Actual conversation with Josh and I five minutes after he got off the bus. He was quite distracted by playing with his brother and his brother's best friend, Ethan:
"Josh ..."
"Josh ..."
"Josh ..."
"Josh!"
He turns his head slightly toward me: "What?"
"At 4:15, we're gonna get started on your homework ... Okay?"
"Josh ..."
"Josh ..."
"Josh ..."
"Josh!"
He turns his head toward me again: "What!"
"Did you hear me? What did I say?"
"Josh ..."
"Josh!"
"What did I say?"
He stomps his foot, turns toward me and screams: "At 4:15, we're gonna start my homework, for the love of peace!"
Oh, okay ...
For the love of peace?
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
'I'm making my face sick'
Of course Matthew knew the stakes in this transformation. A kid with a fever stays home from school; a kid without a fever goes to school. Based on his bedtime demeanor, we expected him to get on the bus Monday morning.
So this is what I came downstairs to find Monday morning: Matthew tucked into a ball beneath the kitchen sink, his face pressed against the heater. He looked up at me.
"I'm making my face sick," he said.
Before coming downstairs, I had already gone into his bedroom and found his covers oddly tossed around the bed. Something hadn't appeared right.
"And, Daddy, I covered myself with my Thomas blanket, the big blue blanket and all the sheets, to make my face sick," he said.
Despite the charm, I wasn't buying it. He was fine. When the warm air stopped blowing from the heater, he joined us, ate breakfast and goofed around like normal.
He went upstairs to get dressed and stayed longer than normal. After 15 minutes, I went up to check on him. He was half-dressed, standing in a dark room and crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I don't know. I just feel like crying," he said. I went down the hall, got the thermometer and took his temperature – 99.9. Sick enough to stay home from school. He finished dressing and went downstairs, tears still running down his cheeks. Needless to say, the bus came and Matthew stayed at home.
And surprise, surprise, as I type this, he's in my office, talking incessantly, goofing around, playing with his younger brother, grabbing every gadget in here and behaving nothing like a sick child. Magically, the tears have stopped.
Tomorrow, I'm not falling for it. He can shove his face in a heater all he wants. Tomorrow he's going to school.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
A near-miss from the tooth fairy
I arrived home last night after the kids had gone to bed. Shortly after I got there, my wife told me about how Josh had lost a tooth. The little voice inside my head said, 'deal with the Tooth Fairy right now,' but we didn't. I ate a late dinner, we watched some TV, and we went to bed. I didn't think about the Tooth Fairy until 5 in the morning.
First Matthew appeared at 4:15 to say he was scared. So in he climbed. Half an hour later, I heard Josh enter the room. "What's wrong?" I asked. He started talking loudly about a door making noises, but I cut him off and led him back down the hall to his room. "I'll sleep in here in Matthew's bed," I told him, "so you won't have anything to worry about."
As Josh was settling back into bed, he pulled the plastic tooth case from under his pillow, shook it and said, "The Tooth Fairy hasn't come yet."
Dammit!!!!
I stayed awake for a while, considering my options. I could wait for him to fall asleep and then attempt a Tooth Fairy visit. We could wait for the morning, assume his tooth got onto the Tooth Fairy's list too late and hope she could get there the next night. I could wait until he got up, then try a quick Tooth Fairy swap while he wasn't watching – a highly risky move if he was just a few feet away.
The pressure was incredible, and I tossed and turned while wrestling with the stress. After an hour, when I could hear Josh breathing heavily, I snuck downstairs, got a dollar and stuffed it into another tooth case in case there was an opportunity for a quick swap. The problem is that Josh was sleeping directly on the pillow above the tooth. The swap was still a high-risk option. I decided to wait.
When the sun broke the horizon and Josh woke up, he pulled out the tooth case immediately, shook it again, heard the rattle of a tiny tooth and said, "The Tooth Fairy didn't come."
Dammit!!!
"Well, maybe you got on the list too late," I said.
"I guess we'll have to wait until tonight," Josh said.
