My Daughter (unprompted): Daddy, you know what? You're the second best dad in the whole wide world!
JACK: Is that right?
My Daughter: Yes - because God is the best daddy - and then YOU!
That is all.
Happy to play second fiddle to the Lord,
JACK
So, there we are - watching the Disney Channel. It's That's So Raven. In this episode, Raven has a vision she's dancing with some hot dude at the prom. So, she turns down everyone who asks her for being "not him."
Anyway, it turns out that she's all dressed up and still has no date - so her father dresses up in a tuxedo and offers to take her. She turns him down saying she just needs to suck it up and go with her friends.
(She gets stuck in the moon roof of the limo - a blast from the past ex shows up - they dance in the gas station parking lot and blah blah blah)
So, afterwards, I say to my 8 YEAR OLD daughter:
"You're gonna have ME take you to your prom, right? Cuz you're my baby girl"
She responds, without giving it so much as a thought, saying "nobody said you could ruin my teenage years."
I *promise* you that's her momma right there ... right the fuck thurrr, that's her mommma!!
(I mean I didn't expect a yes - but I didn't expect a "get the fuck out my face, daddy," neither)
Momma Don't Change
It happened one day when I was talking to a friend of mine about random guy things. I was married then and he and his girlfriend were visiting - I lay on the couch and he lay on the floor and we spoke into the dark. He asked about my mother and I got to talking when these words spewed out of my mouth, "I love my mother, but I don't particularly like her." I stunned myself - and was grateful to find out that as I spoke those words, my friend drifted off to sleep, having never heard me say them - but I couldn't forget then and it fucked with my head so much that I went to see a counselor about it. Did I really not like momma?
You might think I'm on some bullshit when I say, quite candidly and rather smugly, that my mother is off her fuckin' rocker. The bitch will completely and totally point at me and laugh her ass off, and growing up she did that a lot. She's got bats in her belfry for real - she initiates gossip about me throughout the family as if I'm some off-the-street trashy nigga.
She's just plain 'ole certifiable. But I'm not on some rant about how annoyed I am at her - for I've really come to accept that she is who she is and that despite how I feel about it she's going to continue being who she is. If nothing else, those counseling sessions helped me realize that I can't change her and her gossipy ways and that the only thing I could change was me - so I accepted that my momma just crazy, ya' - crazy. I don't like the crazy, but I do love her crazy ass.
Momma Don't want no Gay
I've toyed with the idea of coming out to her, but I realize that every time we broach the subject, she shuts down. She is in some serious denial. But she knows - she just doesn't WANT me to be gay - so if I don't admit it, then it's not so - but she knows. (This the crazy JACK momma logic)
Once in college I was arguing on the phone with my boyfriend - although he was the one I wanted, I was confused and was sort of simultaneously talking to the woman who would eventually become my ex-wife. Anyway, after that call, mom asked me if everything was alright. I said yes, ma.
"You fighting?"
"Yes, ma - but it's fine"
and as I walk away she said, "is it with a man or with a woman?"
I turned back to her and looked her squarely in the eye, "both."
She turned away from me and distracted herself with some crossword of hers.
I still remember the blank stare I got before she turned away from me - she was utterly shocked ... in a mortified sort of way, not in a surprised sort of way.
Momma don't want no faggot
Another time, after my divorce, I was hooking up with this dude who was going to pick me up. I was in NYC visiting mom and that's where he was going to pick me up.
"I hope you're not getting into that faggot shit," she said to me.
I looked her squarely in the eye, "Why not?!"
She stared at me and then cut her eyes to distract herself with yet another fucking crossword puzzle book. No more talk - no more acknowledgment. End of discussion.
But she told me a lot by calling it "faggot" shit and refusing to acknowledge me ... we're cool as long as I'm not gay.
Momma will make up some SHIT
I could fill volumes with the nonsense my momma will make up - but today's edition takes the cake. You will NOT believe the nonsense my own mother is perpetuating in the family. It's likely the most ridiculous "my son ain't gay, dammit!" pounding of the chest nonsense you done ever heard. You ready?
My cousin (female) called to tell me that our aunt (my mother's sister) told her that my mother told HER ... (you following?) ... that she's convinced that my cousin (female) and I are lovers.
Yes, folks - incest is better than homosexuality - just ask my momma.
Recently, my daughter wrote on a note under the Christmas tree asking Santa "for my family to stop smoking." She went for it. before she wrote family, there's a scribbled out "da" ... She meant for DAD to stop smoking, but went all out and scratched it out in favor of family. But it was me.
There's a post-it note on my computer in her handwriting inside a heart she drew: mia + dad ... and another post-it: mia and dad sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g
She's the love of my life for real. My nickname for her is MyLoveStory and I've been calling her that for years. Today, she turns 8. And I don't care what anyone says, an 8-year old who loves her daddy and has NO idea what it means to like a boy or kiss a boy or date a boy ... that's what being an 8-year old is about. And, today I thank God for blessing me with the most perfect little 8-year old a man could ever have.
And although this Mariah song reminds me of her simply because of the title, there is one song that is forever OUR song. My song and my little girl's song. I remember when I told her it was our song and I would sing it to her while I drove. I still remember how when I sang to her and looked back at her and said "how my eyes fit in yours" and she sunk her chin into her shoulder and batted her little eyelashes at me. And yes, she will ALWAYS be my joy.
