeakable joy to see our kids take an interest in some of the things that were part of our childhood. It’s equally joyful to watch them create their own path. 

Soccer, swimming, Cub Scouts, and T-ball are all on the agenda for my son these days. Not to mention birthday parties. Even my 2-year-old daughter is getting invited to parties for her daycare “classmates.” On any given weekend I go from the pool to the bouncy house to the park with snacks and tablets in tow. 

I often say this is part of the deal that comes with being a dad. The weekends once reserved for a round of golf or a pickup basketball game have been replaced with being a chauffeur for your favorite little person. For me, this is just the beginning. Once my little girl gets older, she’ll hopefully get involved in activities of her own. By then, who knows what my son will have going on? I’ll just add it to the calendar. 

Balance calendar for you and your kids

The reality for me is that two things can be true. There’s excitement for this season of life; there’s also an acknowledgment of the toll it takes on parent and child. For as much as we may not want our kids to “miss out,” a balance for managing activities must also exist.

The phrase “booked and busy” can sometimes be glorified as a badge of honor. If every time I look up, I’m taking my child from one activity to the next, I have to be a dedicated dad, right? The beauty of activities, particularly, sports, is they teach kids far more than Xs and Os. You learn teamwork, respect, confidence, and social skills, among other things. 

In a world that seemingly glorifies busyness, we have to be sure that we’re not only teaching our kids the importance of having a good work ethic, but showing them how to be self-aware in knowing when to take a day off.  

Because if we’re lucky, there will be plenty more activities to come. Just check the calendar. 

Photo by Windows on Unsplash

My wife worships Christmas.

Once the Thanksgiving dishes are done, it’s all Yule, all the time for her. Nothing but Christmas music in the car, Christmas movies on the television, and Christmas shopping on the weekends.

And she was like this BEFORE we had a kid. Now that he’s here, and he’s alive enough to begin to understand Santa and presents and cookies and the tree and all that, not only has my wife’s Christmas-loving resolve strengthened, but I no longer have a Scroogey cane to stand on.

Especially on Christmas Eve when there’s work to do!

This past Christmas the kid had a sense of what was happening, in that he enjoyed tearing the brightly colored wrapping paper off things that were handed to him. This year, he understands toys and seems to get the concept of presents. So it’s game on for the Wife!

Now that our kid is in the know, my wife’s Christmas obsession is in the stratosphere. She wants nothing more than to give our son a good Christmas, which means making sure all the TV he watches is Christmas-themed, all the songs he sings – and he does sing – are Christmas songs, and that he is indoctrinated into the (fraudulent) magic of Santa Claus.

He has been told who Santa is, can identify him in a lineup, and seems genuinely excited about him delivering presents overnight. So yeah, the kid is into the whole Santa Claus thing, so long as that “thing” doesn’t involve going anywhere near an actual person dressed as Santa Claus.

Of course, to complete the illusion, most of the gifts my son will be getting have been signed “From Santa” and, most importantly, none of them are under the tree before he goes to bed on Christmas Eve.

This means after he goes to sleep that night, a half-in-the-bag Daddy is forced to lug everything down from various hiding places throughout the house and down the stairs so that they will magically appear under the tree by the time he wakes up.

I am OK with it. Christmas magic hasn’t happened here in a while and the whole holiday had gotten pretty stale around here, but now that there’s a kid around, the holidays are re-energized, and that’s nice.

Provided I don’t break my neck carrying a huge wooden train set down the stairs.

A version of this first appeared on Dad and Buried.