I got out of bed and took a shower while Josh went downstairs to get his breakfast. When the shower was over, I tiptoed down the hall, made the swap and went back to the morning routine. I knew Josh would discover it while making his bed and believe the Tooth Fairy arrived during breakfast. I thought everything was fine as Josh, Matthew and I ate breakfast, but Matthew vanished for a few minutes and then came back downstairs. I asked him where he had been.
"I went to go see Josh's dollar," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked the meddling kid.
"I looked under his pillow but I didn't see anything," he said.
"What do you mean? There was nothing there?"
"Nope," he said. "It wasn't there."
"I know," said Josh, "the Tooth Fairy didn't come."
"Well the tooth must still be there," I said to Matthew.
"Nope," he said. "It's not there."
Now I was totally confused. No tooth, and no dollar? What was Matthew trying to pull here? Did he steal the dollar? Josh was getting distraught.
"So now my tooth is lost and I don't get a dollar?" he whined. I had no idea what was going on but we waited until breakfast was over to investigate.
When it was time to make beds, Josh threw aside the pillow and found the case with the dollar. While he was getting excited about all the spending possibilities, Matthew was confused. "It wasn't there before," Matthew said. "Are you sure," I asked. He nodded his head and said he was positive. I don't know how Matthew missed it, but I promise it was there. Then suddenly Dad had an idea.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Matthew, what if you came in here while the Tooth Fairy was in the room? Maybe she had taken the tooth already but hadn't left the dollar, when you surprised her."
Matthew stared at me, then slowly broke into an astonished smile. "I wonder if she hid while you were in here," I said. He looked down at the bed and grabbed some stuffed animals.
"Maybe she's still here!" he said. He yanked aside a bear and said, "Maybe she's under here!"
She wasn't.
Josh wasn't too concerned about the Tooth Fairy travel schedule; he cared more about the dollar. But Matthew was mystified by his close encounter with the Tooth Fairy. I'm guessing I bought a few more years of faith in the Tooth Fairy through a couple of sly moves and some quick thinking.
You see, these are the maneuvers they don't write about in parenting books or talk about in counseling sessions. These are the moments when parents are pushed to their limits, faced with no-win situations and forced to act, swiftly and decisively. These are the moments when parents earn their stripes.
I'm proud to have earned my Tooth Fairy stripe last night.
First Matthew appeared at 4:15 to say he was scared. So in he climbed. Half an hour later, I heard Josh enter the room. "What's wrong?" I asked. He started talking loudly about a door making noises, but I cut him off and led him back down the hall to his room. "I'll sleep in here in Matthew's bed," I told him, "so you won't have anything to worry about."
As Josh was settling back into bed, he pulled the plastic tooth case from under his pillow, shook it and said, "The Tooth Fairy hasn't come yet."
Dammit!!!!
I stayed awake for a while, considering my options. I could wait for him to fall asleep and then attempt a Tooth Fairy visit. We could wait for the morning, assume his tooth got onto the Tooth Fairy's list too late and hope she could get there the next night. I could wait until he got up, then try a quick Tooth Fairy swap while he wasn't watching – a highly risky move if he was just a few feet away.
The pressure was incredible, and I tossed and turned while wrestling with the stress. After an hour, when I could hear Josh breathing heavily, I snuck downstairs, got a dollar and stuffed it into another tooth case in case there was an opportunity for a quick swap. The problem is that Josh was sleeping directly on the pillow above the tooth. The swap was still a high-risk option. I decided to wait.
When the sun broke the horizon and Josh woke up, he pulled out the tooth case immediately, shook it again, heard the rattle of a tiny tooth and said, "The Tooth Fairy didn't come."
Dammit!!!
"Well, maybe you got on the list too late," I said.
"I guess we'll have to wait until tonight," Josh said.
I got out of bed and took a shower while Josh went downstairs to get his breakfast. When the shower was over, I tiptoed down the hall, made the swap and went back to the morning routine. I knew Josh would discover it while making his bed and believe the Tooth Fairy arrived during breakfast. I thought everything was fine as Josh, Matthew and I ate breakfast, but Matthew vanished for a few minutes and then came back downstairs. I asked him where he had been.
"I went to go see Josh's dollar," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked the meddling kid.
"I looked under his pillow but I didn't see anything," he said.
"What do you mean? There was nothing there?"
"Nope," he said. "It wasn't there."