I'm certain we'll dance to this at her wedding - it's my intent. I'm sure we'll still be dancing like fools then ... like we have been for years ...
I heard these words that did not please me. I thought I was going to lose my got-dam mind.
The self sacrificing that characterizes maturity (I almost said adulthood, but that's not quite right) takes a lot to maintain. Although I do figure out how to make time for me, there really isn't enough time in my life right now that is dedicated to me and me alone. It can feel a bit overwhelming sometimes.
My children always come first. That's a given. They didn't request the opportunity to be my children, they were given to me as a result of my own actions ... they are my blessing, in fact and I won't live like they don't exist. Towards that end, I maintain a career that pays enough to afford THEM a better life than the one I had growing up.
And really, that's what it should be about. It's not about giving your kids EVERYTHING - it's about giving them more than you had and setting the stage to allow them to be able to give THEIR children more than they had. That's how I see it, anyway. And for the most part, I stick to that. Admittedly, however, I do work get a thrill by giving them more and more and more closer to everything ... but I try to keep that in check.
Anyway, between work and parenting, the former receiving so much of my time only because of the latter, there's not much time for anything else. But, I manage to make some time for me. And if you're a follower of this blog, you probably know that I do alright. Every now and again, however ... I just need to complain.
I'm tired. I'm soooo tired. The last six months have been taxing beyond description. I just got back from taking the kids to NYC to visit their abuelo and abuela. We were there for four days. And air travel with two kids, all their shit and all my shit and two car seats? It wasn't easy.
Less than 48 hours before we left for NYC, I returned from a business trip in Nashville. I was there teaching a course. Less than 24 hours before THAT plane left, I was driving to Indianapolis from Chicago because the President had the office Christmas party at his house on Saturday night.
I've put nearly 40,000 miles on my car since April 2008 driving to and from Indianapolis and Chicago. The ex-wife has been ill (battling cancer all year) ... my son's asthma is flaring up. My job reorganized (i.e laid off 1/3 of the staff) in June and they still don't have an org chart of how shit there is supposed to work ... my finances are a mess, trying to keep up with living in two places ...
The holidays? Lawd. I'm cooking (again). I have stuffing in the oven, a ham in the fridge ready to go into the over overnight, etc. etc. etc. I cooked the entire Thanksgiving meal and took it to the baby momma house (turkey, squash, stuffing, corned beef, sweet potatoes .. blah blah blah) because she had the kids and she had just gotten out of surgery ....
There's so much to focus on that it's all a blur. I feel like I'm blinking rapidly at life trying to make it all clear ... and things are indeed beginning to fall through the cracks. I forgot to pay a couple of bills last month (late fees are a bitch), and not for the lack of funds, but because I just totally rushed it when I was doing my finances. I think about 90% of my clothes are on the floor ready to be put away but I just can't manage to get it all organized and in the drawers. My back is riddled with tension and I need to be rung out like a wet towel, but who has the time to lay still on a massage table. Seriously, 2009 has been a mother fucker.
BUT ... my babies don't know it - there's a Christmas tree glowing in the living room, all of Santa's gifts are wrapped and put away on top of the laundry room closet, there WILL be a meal tomorrow for dinner and the kids' smiles will make it seem all worth it. Especially when they open that Nintendo Wii.
Expect me to play that fucking thing a LOT.
Even when they're gone.
Because I do need to make time for me - and I'll get it wherever I can find it.
My son lost his two front teeth this past week. It's so cute. He let me know that he might not be kissing right because of his teeth. I swear to God I love that boy to the death.
He got to calling me his cuddle buddy at some point. It just stuck. We're cuddle buddies. Thing is that he just fits ... I don't know how else to explain it. He fits perfectly when I hold him, perfectly when he lays his head on my lap, perfectly when he just crawls on top of me to lay and watch TV. He's a little bit, really - like 42 pounds or something. And he's just so comfy.
He's an affection little booger and I miss him. I'm in a hotel room in Nashville, alone. And I'm not out and about being a ho, or looking for some random brutha to stop on in and let me have it. I'm not even trippin for another man's company.
But my little man - I wish he were here so we could play video games and laugh and watch movies and eat popcorn and so that I could hear him say, "I love you, Cuddle Buddy."
I love you, too, cuddle buddy.
Today - my lawd Jesus, today. I wasted 4.5 hours of my life on a conference call. And when I was done, EVERYTHING was bothering me. I was just one cranky bitch. You know those moments when you feel like the next mother fucker that so much as SPEAKS to you will go down in a wrath not seen since the Israelites were worshiping golden calves while Moses was gone for 40 days. (If you believe in such things). Well, it was one of those days.
It's also one of those days where I can say mother fucker, cranky bitch AND Moses all in the same paragraph. Just accept it - I'm not in the mood.
It didn't help that my sister in law came by to pick up the money her mother said I was going to give her. I told her that I came home with her mother's check and haven't gone to cash it yet because of this conference call - you know, the one that was so painful it blurred my vision - and that I was STILL on the conference call.
Why is it that during this conference call I hear this bitch's footsteps in the hallway, listening to see if I was still on the conference call? When the fuck did I become your bitch? Just because you goddamn son is out of diapers doesn't mean I have to drop everything and run around town like I ain't got no goddamn sense ... I done TOLE this bitch at least three times before that if you wait until the last minute, it's only because you think you're more likely to get the handout if there's an emergency. And I'm through being manipulated, ok? I'm over it. I know the game well ... so her tip toeing on my laminate flooring made me want to take up one of those planks and smack her with it.
