Entry 426: The End of an Era

Time flies when you're having fun, eh?  Lil' S2 will turn three in August which means he qualifies to start PK3 in the fall.  PK3 is perhaps the best part of DC schools.  It's good for kids developmentally, and it's good for families financially.  I believe we made our last daycare payment recently (I don't know for sure because S handles all the finances in our household), which means it's the end of an era -- and a welcome one at that.  In a few short months, it will be no more daycare for the G & G family -- well, most likely, anyway.  In theory, S and I could still have another kid, but it's not something we are planning.  In fact, it's something we are actively trying to avoid, but, without getting too inappropriate, let's just say, it wouldn't be a miracle if another one entered the picture.

But assuming that unlikely possibility does not come to bear, we are done with daycare.  That's thousands of dollars a year that will no longer be leaving our bank account.  If I ever actually logged in and looked at our account summary this might mean something to me.  Actually, it will affect my day-to-day life positively in that Lil' S2 will be going to the same school as his brother in the fall, which means one-stop drop-off/pickup.  That is huge.  Money is nice and all, but I'll take quality of life improvements over financial gain nine times out of ten.  What good is being wealthy if you're miserable?



Speaking of which, I'm halfway through Tiger Woods, by Armen Keteyian and Jeff Benedict.  It's a very compelling biography of one of the weirdest dudes in sports history.  His parents, particularly his dad, essentially raised him from birth to be the world's greatest golfer, and it worked -- no golfer has ever been as good as Tiger in his prime -- but not without some pretty severe side effects.  I won't go into it too much here, but I will say that I recommend the book if you're looking for a compelling page-turner.  For the most part it's an interesting exploration of the growth of a child prodigy into a middle age man, but it's got just a hint of trashiness to it -- with all the sex and drugs and whatnot -- which makes it extra fun to read.

It also makes me respect Lebron James more.  James, like Woods, was designated the "chosen one" in his sport before he finished high school, and he also lived up to it.  But unlike Tiger, he seems to be an incredibly well-adjust dude and a good family man, all things considered.  Of course, outward appearances can always be deceiving.

I just read that James played the last three games of the finals with a broken hand sustained when he punched a whiteboard in frustration after his team lost Game 1 in heart-wrenching (and tragically hilarious) fashion.  This is more common than it sounds.  I know at least four people who have inflicted a nontrivial injury on themselves in a moment of frustration.  One of my friends in high school made his knuckles swell up by punching a CD case on the floor after I beat him in a Nintendo game; another one broke his toe kicking a wall after losing a point in racquetball; another one had to wear a splint on his finger after punching a wall during an argument with his wife; and my "favorite" one, a guy I knew briefly bloodied his knuckles by punching through a window after he caught his girlfriend in a compromising act with another man.  I've hurt myself in many different ways, many different times -- I stabbed myself with scissors and had to get stitches; I turned myself purple, literally, dark purple, by sitting out in the sun for hours without protection; and I once had to go to the ER because I swallowed a plastic fork tine -- but these were out of thoughtlessness or klutziness.  I can't think of a time I injured myself out of frustration.

In other sportsball news, the Washington Capitols won the Stanley Cup to give my current home city its first championship in over 25 years.  I actually jumped on the Caps bandwagon before the playoffs started, so I'm pretty happy about it.  There are a few guys at work I've bonded with over this team.  It's not even close to when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl -- it's more like when the Sounders won the MSL Cup two years ago.  It's just not the same with a team you adopted as an adult -- and that's not a bad thing.  It's pathetic to have your mood deeply affected by a bunch of professional athletes to whom you have no really connection other than they happen to play (at the moment) for the team you like.  With the Capitols I didn't pay any attention in the regular season, and then I watched most the playoffs and was entertained.  Had they lost I would have quickly put it out my mind.  A lot of joy, little pain.  That's the way it sports should be -- the good should drastically outweigh the bad.  Otherwise, why do it?



I hope my sons like sports, so that it becomes something we can do together.  But at the moment, it's not looking great.  Lil' S1 is still young enough that he could come around -- I didn't get into sports until I was six or seven -- but he shows very little interest at the moment.  I'm going to get him a baseball mitt for his birthday, maybe that will help.  Lil' S2 is way too young to tell, but he does seem to be an aggressive kid, more so than Lil' S1 was at his age I think, so that bodes well.  I'm very conscientious about not pushing them hard in any particular direction.  A little nudge here or there is fine, but if they're not into it, they're not into it.  I'm not Earl Woods.

Well, that's about all I have time for this week.  This might be my last post for a few weeks, as we have a vacation planned, and I'm not bringing a computer.

Until next time...

Entry 425: Child Rearin'

Rough night last night with the kids -- mainly Lil' S1.  He's been acting up a tad lately.  I think not having S around messes with his emotions a bit, and it manifests in brattiness.  A friend of ours who also has to travel frequently for work said that her daughter did the same thing at his age.  It started with a school performance of Moana he was in last night.  He's been talking it up for a while, so it was obviously something important to him.  I went, but I got there right as the show started with Lil' S2 in tow, and the little auditorium was already busting at the seams, SRO, so I couldn't get close enough to Lil' S1 to let him know we were there.  He did his dance, and the show ended (it was mercifully short), and then he just burst into tears because he thought nobody came to watch him.  He was happy/relieved when he finally realize we where there, but it took a little while to get him back to a normal state, and I had to show him a little video clip I took on my phone to totally convince him that we were really there the entire time ("but I couldn't see you!").