"I know," said Josh, "the Tooth Fairy didn't come."
"Well the tooth must still be there," I said to Matthew.
"Nope," he said. "It's not there."
Now I was totally confused. No tooth, and no dollar? What was Matthew trying to pull here? Did he steal the dollar? Josh was getting distraught.
"So now my tooth is lost and I don't get a dollar?" he whined. I had no idea what was going on but we waited until breakfast was over to investigate.
When it was time to make beds, Josh threw aside the pillow and found the case with the dollar. While he was getting excited about all the spending possibilities, Matthew was confused. "It wasn't there before," Matthew said. "Are you sure," I asked. He nodded his head and said he was positive. I don't know how Matthew missed it, but I promise it was there. Then suddenly Dad had an idea.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Matthew, what if you came in here while the Tooth Fairy was in the room? Maybe she had taken the tooth already but hadn't left the dollar, when you surprised her."
Matthew stared at me, then slowly broke into an astonished smile. "I wonder if she hid while you were in here," I said. He looked down at the bed and grabbed some stuffed animals.
"Maybe she's still here!" he said. He yanked aside a bear and said, "Maybe she's under here!"
She wasn't.
Josh wasn't too concerned about the Tooth Fairy travel schedule; he cared more about the dollar. But Matthew was mystified by his close encounter with the Tooth Fairy. I'm guessing I bought a few more years of faith in the Tooth Fairy through a couple of sly moves and some quick thinking.
You see, these are the maneuvers they don't write about in parenting books or talk about in counseling sessions. These are the moments when parents are pushed to their limits, faced with no-win situations and forced to act, swiftly and decisively. These are the moments when parents earn their stripes.
I'm proud to have earned my Tooth Fairy stripe last night.
Monday, January 23, 2012
'There's more to life than TV'
By halftime of Sunday's Patriots-Ravens game, the boys were bouncing off the walls. We had a few guests over, but no one was entertaining the kids. The adults were enjoying food, drinks, conversation and the game, but the boys seemed to be having a little less fun.
Matthew had been asking me for the past two hours to go sledding. During the AFC Championship game?!!!!!!! I've been waiting all damn week for this game!!!!! Yet I'm a sap for a cute face, so at halftime, I agreed.
"Okay, Matthew, let's go! Hurry, hurry, hurry!"
He suited up in snowpants, boots, jacket, hat, gloves, and we hit the slope on the side of our house. Josh joined us a couple minutes later. It was actually pretty good sledding, and I had fun shoving the boys down the side of the hill. I was enjoying myself, even as my internal clock began screaming that halftime was nearly over. In fact, it was. The game had re-started and I was still outside.
I began telling the boys, "Okay, last run." Which was followed by six more pronouncements of, "Okay, this is the last one."
I was about to walk inside when my oldest, Josh, said the most amazing thing, out of nowhere, totally unexpectedly ...
"Daddy, you and Mommy are right. There is more to life than TV," he said.
Dumbfounded, I watched him for a few moments before muttering, "Like what?"
"Oh, you know," he said."Like playing with friends, and having fun with Mommy and Daddy."
This is a boy who has been banned from television during the school week. This is a boy who can recite every line of his favorite movies. This is a boy who absolutely LOVES the television. This is the boy who tells me there's more to life than TV.
So I stayed outside. How could I do anything else? I pushed him and his brother down the hill a dozen more times, and we had a great time. I missed the whole third quarter, but it was worth it.
I just hope all the snow melts before the Super Bowl. After all, a man has limits.
Matthew had been asking me for the past two hours to go sledding. During the AFC Championship game?!!!!!!! I've been waiting all damn week for this game!!!!! Yet I'm a sap for a cute face, so at halftime, I agreed.
"Okay, Matthew, let's go! Hurry, hurry, hurry!"
He suited up in snowpants, boots, jacket, hat, gloves, and we hit the slope on the side of our house. Josh joined us a couple minutes later. It was actually pretty good sledding, and I had fun shoving the boys down the side of the hill. I was enjoying myself, even as my internal clock began screaming that halftime was nearly over. In fact, it was. The game had re-started and I was still outside.
I began telling the boys, "Okay, last run." Which was followed by six more pronouncements of, "Okay, this is the last one."