Bitch, I'm busy.
So, after the conference call, I go to the bank and deposit the check and withdraw the $200 she needed. (Don't ask me what the fuck she wanted it for - I just know that her mom asked me to deposit her paycheck and suddenly I have more shit to do because I have her money) So, after I get the goddamn money I call this bitch only to have her say that she went over to her moms and had her withdraw the money out of her account so she was good.
GOOD?!?
"And who was gonna tell ME that you DIDN'T need me to go to the bank?"
"oh."
That's all she had to say. "Oh." Now I gotta take my ass BACK to the bank to deposit this cash ... and I'm on my way to pick up my kids and I gotta feed them and bathe them and homework and reading and bed times ... mother, fuck - got damn, bitch.
She started saying some other shit and I was just like, "you know what, bye."
So I'm all flustered and pissed off and cranky and i WISH someone would say something stupid to me ... and all that.
I get home to read an email from my daughter's teacher - it's their weekly newsletter. Guess what - she's saying no homework all week since it's a short week. Instead she had the kids write down what they were thankful for and she published it in the classroom newsletter.
At this point, I should tell you that my baby mama has been ill. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that it's serious - she had surgery last week and that adds to the number of things I've got to get done this week, which is why the whole bank thing was such a big deal. Like, seriously - the baby mama and I, three weeks ago, had the "If I die ..." conversation - I've been stressed. I know - it doesn't show one bit.
So, I'm scanning this newsletter to see what my daughter said - because, let's face it, who gives a fuck what the other kids said. And there's my baby's name, and she says:
I'm thankful for the doctors that are keeping my mommy safe.
omg - my eyes well up just typing it. How precious a lesson my daughter taught me just then ... I sit here with tears rolling down my face - tears that parents shed that their kids never know about. Tears we shed only when they're fast asleep, safe and secure.
You know what - it was just a conference call. It was 4.5 hours of my life - and I have my life. I wasn't the I in "If I die ..." My children are worried about their mommy and think about it enough to be thankful, even at 6 and 7, that there are doctors who specialize in taking care of their mommy. What's another trip to the bank?
I conditioned and detangled my daughter's hair tonight. I sat her under the hair dryer, gave her some books ... and even though it was way passed her bedtime, I sat there with my book on the couch while she read her book sitting underneath the hood. It was the first time she used it - and she felt like a big girl. And she was all smiles.
Nothing else really matters if a father can make his daughter smile.
She stopped reading and looked at me and asked, "Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Can I have a hug?"
Nothing else really matters if a daughter can make her daddy smile, too.
And I did - I smiled.
This was an interesting day. I drove back from Chicago last night, after a day's work, and listened to music the whole way. I really didn't do my ritual catching up with family and friends, driving with the cell phone to my ear like I was some Midwest Maria Shriver ... no, I just sat alone with my thoughts, singing into the windshield like it was begging for encores the whole three hours.
I just needed to clear my head of the noise, and make some of my own. In my car is the only place I really get ME time. For those parents out there, you TOTALLY know what I mean I say that behind the shut bathroom door is NOT no damn "me" time. It's in my car when no one is there but me behind some limo tinted glass.
Today was a typical day, riddled with work and errands. Ran to the bank - ran to the post office - had a lunch date at starbucks - got the mother in law some coffee and Newports because she was at work and didn't take her cash with her - and then went and got the kids.
It was so good to see them. I explained to them the plan:
My son and daughter each had a soccer game at 6PM Monday. Damn schedulers. Of course, different fields. So I chose to take my son to his game to make daddy-son time for him. (and for me!) I picked him up at 3PM from daycare for his 6PM game.
We went home to eat and to get his power rangers. He left them at my place and we needed to get them because he was upset about having left them the night before.
"What are we going to do, daddy?"
"Well, we need to do what BOYS do - let's go shave!"
"YAY! Shave!"
He gets a straight edge razor when we shave, but he's not allowed to remove the protective cover from the blade. He lathers up and so do I and I show him how to shave. He's 6, remember.
There's shaving cream all over the place and he asks if the knives hurt on my face.
"Not really, but if little hairs get stuck in there, that gets scratchy - so that's why we keep tapping it and running it under water"
I show him how the hair on my face gets stuck in the blade and he says, "ooohhh"
We shave together and he is getting the hang of shaving in ONE direction - as opposed to rubbing it back and forth all over your check. He watches me and mimics me and gets all of the shaving cream off of his face.
We splash cool water on our faces and wipe clean with a towel. I give him my gillette after shave and he squeals in delight, "My face is shiny!"
"Mine too, look!"
And we laugh at each other's shiny face.
And then I sprayed him with Axe body spray. He thought that was the coolest - and then sprayed it all over his stomach until it ran down his belly is streams. Whatever - waste it, boo - it's so worth it.
We bought his friend's birthday present - he picked out a power rangers halloween costume for himself ... and then we sat in the car and play nintendo DS against each other for 30 minutes until his game started. It was tie.
Damn Mario ... how the hell I REALLY have to work to play against a child?!? UGH
But, whatever - that's my little man.
I don't care if she's 7 - she's still my little girl.
One of my son's bestest friends turns six on Tuesday and his friend's mom wanted him to come over and spend the afternoon there. I decided it was a good idea and touted it as an opportunity to spend daddy-daughter time with my little girl. She was all about it.
