Little m Long a

Maybe it’s the magnitude of deeply significant events.  Could be my complete lack of mental capacity.  Maybe I’m finally manifesting the negative consequences of poor choices at an earlier age.  Or maybe I’m just forgetful.

The raccoons, Zander and Zella, turned four years old yesterday.  Four.  Years.  Old!  Customarily on each childs’ birthday  we recount the day of their birth.  The details surrounding how each child came screaming into the world.  The kids love it, so much so that the stories are often repeated throughout the year.

I should be able to recount the twins’ birth with ease.  A multiple birth after having been through multiple births should stand out.  And yet I have great difficulty doing just that.

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Yesterday, I had a little girl.

Yesterday...

And then…..

A few years passed by

And suddenly….

She grew up.

And I love her more and more with each passing day.

Still My Little Girl

Happy Birthday, Zoë!

Thirsty for things that are beyond his realm, far and above what little boys should be concerned.  He looks at the world around him with a discerning eye.  Inquisitive.  Seeking more.  His world is concrete and solid.  Uncertainty and grey confuse him though they do not deter.  Frustrated but never discouraged.

He is confident.

He absorbs the world around, processing and analyzing.  Hours may pass before the questions start.  They are always well thought out and often difficult to answer.  Be prepared.

He plays with bugs and mud and fashions weapons from sticks and broken toys.  He throws his ball to no one and tackles them as if they were.  He is engaging in a crowd, content with solitary.

He laughs and you can not help but join him.  He is in a place where you wish to be, where you need to be.

Seven years passes in but a moment.

I once had a little boy.  Face of an angel.  A cherub.  A little boy that hated carrots and spewed vomit like a child possessed.  It made him no less endearing.  That little boy is gone, long since replaced by the young man before me now.  Face of an angel.

How do you encapsulate the essence, the wonder that is a boy becoming?  My words are certainly insufficient.  My heart inadequate.  Fortunately–none of that matters to him.

He’s happy and therefore I am.

Happy Birthday Wildman!

(Zane turned all of seven on August 1.  We’ve been celebrating all week!)

Related Posts:  A Boy and His Mission

It’s happened before–and probably will again. I’ve been blanked in the past but tonight was quite the opposite.  My head just too full to organize a rational or coherent thought.  So I turned to the most rational, coherent person I know and asked for help.  “I need a guest post.”  Begrudgingly, she acquiesced in a fantastic way. Thanks, Maura.  I owe you big.  I give you—Zoë’s Mom and her very first blog post.

This started about 2 years ago.  We were planning my son’s 5th birthday party and my husband and I had no idea for THE BIRTHDAY GIFT.  I had been becoming progressively more soured on the vast amount of gifts that I had been seeing kids get for their birthdays.  By the time  some school friends, Aunts and Uncle and Grandparents threw in their presents, it was hard to distinguish one from another.  By the time the child got around to your gift,  they were in major gift fatigue mode.  So I suggested the idea to my husband – what if we got Zane no gifts at all?   What if the gift was a day with his parents, all by himself?

You have to understand that I come from a family of ten.  The first five births were all fourteen months apart and I was one of a set of twins (yes, Catholic).  We had working parents and we were raised mainly by my grandparents.  In those days, my grandma would go to the grocery once a week on a Wednesday and take one (or two) of us with her.  Those days were absolute highlights of my youth.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved growing up in a large family, but occasionally it was nice to be singled out and be treated like an only child.  My grandma would get the lucky kid a piece of candy at the check out counter and maybe lunch at Friendly’s afterward.  During that day, you  had the chance to be seen just for yourself, to be heard without shouting. These days would come along once every 3 or 4 months and we fought for them tooth and nail.  My grandma just wanted help getting her 3 to 4 carts of groceries but she gave us in return an afternoon of feeling singularly loved.

I was a little hesitant to suggest this to my husband.  But I must of caught him in just the right mood because he said yes immediately. Then we launched the idea to Zane and he, quite to my surprise, couldnot have been more enthusiastic.   Since then we have not bought a single present for our children’s birthdays.  They get a day of fun and in that day they may get an outfit and a stop at Build a Bear,  maybe a book at the Barnes and Noble.  But the focus of the day is on spending time over the course of day one on one with us.  And we get a chance to show how singularly loved each of our children are.

Today was Zia’s Day of Fun (the evolved name for the event).   She turned 5 on April 28th.  If ever there was a child who could break your heart just by smiling, it would be Zia.  I have found in the planning of these days that less is more.  It is better to be able to walk around an art museum or through a city park than to go to a place with lots of noise and games for kids (an amateur mistake on our first outing).  The highlight of the day comes when you actually get to hold a conversation with your child about flowers or art or your memories of growing up.