I was about to walk inside when my oldest, Josh, said the most amazing thing, out of nowhere, totally unexpectedly ...
"Daddy, you and Mommy are right. There is more to life than TV," he said.
Dumbfounded, I watched him for a few moments before muttering, "Like what?"
"Oh, you know," he said."Like playing with friends, and having fun with Mommy and Daddy."
This is a boy who has been banned from television during the school week. This is a boy who can recite every line of his favorite movies. This is a boy who absolutely LOVES the television. This is the boy who tells me there's more to life than TV.
So I stayed outside. How could I do anything else? I pushed him and his brother down the hill a dozen more times, and we had a great time. I missed the whole third quarter, but it was worth it.
I just hope all the snow melts before the Super Bowl. After all, a man has limits.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Matthew Mind strikes again
Three boys are at the kitchen island, and this Dad is hustling around on the other side to get dinner served. I ask Matthew how art class was today and take note of the "Wild Things" monster he painted. I notice the monster has two differently colored eyes. "Kind of like the monster in our house," I say.
Matthew looks at me quizzically. "Like Micky [the dog]. He has two different colored eyes," I say.
"Oh, right," Matthew says.
He's quiet for two seconds then asks: "Where did the first dog come from? I mean, how did they have a dog baby if there were no dogs?"
I stare back in astonishment. Panic begins. How do I answer? Religion? Science? Humans? Creation? Evolution? Adam? Eve? Sex?
"Where did that question come from?" I ask. Aha! Stall! Brilliant!
Josh interrupts on another topic. Conversation shifts. Dad's panic subsides. Question hangs in the air unanswered ... I'll have to return to that someday. Just not tonight.
Matthew looks at me quizzically. "Like Micky [the dog]. He has two different colored eyes," I say.
"Oh, right," Matthew says.
He's quiet for two seconds then asks: "Where did the first dog come from? I mean, how did they have a dog baby if there were no dogs?"
I stare back in astonishment. Panic begins. How do I answer? Religion? Science? Humans? Creation? Evolution? Adam? Eve? Sex?
"Where did that question come from?" I ask. Aha! Stall! Brilliant!
Josh interrupts on another topic. Conversation shifts. Dad's panic subsides. Question hangs in the air unanswered ... I'll have to return to that someday. Just not tonight.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Buried in homework – and it's only second grade
The single-most difficult task in our family, without a doubt, nothing even compares ... is our second-grader's homework.
It shouldn't be that way. The homework assignments should take, at most, 30 minutes. But they don't. They can easily take more than an hour, and that's not the biggest problem. The worst is the agonizingly painful process – the huffing, the groaning, the whining, the fidgeting, the complaining, the sighing, the slamming and yes, the crying – actual tears hitting the homework sheet – that accompany each night's homework.
I can't imagine he behaves this way at school. In fact, I know he doesn't, because we asked his teacher and she was stunned to hear our description of the Josh homework session. "I can't even imagine it," she said. "That does not sound like Josh."
Well, that's Josh. He detests doing homework and rails against it every day after school. It's so bad, Jenn and I dread the hours after the boys come home, because we know we have to jam in homework, dinner and bedtime, and the homework will consume all time, energy and patience we have available.
The biggest problem is that we can't walk away. Leave his side for 15 seconds, and Josh is dropping his pencil, slamming the table, yelling, walking away, or all of the above. So we can do virtually nothing else, other than supervise and coerce the homework. We can't work on dinner, play with another child, soothe the toddler's tantrum or talk on the phone. Imagine the challenge when only one adult is in the house, as is the case this week, with Jenn working late three nights.
Last night, Josh came home with two significant assignments, as did Matthew, the kindergartner. So I was juggling the agony of homework from two children who needed one-on-one attention, dinner preparations, and the charming toddler who kept driving his four-wheeler into every immovable object in the house and screaming for me to extricate him.
This sounds like one long complaint – which it is – but it's also a plea for help. Do other parents struggle with the same challenges? How do you deal with it?