She got to choose whatever she wanted - to my surprise, she chose bowling. As I thought about it, I realized that the last two times I had daddy-son time, I took my son bowling and putt-putting (six year old boys and gold clubs = a STRAIGHT mess, btw), so I think she wanted to have her turn bowling with daddy. It's totally not her thing, though - we got one game in and she was frustrated. It was sweet of her though.
We went to dairy queen and had lunch - she had some chicken strips and ended with a chocolate dipped soft serve cone. I had a BLT.
We ended up at this place called Kiln Creations - they have a myriad of figurines and things all molded and stuff - all white. And you get to paint it with a wide selection of paints. They then heat it in the kiln for you and you come back and get your glazed porcelain thing. We chose a heart shaped box, chose our paint colors and went to town. It will make a perfect jewelry box for her.
My daughter is quite artistic and loves to draw and paint and color and tells me that her art teacher calls her one of the best artists in the school. So, I thought this was a perfect way to spend time with her doing something SHE liked, instead of bowling.
We sat at this large square table - only she moved the stools side by side so we were on the same side of the table. We sat touch close and painted, making a big 'ole mess of this jewelry box. (I'll never understand how to use stencils properly) She chose the colors and we just chatted and talked about art and about what she was going to put in the box.
"Do you think you'll put your jewelry in this?"
"No - I have to find something more special."
"Why's that baby"
"Cuz we made it together."
I love the shit out that girl.
I've been reading this book on being a good dad and it's totally made me feel like garbage. One of the suggestions is to really make moments with your children and make one-on-one time on a regular basis - so I admit that I was really trying to do the right thing by my daughter while my son ran around yelling like a maniac with his little friend. We strolled down the street holding hands and talking and I really was focused on listening to what she had to say.
The text talks about leaving a legacy for your children, so that they will grow old remembering their days with their father (because absent fathers BLAH BLAH BLAH, you know the statistics, I'm sure) so the other day I asked my daughter a simple question:
"When you're a grown up and you think about being a little girl - what will you remember about daddy?"
"Your cuddles, and that you always tell me I'm the best daughter in the whole wide world."
She asked to sleep in my bed that night - guess who DIDN'T say no?
I drove to Chicago on Sunday night of last week thinking about the fact that it had been 9 weeks since I got laid. So, yuh - I was overdue. Monday night - I did the deed ... got that out of my system, and kept it moving.
I have this idea in my head that I should really keep my business away from home. I don't bring dudes to my house - I usually go to theirs. That means that I must have a safety plan in place. So, Jaded already had this boy's address. Someone must ALWAYS know where you are when you're out creeping.
So, we get the deed done (it wasn't bad, actually - I enjoyed myself) and he tells me to call him. I nod, but of course I have no intention of doing any such thing. I got in, got off and got out. Why is that such a hard fucking concept nowdays. You're my Au Revoir Nigga ... so au revoir, nigga.
On Wednesday I really wanted to go out to the bars - the gay bars. It was one of those weeks. I just needed to step outside of myself, get out of my own way and have a good time. So my roommate and I end up at this place called Jackhammer - I read about it in another blog and was interested in seeing it. Of course, it was a Wednesday night and you could count the men up in there and that was actually kind of nice. After three drink and two games of pool, we went to The Anvil.
At the Anvil, more of the same - Wednesday, few dudes ... very just perfect. And a dude there by himself passed out on the back porch where I went to smoke. Some other dude walks over and says he's been macking on this passed out fool all night. I was confused by what this White dude meant but then he leaned over and started making out with the dude that was so passed out he had no idea what was going on.
I told my roommate that I was leaving and went inside. 1) I don't know the passed out dude and how the hell you gonna go out drinking alone and pass out? 2) I don't know creepy kissing dude and I just wanted out. So I went inside. Left them there to do I don't care what.
Back outside a little bit later it turns out one of the dudes we were talking to about how to make pot brownies (apparently, you saute the weed and get the THC into the oil and strain it to use the oil in the brownie - who knew?!) actually lived next door. So, he asked us to his place to eat pot brownies and my roommate and I left with him.
I made it clear that I wasn't going to eat any. I haven't had weed in 12 years and this was not the way to get back in the habit, in some dude's house I just met.My roommate had one while I played with Frank's cat. Eventually, we left. My roommate didn't feel the weed ... must not be the right way to make it.
On Friday I drove back to Indy, took my kids out for pizza ... and then headed to the ER to get the staple removed from my son's head. They came at him with a pair of scissor looking things with clamps on the end. My son didn't like it. He was freaking out ... I held him down and the staple came out with an OW!" out of his mouth. My daughter came back in right after talking about "I heard him say OW when it came out so I knew it was over" (She had to stay outside while we got it done)
Saturday - daughter's soccer game at 9am. Son's soccer game at 3pm. Some scheduler somewhere is laughing it up to the stucco ceiling, I'm sure. I slet all afternoon between games.
Then we went to run errands. I bought clothes I didn't need. But I like them.
It's amazing the extra-curricula activity you can pack into six days ... amazing.
Wanna know what happens when you approach a 6 year old with this here device? Well, Let me tell you ...
... but I have to start from the beginning.
While working on my Masters degree I looked forward to completing it to work for some online university to teach. Earlier today I decided that I needed to bring that intention to fruition. Well, that and my boss has been aggravating me so I was looking at some full time opportunities too. (I sent out one resume - wish me luck!)