Today we started out at the Columbus Zoo because they just had a baby elephant born there one month ago.  As soon as we got in the 30 minute line to wait to file quickly by this newest zoo arrival, I thought to myself, “We have got to get out of here as soon as possible”.  Too many people, too much chaos, not enough quiet to get a chance to talk to my daughter.  We saw the elephant and a few other zoo sights but then we took off to this lovely city park on a beautiful sunny spring day.

And it was there, over the course of the next hour and a half that Ed and I had a chance to talk to Zia, watch her chase butterflies, see her run up and down the walking paths of the gardens, and revel in the beauty that is my third child.  And it is for these moments that the idea came to be.  Zia got a chance to shine today for her parents and a chance to see in our smiles and laughter the deep love we have for her.  It is always on these days that I take a moment to tell my child about the moment they were born.  (That tradition actually started with my mother, who, despite giving birth 9 times, remembers the day we were born very precisely).   So I told Zia today about the perfect spring day she was born on.  The first time that year that there was a day that showed summer would again come to Ohio.

On that beautiful day, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who has come to personify for me Spring and its promise of joy and beauty.  It was a day very much like today.  And so it continues, the joy of being Zia’s mommy.

We were in New Orleans when the call came.  We had just finished some coffee and biengets at the Cafe du Monde and were on the levee about to take a stroll down the river walk.  I recognized the number and the voice.  Fearfully, reluctantly I handed Maura the phone.  Silence and what seemed to be hours passed.  Then screaming.  Lots of screaming.  I’m quite certain the people in Algiers just across the Mississippi River from where we were standing heard it.  Certainly the hordes of people in Jackson Square heard it.

Until that day, I did not think it possible to garner the collective attention of the crowds of people passing through the French Quarter.  I now know.

The tears came.  Huge alligator tears released from their caches having been contained some five months, probably longer.  She screamed.  I smiled.  She cried.  I laughed.  I knew.  And now most of Greater New Orleans knew.

We were going to have a boy!  Zoë was going to have a baby brother.  My wife could have died right then and there and I’m sure would have not counted a single moment in her life more precious.  Her dreams certainly were coming true.

I was a bit more reserved.  Cautious.  You see, I was afraid of what a second child might do to me.  What a second child might do to the bond between Zoë and me.  I had loved Zoë unimaginably and could not fathom splitting that love between two.  Sharing it.  It’s one of the still unexplained mysteries of parenting.  How can you possibly love each child as much as the other without loving any or either the less?  I’ll give you the answer I was given–YOU JUST DO.

Zane arrived on August 1, 2002 on one of the hottest days of record.  It was miserable hot.  Undaunted, Zane set about on that day on his mission to affect the life of every single person with whom he came into contact whether it be the surgeon and anesthesiologist in the delivery room whom he peed all over, the neonatal nurse who he pooped on (immediately after his first bath),  his aunts who were instantly smitten with his charm or his dad who wasn’t quite sure he could love another as much as Zoë.

Zane has transformed me, my whole way of thinking, my life.  He has a heart that is bigger than he will ever be.  Every ounce of his little body exudes happiness and he wants nothing more than to share that with everyone he meets.  His laughter is infectious.  He’s playful.  He’s serious.  He’s brilliant.  His determination to succeed is amazing.   He’s at that age where people will ask–as people often do–so what do you want to be when you grow up?

He’s quick to answer, “I want to be a quarterback but I’m kind of small so I’ll probably be a kicker, too.  I’m also going to play baseball, and basketball and soccer.  Then I want to save all of the animals in the South Pole.  And…..I want there to be peace.”  With each passing day it seems he wants to add another thing to an already impressive potential resume.  He always asks, “Dad, can I be…..?”  To which I always reply, “Of course you can.”

Because when you’re a six year old little boy you need to believe that anything is possible and that every dream can still come true.
Not many people ask me anymore– what do you want to be when you grow up?  That’s OK.  I’ve never really had an answer.  But I think I’m getting close.

When I grow up, I want to be like my son.

Happy Birthday, Wild Man!

I wasn’t quite finished with the mowing when I looked up and noticed my wife walking across the yard to me, arms waving to get my attention.  She was waddling really as she was, I believe the saying is “great with child.”  She had just returned from her weekly visit to the OB and I assumed was letting me know she was back home and wanted to know what I had planned for dinner.  She’s thoughtful like that.  Being that I had been mowing for the last three hours (hey, it’s a big lawn) I had surely given some thought to the matter of dinner and would have a hearty meal whipped up before the hum of the mower had died completely.