With the guidance of Josh's teacher, we've established a routine with a week-long reward structure. If Josh gets started on his homework right after school, follows all the steps and finishes it, he earns a checkmark on the sheet taped to the refrigerator. A week of checks earns TV on Friday evening. Nonetheless, the homework requires constant urging, constant encouragement, constant reminders, constant threatening.
What will this look like in five years? If the family is already overwhelmed by a 7-year-old's homework routine, how will we deal with three boys bringing back homework? Will we have time to help Josh if he can't help himself?
I'm worried. This homework is brutal. And it's not even brutal yet.
What do you think? Tell me below in the Comments.
It shouldn't be that way. The homework assignments should take, at most, 30 minutes. But they don't. They can easily take more than an hour, and that's not the biggest problem. The worst is the agonizingly painful process – the huffing, the groaning, the whining, the fidgeting, the complaining, the sighing, the slamming and yes, the crying – actual tears hitting the homework sheet – that accompany each night's homework.
I can't imagine he behaves this way at school. In fact, I know he doesn't, because we asked his teacher and she was stunned to hear our description of the Josh homework session. "I can't even imagine it," she said. "That does not sound like Josh."
Well, that's Josh. He detests doing homework and rails against it every day after school. It's so bad, Jenn and I dread the hours after the boys come home, because we know we have to jam in homework, dinner and bedtime, and the homework will consume all time, energy and patience we have available.
The biggest problem is that we can't walk away. Leave his side for 15 seconds, and Josh is dropping his pencil, slamming the table, yelling, walking away, or all of the above. So we can do virtually nothing else, other than supervise and coerce the homework. We can't work on dinner, play with another child, soothe the toddler's tantrum or talk on the phone. Imagine the challenge when only one adult is in the house, as is the case this week, with Jenn working late three nights.
Last night, Josh came home with two significant assignments, as did Matthew, the kindergartner. So I was juggling the agony of homework from two children who needed one-on-one attention, dinner preparations, and the charming toddler who kept driving his four-wheeler into every immovable object in the house and screaming for me to extricate him.
This sounds like one long complaint – which it is – but it's also a plea for help. Do other parents struggle with the same challenges? How do you deal with it?
With the guidance of Josh's teacher, we've established a routine with a week-long reward structure. If Josh gets started on his homework right after school, follows all the steps and finishes it, he earns a checkmark on the sheet taped to the refrigerator. A week of checks earns TV on Friday evening. Nonetheless, the homework requires constant urging, constant encouragement, constant reminders, constant threatening.
What will this look like in five years? If the family is already overwhelmed by a 7-year-old's homework routine, how will we deal with three boys bringing back homework? Will we have time to help Josh if he can't help himself?
I'm worried. This homework is brutal. And it's not even brutal yet.
What do you think? Tell me below in the Comments.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Serves him right ...
It's been a few days since I've posted anything here, so here's a quick-hitter. I had to laugh at my oldest son today for getting what was coming to him.
At the bus stop this morning, Josh started stomping around in slush-filled puddles. I asked him to please stop. He didn't. I got a little mad and asked him again to stop, explaining that he would be spending the day in school with soaking wet shoes and socks. Of course, that logic is wasted on someone who's in the middle of having too much fun stomping in puddles. Actually, it's lost on young boys all the time, since stomping in puddles is hard-wired into the DNA of every male child.
So forgive me if I laughed when my wife called less than an hour later to say she was driving to school to bring Josh new pants. He fell when getting off the bus, landed in a puddle and was completely soaked. "Ha!" I thought. "Serves him right!"
Yes, I'm a terrible parent. I forgot to even ask if he was hurt. He wasn't.
At the bus stop this morning, Josh started stomping around in slush-filled puddles. I asked him to please stop. He didn't. I got a little mad and asked him again to stop, explaining that he would be spending the day in school with soaking wet shoes and socks. Of course, that logic is wasted on someone who's in the middle of having too much fun stomping in puddles. Actually, it's lost on young boys all the time, since stomping in puddles is hard-wired into the DNA of every male child.
So forgive me if I laughed when my wife called less than an hour later to say she was driving to school to bring Josh new pants. He fell when getting off the bus, landed in a puddle and was completely soaked. "Ha!" I thought. "Serves him right!"
Yes, I'm a terrible parent. I forgot to even ask if he was hurt. He wasn't.
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