The kids were in their grandma's bed watching TV in the other room. They were laying there watching cartoon network and I was looking for better ways to support them. We had already been to my daughter's soccer game at 9 am, and then to my son's game at 1:30 pm (fuckers can't schedule ANYTHING right - next Monday, they both play at 6PM in two different parks!), I had baked a ham (left that bad bitch on 180 degrees for 18 hours) and cut half of it up for my ham and 15-bean cajun soup ... it was a full day and the kids were chillin just fine while I surfed www.indeed.com (the best job search engine I can think of) ...
that is, until there was a loud bang ... followed by my son's wailing.
We walked towards each other in the hallway. He was holding his head and my daughter was right behind him looking ghostly talkin' about "it was an accident! it was an accident!"
I held my sons head for him while asking what happened - and then I removed my hand to find it bloody. and not just tinged with blood. BLOODY. May daughter saw my hand and proceeded to freak the fuck out. At that moment, my mind began racing ...
... omg, he's bleeding!
... omg, she's freaking out!
... omg, i'm home alone with two kids!
... how the fuck do I get him to the hospital if he has to be in a car seat in the back and I'm the only adult who has to be in the front doing the driving?!
... Let me walk him to the sink in the bathroom
... Gotta grab a hand towel first
... cold. Cold water. The water has to be cold.
... soak the towel in cold water - cold compresses. Stop the bleeding. That's gotta be first
... if this daughter of mine doesn't stop screaming IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I might lose it
... can't lose it - this hand towel is soaked with blood. Cold compresses. Cold compresses.
... Can't call grandma - she's working a double. Can't call the ex - she's working a 10 hour shift. I gotta take him to the hospital ... bleeding's gotta stop first though. Cold compresses.
... omg, we're all back in our PJ's!
... bleeding has slowed. walk him to the kitchen to get ice.
... daughter has to get dressed. "Go get dressed!" "Why, daddy?" "Cuz we're going to the hospital!" "Hospital?! No! I'm not going!"
... omg, this hospital's gonna need the defibrillator for me
... At the top of my lungs, "YES YOU ARE! GET IN YOUR ROOM NOW, AND. GET. DRESSED. AND FAST!"
... ice. ice. ice. ice. Inside wet towel, the cold will transfer well. Put the bloody hand towel, packed with ice now, back on his head.
... daughter's dressed but she's running around freaking out with her laces untied. That's all I need, "TIE YOUR SHOES. NOW!"
... Leave son holding his own cold compress so I can get dressed. I change.
... I have to call their mom
... I have to get dressed
... I have to drive to the hospital
... I have to get the kids in the car
... I'll call on the way
... GIRL, GET IN THE CAR ... NOW!
... Carry son to car - strap him in ... fuck his shoes. I'll carry him in.
... Call ex on the way ... no answer. Figures. Leave pleasant message "Hey - she pushed him off the bed and he hit his head on the coffee table - it bled. On way to ER. If you call and phone is off, we're still there - they don't let you keep it on in the ER."
... Drive to Free Valet at the hospital.
... Get out car with kids, leave keys in ignition
... Don't stop to talk to any valet - I don't give a fuck WHAT they do with the car. Rush into hospital and into ER
... Sit son on counter with bloody hand towel packed with ice and stand there with daughter looking ghostly and worried.
Made it.
Whew!
From thud in the other room to arrival at ER = less than 15 minutes, including cold compresses to wait for the bleeding to subside. I wasn't playin no games.
Triage asks me if their mom has custody, since it's her Insurance card. "Yes, she has primary physical custody - we share joint legal"
"ok"
So, why did the OTHER bitch in there start quizzing me about how to pronounce my son's name. And his middle name. And his last name! It's *MY* fucking last name too, carajo! And then his date of birth.
... if this bitch don't stop asking me stupid questions, HER head gon need stapled too
The doc comes into our room (when we finally get there) and takes a look ... will need one staple she says ... I figured, I said.
At this moment, fear grips my son like Amy Winehouse grips a 40. He begins wailing - and the doc and I discuss whether or not to give an injection to numb the area first. I consider ... and decide that the drive home will be better if numbing medicine is doing its thing.
I send my daughter out of the room. Get out and shut the door, I say.
Two nurses and I have to hold down the little fucker - the wound is flushed with saline solution 5 times ... why? Because he keeps squirming and we wanna make sure it's clean. Solution of saline and blood drains all over me - I don't care.
WAILING
injection of Novocaine
WAILING
staple
WAILING
and more WAILING
The two nurses and I release our restraint and he relaxes
"All done, see?"
.. and my daughter returns from having picked out a new get well blanket with one of the other nurses. And some stickers.
The ex wife and I meet at my house - I from the hospital and she from her job.
"Better you than me," she says.
bitch.
Lord Jesus - Jesus, please ... I'm a seriously need some You right now. I don't know what else to do, only that I need to cool down a bit before I proceed with whatever it is I have to do ... Lord Jesus - Jesus, please keep me. Keep me. You hearing me? KEEP ME.
That friend of my baby momma who thinks she's my babies' parent, who likes to undermine me and tries to usurp my parental authority ... I'm a need you to control the venom in my fangs right now because it's in quantity overflowing and in bitterness SHARP. And I will NOT let this control me.
But yuh - I'm a need help.
I just need some help trying to at least SEE the other perspective - why this woman would show up to my childrens' soccer game today (while their momma was working) and not speak a word to me ... like, what is her perspective, so that I better understand.