As part of the show, he got a glow-stick necklace, and when we get home he keeps turning out the lights to see it glow, and I keep telling him not to do that.  I'm trying to cook dinner, and Lil' S2 is literally hanging on my pant leg, and it's annoying to be right in the middle of something and then have everything go dark, especially since I'm working over a hot stove with a toddler clinging to me.  (It happened to be thunder-storming outside, and it was latish in the evening, so there was next to no light coming through the window.)  It's one of those things where it's not the worst thing in the world -- but it's, like, how many times can your kid not listen to you before you ramp up the discipline?

The answer in this case is about five, because the sixth time or so that he turned out the lights I told him sternly, at a volume one notch down from yelling, to not do it again, and I banished him from the kitchen and made him go downstairs, where he could make it as dark as he pleased.  He was kinda pouty, but he seemed to take it reasonably well and just went downstairs for a few minutes.

Dinner went fine, and then they got to watch iPad for twenty minutes, which is always the calm before the storm.  Getting them ready and in bed is always the worst part.  They're tired and especially ornery, so they just fight over everything -- who gets the first book, who gets to sit where, who gets the Spider-Man toothbrush, who gets the yellow stool, etc., etc.  They were in especially rare form last night for some reason, so my pique was already at uncomfortably high levels, and then Lil' S1 did something that drives me absolutely crazy -- something I've asked him not to do approximately 500 times.  He stuck his leg under me as I was sitting down on the couch next to him.  I don't know why he does this.  I think he's trying to "get me" -- like it's similar to putting a tack on the teacher's chair or something -- but it obviously does next to nothing to me because I'm a 200-pound grown man and he's a five-year-old with legs like dry spaghetti noodles.  I usually notice it, so I don't put the full brunt of my weight on him, but a few times it legitimately caught me by surprise, and I fully sat down on him, and I could feel his leg smashed underneath me.  Nothing bad happened because the couch is mostly soft and usually in life nothing bad happens, but it does if you give it enough chances.  One of these times, his leg is going to be at the right-wrong angle, and I'm going to break his ankle or blow-out his knee.  So, I was really hot when he did this, and I yelled at him pretty good (by 2018 standards, at least, it would have been mild 30 years ago -- and this is just a fact, by the way, not a value judgement one way or the other), and he took off crying.

By the way, Lil' S2 is now at the age where he does that thing kids do of trying to curry favor with their parents by contrasting themselves against their misbehaving sibling -- "He's not listening, already.  I listening, already."  (For some reason he randomly puts "already" at the end of sentences.)  Part of me finds it cute; another part of me finds it disheartening.  I'd rather have my boys stick up for one another than connive against each other, even if it makes me the common enemy.  But it seems like that's almost never how kids function -- at least not when they are young.  Kids would have so much power over their parents if they stuck together and worked as a team, but instead they in-fight over petty shit, and they all end up worse off because of it.  (If that's not a metaphor for American politics, I don't know what is.)

After theatrically crying in his room for a bit, Lil' S2 came back, and I tried to play it very nice and sweet with him -- my own little version of good-cop-bad-cop, I guess.  I embraced him and told him that I was only concerned for his own safety:

"Listen, I'm much bigger than you.  When we are playing -- wrestling and stuff like that -- I have to know what your doing, so that I don't hurt you.  If you sneak your leg under me like that I might accidentally crush it.  That's why I get so mad.  I don't want you to get hurt."
"That's *sob, sob* not why I'm *sob, sob* crying."
"It's not?  What's wrong then?"
"I'm *sob, sob* having a really *sob, sob* bad day."
"You are?  Why?  What happened?"
"You got mad at me too many times *sob, sob* for turning the lights out."

Now, I definitely felt like I was too hard on him.  I figured the best move was just to get both kids to bed ASAP -- everybody was super tired, including me.  "Go brush your teeth, and we'll all watch a video clip on my phone in bed."  So they both run into the bathroom, and what happens?  Lil' S2 stands on the toilet to reach the sink, and Lil' S1 wants to use it, so he pushes open the seat while his brother is standing on it, causing him to stumble off and hit the ground.  It wasn't a hard fall, but that's only because I came in right in time and was able to kinda catch him.

"Hey!  That's okay!  Be nice to your brother!" I yelled instinctively.  His face just melted.
"You're doing it too much!" he wailed in response.
"*Sigh*... let's just watch a video and go to bed," I replied regathering my composure.

So that's what we did, and it mostly worked out.  The only thing is that Lil' S2 woke up in the middle of the night and started crying/moaning.  I went into his room and asked him what was wrong, but he couldn't or wouldn't tell me.  He was clearly still mostly asleep, and he stopped when I went in, so I just let him be.  He woke up this morning and everything seemed totally normal, and tonight I put him to bed very easily (it was his brother who was acting up tonight), so I think/hope it's all good now.

The thing is I don't know what the right thing to do is.  He's upset because I'm getting upset with him too much, but I'm getting upset in response to him misbehaving, and isn't that the really issue?  Doesn't that logic work with a five-year-old?  Should the take away be that I was too hard on him, or that that's what happens you don't listen, and it's a teachable moment?  The turning off the lights is one thing -- that's just being five, and I probably should've let it slide (although, to fair, I did mostly let it slide the first n times it happen).  But doing things that could potentially hurt himself or his brother that's another story -- I can't abide by that, right?  Like I said, I don't know.  My only saving grace is that I don't think anybody else knows either.  That's the main thing that keeps me sane as a parent -- the only thing I have figured out is nobody else has it figured out either.

Until next time...