I knew immediately that she was not flagging me down for the purposes of discussing dinner preparations.  Something else was going on.  “Doc says the amniotic fluid level has decreased significantly since last weeks’ visit and that the uterine wall has a marked area of thinning.  He wants me back at the hospital for monitoring.”

“Monitoring?  What exactly did he say?  This does not sound like routine monitoring.”

“Well…He said the uterine wall is thin enough that it could spontaneously rupture and that the fluid level is low enough that the baby may be in danger so he just wanted to monitor for a few hours.  He said if everything was fine after a few hours of monitoring we could go back home and he would probably deliver the baby tomorrow.  Other than that the visit was great!”

We weren’t ready.  Is anyone ever?  Immediately we sprang to action calling family, my sister-in-law dropped everything to keep watch over Zoe and Zane and my wife and I made way for the hospital.  (Yes, I did shower first.)  They had been expecting us and in short order my wife was connected to all manner of monitoring devices and paraphernalia.  Not sure if it’s because my wife is a doctor at the hospital or if the people on the OB ward treat everyone this way but I felt like we were the only people there, that our situation was real and important to them.  They were caring and comforting and could not have been more pleasant.

To my great relief, everything the monitor was showing us reflected the way that my wife was feeling—just fine.  After about an hour, the doctor stopped by to discuss the situation.  His words were, “everything looks fine, baby is doing just fine and your vitals are all fine.  If you feel OK you can go home and we’ll schedule the C-section for in the morning.  Or…, since you’re here and I’m here and the OR team is here now we could go ahead and do this now.”  His eyes were saying, “Pick B! Pick B!!”

As my wife would say, “That’s a softball.”  Her little term for a no brainer, an easy one, get your head out of your ass this is as clear as day kind of question.  We picked B.  And so it was that around dinner time our little Zia came screaming into the world, pulled from the relative comfort of the womb that had kept her safe and warm these past months.  Screaming, I say because I vividly recall this scenario.

After the delivery, as is customary, Zia was taken down the hall to the nursery to be cleaned and swaddled evaluated and whatever it is that they do to newborn babies.  My wife was quite sore from the C-section and still quite loopy from the medications that had been given her during the delivery.   Not ten full minutes had passed when the phone rang in the OR suite (yes, we were still in the OR suite) and the nurse on the other end of the phone said, “Come get this screaming child!”
You know, she still screams louder than any of my kids.  I can’t believe it’s been four years.  Happy Birthday, Zia!  I love you, Curly Sue!

This entry is adapted from the entry I placed in Zoë’s baby book.  Today is her seventh birthday and I felt it was appropriate to post it.  Please bear with me as I tell the story of my daughter to….my daughter.

You arrived triumphantly into this world 7 years ago today at 3:54pm but your story actually begins much earlier.  I was working the night shift and was unwinding after a long shift when your mother arrived home having pulled an all nighter herself and announced, “Come upstairs.  Quickly.  I’m ovulating.”  What happened next….well, that’s a whole other story for some other time.  Let’s just suffice it to say that on that early morning of May in the year 2000 your story really began.

I remember the morning your mother announced your impending arrival.  She suggested we take a short vacation in January.  Hey, it’s cold in Middle America in the winter so I was all for it.  Then she suggested our resort stay as a hospital on the North East side of town.  I thought she had flipped.  Then, as my good buddy from Louisiana used to say–”the clouds parted to cast a true shadow.” 

The next several months were a blur of doctors visits, baby showers, miniature furniture purchases, purchases of baby powder and onesies.  I remember the first time your mother and I walked into Babies R Us.  There were things there we knew we needed.  (People had told us this.)  This was a place where we could get everything we would need to accommodate a new baby in the house.  (People had told us this also.)  We were not ready.  It was apparent to the seasoned shoppers scurrying through the aisles of the store that we were out of sorts.  More than once  we were asked if we needed help.  More than once we responded to those queries much like a doe caught in the mesmerizing glow of an oncoming Peterbuilt. After 40 minutes of shopping we left the store, empty handed and disheartened.  We were not ready.

As the days to your arrival grew fewer, our trips to the doctor grew more.  Ultrasounds became more frequent and more than once concerns were raised that you might be growing a bit too large.  These concerns were transformed into full blown paranoia by your mother who made no bones about the fact that she was none too excited about passing a small rhino through her nether regions.  An induction was in order.  Your mother and I sat with calendar in hand and selected a day.  Your birthday was now set and part of our grand plan.  It was out of your control, or so we thought.