And what is the perspective over there that led her to walk right by me, say nothing and approach my daughter to say, "you need to get a jacket on because you're sweaty and it's cold."
Excuse me! Excuse me ... I'm, like, totally RIGHT HERE.
So, my daughter comes up to me and says "daddy, I need a jacket because I'm sweaty and its cold."
"Did ***** say that to you?"
"Yes"
"Baby, you're fine - we're going right to the car. Come on."
So, two hours later there she comes again to now my SON'S soccer game (again, baby momma still at work) and she again wanna sit there with her camera on the other side of the field and not. say. a. word. to me.
So, I walk over there - and as I approach her she smiles and says hello. (As if it was my responsibility to approach her and say hello)
"Hi, XXXXX. Did you tell (my daughter's name) that she needed a jacket."
"Yuh - it was cold and she was sweating"
"I still feel like we need to not send messages through the kids - we should talk directly"
"I didn't send any message"
"yuh, ok - but we still need to be able to talk directly"
"OK!" she exclaimed as if it was final.
So, I turn around to go back to the other side of the field where I was - and she mutters, "she DID need a jacket though."
(Oh, bitch - so RIIITTTEEE you weren't trying to undermine me AT ALL, right?)
"Nope. She didn't," I said not turning around.
And then I turned right around, looked her square in the face and said, "Really. She DIDN'T"
And I went about my way - half mad at myself for not losing my mind on her and half proud of myself for not showing my ass in front of the SCORES 1st graders all playing soccer there.
As soon as the game was over - she packed up her chair and left - didn't say goodbye to me or the kids ... and she was in her car long before the kids all finished running the line, high fiving every player on the opposing team and saying "good game" about a dozen times.
AU REVOIR
LATER THAT NIGHT (a few minutes ago)
My daughter asks me which wig I like on her doll. I said the one with long hair. She smiled.
"That doesn't surprise you does it?" I asked with a smirk.
"Nope. Cuz you like girls with long hair." (I told her this after she convinced her mother to cut off her long hair and let her walk around with a bob)
"Right"
"XXXXX said that's YOUR problem."
Lord Jesus - Jesus, please ... I'm a seriously need some You right now. I don't know what else to do, only that I need to cool down a bit before I proceed with whatever it is I have to do ... Lord Jesus - Jesus, please keep me. Keep me. You hearing me? KEEP ME.
First, I need to vent about the fact that I do not have a photo for this blog entry. I did my usual google search based on the topic I am blogging about and tpyed in 'dad daughter pic' into the search field. The list of search results was riddle with porn! While I can understand that in the "be careful what you type into the search field" sort of way, I'm just disgusted that the sanctity of the father-daughter relationship is so tarnished that even google can't escape the mockery and depravity that the world has made of the most important relationship in a woman's life.
I could tell that my son was enjoying the opportunity to tattle on his sister - his body language, the slick look on his face (the one with that one side of his mouth ever so slightly curled upwards) and the subsequent "act like I didn't do a damn thing just now" demeanor ... it was all there.
Don't be fooled, parents KNOW. Parents ALWAYS know. And you parents out there need to back me up ... we know out children.
However, the reality of what my son had to say drew his indiscretion so far into the background that I've not even bothered to deal with it - and I won't. I had to delicately inspect the situation because if it didn't have the emotionally equivalent backlash that does the disarming of a ticking time bomb, nothing does. "She said you love me more," my son tattled.
"No, I didn't!" my daughter exclaims. And as the proverbial seconds counted down on the read out screen, I slowly went to work separating blue from red wire in an effort to diffuse this thing.
She denied it for a while until I was able to confront her when her brother wasn't around. "Well, you never call HIM names and when you call ME names, I feel like you love him more."
"Wait - what names do I call you?"
"Like, 'drama queen' and stuff like that."
In my defense, that child is the epitome of the drama queen - if she gets a scrape on the knee, she reacts as if her leg's been cut off ... she screams like mad, raising her voice to decibles that challenge the Ice Cream Truck, whenever she's fighting with her brother ... and all that. But I totally had NO idea she was feeling like I loved her less. Fuck ... fuckfuckfuck!
"Baby, you need to know that you are my favorite girl in the entire world - your brother is my favorite BOY in the entire world. I don't love you less or love him more. I love you both the same. I had NO idea that it was bothering you like this, so I promise you right now that I will never do that again. Not on purpose. If I forget and say a name by accident, just remind me that I'm not supposed to ... because sometimes daddy can forget. But it's just cuz I forget things, not because I don't love you. Because I do love you - more than I can even tell you."
"ok"
I kissed and loved on her and all that. And she asked me not to tell anyone. She said she would be embarrassed. And I promised her that I wouldn't. Now, I'm telling my blog family, but I'm gonna go with "that's different" because
Life Lesson
This happened nearly two weeks ago and I have spent a lot of time sorting through my feelings about it. I've experienced some dissonance about it because I am thrilled that I have the relationship with her that I do, that she could discuss it with me and trust that I wouldn't use it to embarrass her. Yet, I'm mortified at myself for being the one who has hurt her feelings. Mortified, I tell you.
So this duality has made me emotional. Tonight she came out of her bedroom and came to me in the living room. She said she looked around her room and felt lonely. Then she crawled on top of me, laid her head on my chest and the 75 pound child drifted off to sleep ... but not before telling me she feels safe when I am holding her.
I'm such a softie for that child. I could've cried right there. One of the other things I've contemplated over the last two weeks is the tendency of today's fathers to abandon their fatherly responsibilities ... and I would be lying if I said I hadn't wondered what it would be like to do that ...
Now, don't get me wrong. I've wondered what it would be like ... but I haven't DESIRED to do so. There's a difference. I don't know any parent who hasn't at least wondered what their life would be like if they didn't have children ... it's not that you don't want them, it's just that you wonder. You know, like ... I wonder what life would be like if my parents hadn't moved to Brooklyn when I was 14 (as an example, although I've never lived in Brooklyn).
Anyway, I continue to work in one city and live in another because of my children ... and after 15 months of driving back and forth weekly, I'm still not tired of it. It's amazing, but I never once have yet dreaded the drive. So, while i understand the "what if" mind game one plays ... i do NOT understand actually walking away from your fatherly responsibilities ... I seriously don't get it. And I don't WANT to get it. Despite all the nonsense my ex-wife has put me through, once to the point where I had to fight to maintain custody of my children, I have never EVER wanted to leave them.
And this evening was one of those times that I understood the importance of a father in a little girl's life. Dad makes her feel safe ... takes away the feeling of loneliness, even if she was just in the other room laying there looking at the walls. And just WOW at the thought of her feeling lonely and wanting her daddy and my not being there.
OMG .. men ... MEN, please be men ... and be a daddy once you've become a father. Please. There's likely a little girl just waiting for you to take away the lonely ...
... God help the nigga who wanna step to my little girl to fill that void. I'll have to hurt his feelings, if nothing else.
... God help the daddy-less little girls who thinks a nigga might just be able to take that lonely away. That they not become the result of someone's twisted google search.
... and God help the father who refuses to be a daddy. (or strike him down. Real Hard, too)
JACK
My daughter. I love her so much no language has the appropriate word to fully describe its profundity. The universe knows no depth like the depth of my love for that girl. I tell her ALL the time that I love her more than any girl in the entire world. And, let's face it - I'm gay. My ass ain't lying.
But wool does not shield my eyes from the self-centered, entitled side of her that irks me. She always has to be the first, have the largest piece of cake, the most coins in her little cup from Chuck E. Cheeses, always has to decide who's "it," and manipulates her little brother to swap all the good things he has (i.e. Nintendo DS games) so that they become hers.
I've addressed it before - but today? We were driving back from their baseball practice (don't get me started on the clusterfuck that is the YMCA - that's for another post) and I told them that they had to go to bed right after we got home and took baths. The damn practice is from 7 to 8 pm and by the time I went to Walmart to replace her swimming suit because the other one's strap broke, it was 8:45pm. She asked why.
"Because it's nine o'clock at night," I responded.
"It's nine o'clock at NINE," she said mocking me.
"I said NIGHT."
"No you didn't."
"Yes, honey - I did."
*moment of silence*
"It's 8:forty FIVE," she said with a tinge of sarcasm.
"I will REACH back there and smack you, girl!" I exclaimed, making sure that she knew in no uncertain terms that I was about to whoop her little ass if she so much as SPOKE again.
"You NEED to watch you mouth," I said with finality. And it was quiet all the rest of the way home.
After her bath she came to my room and said, "dad, I'm sorry."
"For WHAT?" I asked flatly.
"For talking back," she sniffled.
"Come here, baby." And she sat on my lap.
I proceeded to detail her behavior the last few days - how she told some kid while they were playing that she was "The Boss." And how at the baseball game she wanted everyone to know she was the OLDEST.
(Do these kids think we don't watch them?!?)
I told her that she needs to stop acting so selfish and that other people want to shine sometimes - that she can't always be the best, or the first, or the oldest or the decider (dub-ya call back, if you remember). Other people need a chance too.
The flood gates opened and she explained that all the kids at daycare treat her like that and her brain makes her want to do the same to other people.
"But just because other people steal - does that mean YOU steal?"
"No."
"If other people use bad words, do YOU say them?"
"No."
You need to always stop and think about how other people feel and remember that they want to be just as special as you do ... and you can NOT continue to put other people down to make yourself feel better.
She cried in my lap for a while and I held her.
And as soon as they're asleep - I'll close my bedroom door and cry myself.
I'm a fat bastard.
I have gained weight in the last 12 months to proportions that embarrass me. 20 pounds. 20 goddam pounds. At 5'6" .. 20 pounds is so much worse than you're imagining. This schedule of back and forth between two different cities every week pretty much sucked all desire out of me to go to the gym. and I haven't gone.
But you know what - Spend 6 hours a week driving ... and you'd be amazed at how many bags of Mickey D's end up strewn about the car.
And leave it to my kids to hand my ass back to me about my weight. While working on her homework, I ask my daughter "What's a kilogram?"
"It's a lot, a lot ... A TON - like you!"
My face went stoic-blank. And I simply blinked. OK, so I know what she meant ... and I'm a beached whale in her eyes.
Later in the day, we're listening to Lady Gaga and dancing all around the living room. My daughter says,
"Stop shaking your butt!"
"Baby, that's just me"
"That's right - your butt jiggles even when you walk."
With that - I'm back on my diet and gym routine. 10 pounds per month is my goal. If I can't lose the weight, I'm amputating a leg.