The night before the induction we went to dinner (I have no idea where) and we saw a movie (I have no idea what).  Conversation was brief and superficial.  We both were quite nervous as to what the next morning held for us.  Uncertainty has a way of doing that to people.  Anticipation has a way of doing that to people.  For in less than 12 hours our lives were to be changed forever. 

The induction began early the morning of the 18th.  Your mother was a trooper as she was poked and prodded and connected to all manner of monitoring devices.  I tried to be as supportive as possible yet my attention quite often turned to the monitors.  I suppose it’s the curse of being a nurse and knowing just enough about what was going on to make me totally neurotic.  I had observed the dips or decels as they are referred to but attributed them to your mother being uncomfortable and moving around too much to get an accurate reading.  The morning came and went.

At the mid afternoon shift change the oncoming nurse noticed something concerning.  Seems your cord had made a bit of an appearance before you.  (This, according to the nurse and as evidenced by the flurry of activity that in mere moments followed her fortuitous finding was not a good thing.)  All of a sudden those decels took on a whole new meaning.  A whole new significance.  In what seemed an instant your mother was whisked away to the surgery suite.  After an eternity (3 minutes) I was allowed to join her.  Pale and stoic, she was giving one word answers to my questions.  I knew that she was OK but your mother is such a tremendously strong person, seeing her like this was a bit unnerving. 

An emergency C-section.  Who would have thought?  When the doctor pulled you out, you looked like a spool of thread.  Cord was wrapped around your neck, over your shoulder, around your waist and through your legs.  (You were very active in the womb!)  I couldn’t hold back the tears.  You were the most beautiful sight I had ever laid my eyes upon.  My darling baby girl.  The whole process from decision for emergency C-section to your delivery took 9 minutes.  A truly grand entrance.

Zoë, you are the joy of my life, the culmination of who I am and my greatest dream come true.  For as long as I can remember, all I have ever wanted in this life is to be a father, something I never had.  I can only hope and pray that as you grow and learn and experience life you will be able to look back and remember your Dad with love and with smiles.  I can’t promise you the world.  I can’t promise you that I’ll never let you down.  I can’t promise you that you will never be disappointed or hurt.  But this I can promise.

I will always love you and will always be here for you.  You are my heart, my joy, my soul–my little girl.

Happy 7th Birthday.  I love you, Zoë!

Dad

The leaves have started in an ever so subtle way to change their colors and break free from the branches that have sustained their tiny lives since the spring when they blossomed forth.  No longer are my children able to walk silently through the yard as now leaves crunch loudly beneath their feet.  OK, so my kids, to the best of my recollection, have never walked silently through the yard.  Remember that scene in Stripes when the platoon is running like banshees through the woods as they tackle the confidence course.  That is my kids in the yard at all times.  The piles of leaves grow larger with each passing day. Happens every year.  I love this time of year for the inevitable changing of the season is not only visible, but it is audible and tangible.  You can even smell fall in the air as the cooler air undoubtedly spurs the weekend bonfires and burning leaf piles.  Yes, the season is changing and with summer’s passing I am also able to joyfully mark another equally admirable feature of the fall season.

My wife is celebrating her birthday today, September 21.  I have spent the past several months giving you, dear reader, some insight into who I am and who my kids are.  I have not been very divulging with information about my wife but rest assured she is without a doubt the single most important person in the world to me.  She is a fabulous mother and an extraordinary wife.  She is my best friend and my limited ability at self expression in no manner does justice to the true and genuine love that I feel for her.

So on this day I thought I would give you just the slightest bit of insight, an introduction if you will to the most amazing person I know.  Read carefully and you’ll know how many candles to light in her honor.

immeasurable passion relentless forgiving Zoë fun loving football fanatic educator healer sister mother wife friend Zane daughter adventurous strong caring compassionate driven wild Zia happy meticulous carefree spontaneous surprising inspiring calming Zander reassuring supportive giving example faithful devout advocate Zella whimsical thankful artistic bold soft powerful loved

Happy Birthday, Honey.  I Love You!!