Well, folks - I have officially completed my graduate career, having worked on my degree part time since January 2006. Three point five years worth of working full time, traveling like a mfer, raising kids, fighting PF, getting shit canned, looking for a job, dating THAT mother fucker, putting THAT mother fucker in the past, starting a blog, keeping a blog ... and working on my degree part time!
It's over.
I completed my portfolio and got an A. My final GPA is a 3.733 and I'm done. On Sunday, I walk down the aisle to get my damn degree and all that jazz. There's a hooding ceremony (cuz I'm a MASTER now) and the best part of it all?
My babies will be there to see it all.
Now babies, you done seent daddy get his damn masters degree while he been raising your asses ... so, you do realize that you're going to college, right? Right. Don't make me drag your 18 year old, not-wanting-go-to-college, ass all over town by your ankles. You're going to college. Y YA!
But seriously, it means so much to me that they will be there to witness it ... it's really what it's all about ... making sure the babies have more and better than I am and have. They gon be all dolled up in their Sunday best and we're going to make a big, big BIG deal out of it ... not because I want a damn party
(because trust me, if that was the case, there'd be TONS of libation and kids wouldn't be allowed to witness the revelry)
... but because CHILDREN - IT MEANS SOMETHING TO GET AN EDUCATION.
You're free to hang out on the corner with a 40 in the brown paper bag AFTER you get your degree.
Cuz I love you.
There was a voluntary science fair at my daughter’s school and she chose to participate. She wanted to make crystals. So, she and her mom got Epsom salt, table salt, white sugar and brown sugar and dissolved each … then she watched each jar to see which solution would crystallize and which would not. It was a cute idea.
Today, she presented her project to the judges – no parents allowed. It happened during the school day. We worked on her poster board and she and her mom finished it up. Off she went to school to do her presentation – she told her mom she was nervous. The judges were community volunteers, not parents of any children.
One of the judges is Chinese. “I couldn’t understand one of the judges, daddy”
“why?”
“he’s Chinese – from China”
“oh, so you had trouble understanding his accent”
“yuh”
My son: “he was just probably tired from driving.”
Daddy: “what do you mean son?”
Son: “well, China is really far away”
Daughter: “you can’t drive on water – he had to take a plane.”
Son: “no. they don’t have airports in China.”
Daughter: “yes they do – don’t they dad?”
Me: “yes – they sure do.”
Son: “what do they look like?”
Me: the windshields are the same width, but only about a foot tall.
(ok, that’s a lie)
Me: “they look the same as ours, papito.”
It was a great conversation on the way to the awards ceremony. And do you know what happened? Do you know what happened?
My daughter took first place among the first graders! FIRST PLACE! And she also won the Most Enthusiastic Presenter award! OMG – I’m bursting with pride. MY GIRL.
And do you know what?! She gets to take her project to the regional science fair at the state fairgrounds in three weeks.
*dead*
Yesterday was my daughter's birthday. I left Vegas one day early in order to be there for her on her birthday. I wasn't even supposed to GO on that trip, but in December my coworker asked me to go and I insisted that I had to fly back in time to pick up the kids, and he agreed.
So, I landed in Indianpolis, got my car and picked up the babies from school, ordered pizza on the way to the supermarket, picked up her princess cake (because she asked for a princess cake) and then went on to the house. I had piled the presents up on the dining room table before I left for Vegas because I knew it was going to be tight when I came back. I was proud of myself for having that much forethought because usually I'm actually quite "fly by the seat of my pants."
But this is my baby girl we're talking about!
My son had three presents - an outfit I bought when I was last in NYC, a Scooby Doo coloring book and a Mario Kart Nintendo DS game ... because he loves cars and the last mario brothers game we had belonged to my baby girl. We always get the other child a little something when one has a birthday - it's just what we do.
My daughter had an outfit from NYC, another blouse, a princess DS game, three sets of pjs, a high school musical activity set, tons of knick knacks that I couldn't fit into her Christmas stockings (yes, I saved it for her birthday from before Christmas and YES, she did have more than one Christmas stocking on the mantle), a few tubs of finger paint and some hannah montana stickers and such.
She tore into her presents before the pizza arrived, her aunt came over with the baby cousin and then we ate pizza and cake. MMMMM - pizza and cake. YUM. (I decided no more marble cake - I prefer the white cake)
We played around on the floor for a while - the kids would all pile on top of me, I'l shake and wiggle and yell EARTHQUAKE ... and they'd all fall all over the living room. The 11 month old waited until there was a maylee all over the floor and would crawl over and start smaking faces. That part was both not cute and cute all at the same time. And when my kids would pile up on top of me again, the not-so-stupid 11 month old would get the hell out of dodge until the melee ... then he was back over smacking faces.
It was all fun and games until I saw my daughter put a blanket over her aunt on the couch. Wait a minute ... this bitch taking a nap!? This mean I gotta watch the 11-month old! Who the hell signed up for THIS shit? Dammit!
But momma dukes is a little bit ghetto, a litte bit stupid-bitch (to be REAL honest) and I decided that my watching the 11-month old was better than having her awake. So I let her sleep. And besides, it was cute to see my daughter take care of her aunt like that. She's such a nurturer.
Except that wasn't going through my head when she was yelling, ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE DADDY while she pounced on me.
But they can pounce on me all they want. (even if my knees hurt today - is that supposed to happen in your 30s?)
Happy to be back in the cold, thanks to the babies ...
JACK
(P.S. I'm happy to announce that my 7 year old is still willing to be my "Baby Girl" even though she's already 7. So, all is good still. All is good)