I suppose when compared to varied celebratory events that take place in a child’s life during the normal course of a year, the fact that any kid can get excited about commemorating the milestone of having successfully completed another year of existence is absolutely amazing.  Let’s start with the  two big ones.  Gift occasions, that is.  You’ve got Christmas and Easter.  Then there’s Valentines Day.  Oh, and Halloween (not so much a gift occasion but I have to believe that the dispensation of immeasurable quantities of processed sugar for having to do nothing more than recite a pithy line, “Trick or Treat!” has got to rank real high on any kid scale of favorite holidays.)  And I didn’t even mention that you get to actually be Belle or Jasmine or Captain America.  Little known Halloween fact that the costume actually manifests your child’s fantasies.  Yes, Halloween is a big one.  July Fourth celebrations can be quite pleasing, a truly enjoyable family time.  And let’s not forget about some of the lesser billed holidays like Columbus Day, Arbor Day, Ground Hog Day, Bastille Day and Earth Day.  There’s the county fair and the state fair.  Annual festivals.  Sprinkle in some siblings’ birthdays, cousin’s birthdays and a classmate or two’s birthday and you’ve pretty much given yourself an excuse to spoil your kid rotten at least once during each and every month of the year.  That being said, there is nothing quite so exciting to a young child as a their very own birthday.  That one day of the year that is exclusively their’s.  We have all experienced the joys that come with trying to teach a toddler how to share so when a day actually comes along that belongs only to them and no one else, it’s special.  Yesterday was my third Z’s day.

My middle Z, Zia, turned three years old on Saturday.  It was her day to shine.  Finally, there was a day all about her, something she lobbies for quite verdantly on just about every other day of the year.  I know she’s the middle child and that this type of behavior is pretty much to be expected, but the girl is relentless.  To say that Zia and I have the best relationship would probably be stretching things just a tad.  Adversarial is the term that usually comes to mind.  I can’t quite explain it but Zia seems be able to elicit the absolute worst personality traits I possess.  Traits that I never even knew I had or those that I thought were buried way deep she has dredged right to the surface and splayed them open for all to see.  I have embarrassed myself in front of family, friends and total strangers.  She’s not malicious.  She does not possess a callus bone or thought in her tiny little body.  There’s just something about her inability to cope with difficult or adverse situations and her total body meltdown during these times that causes me to act like a fool.  I’m the guy at the hypnotist show that acts like a monkey when he hears the word ruby red rutabaga.  The one that said, “Oh, this hypnosis thing is all bunk!”  and, “He’ll never hypnotize me.”   I just can’t seem to help myself, I’m under some strange spell.  The sad thing is that the damn hypnotist forgot to undo the spell and worse yet, sent me home with a three year old that only knows how to say ruby red rutabaga.  I suppose we both have a barrier, a wall so to speak;  her inability to appropriately cope with difficult situations and my inability to appropriately respond to her inability to appropriately cope with difficult situations.  The cycle is not only vicious, it’s absurd. 

Yesterday, I was able to start chipping away on my side of the wall.  Tearing down the fence, if you will.  How, you may be asking?  Alone time with the enemy.  That’s right, I met my demons face to face, mano a mano.  A scared stiff 42 year old mature father of 5 face to face with a fearless (and quite strikingly, cute) curly haired 3 year old little girl.  With five kids it’s difficult to have alone time with any of them.  I am taking at least two to most events, but generally my three oldest so when a one on one opportunity arises it’s a rare occasion.  Such was the case yesterday with my little birthday girl.  My wife has scheduled several classes at our local Children’s Museum for the express purpose of giving Zia one on one time with us.  By us I actually mean she gets to take Zia to these classes.  God, it feels good to actually be able to reverse the meaning of that term, even if it is just this once.  Anyone who is, has been or is even thinking about being in a relationship for any length of time surely realizes that when a woman says, “we need to …..”  what she really means is, “you need to …..”  So my wife usually takes Zia to these classes but because of a work snafu was unable to attend.  

My wife gets her work schedule a month in advance.  On the day it came out, I immediately called her to let her know she had been scheduled to work on Zia’s birthday right in the middle of her class at the museum.  My stomach was in knots.  Without hesitation she simply said, “you’ll have to take her.”  That hamster in my brain immedialetly jumped on the treadmill.  “But what about Zoë’s ballet practice?”  “Zane has soccer practice.”  “Who’s going to watch the twins?”  “What’s your sister doing?”  “Don’t I have to get the tires on the van rotated?”  “I was going to learn how to play canasta!”  “Won’t somebody please just shoot me?”  “My God, don’t make me do this!!!”  What my wife said next made me feel about as low and ashamed as I may have felt, ever.  Again, in her simply stated, black and white world tone of voice she said, “It will be good for both of you.  She’s your daughter.”  And snap, you are now awake!  The spell had been broken.  The sad part is that I completely remember every part of acting the fool. 

We met the rest of the family later that evening at the soccer stadium to continue the theme of “All About Zia.”  Zia continued to beam and the family had a blast.  Our team even won it’s first game.  All in all the day could not have been better.  The most fun I had though, was spending time alone with my little girl, a former foe turned ally.  Happy Birthday Zia, I love you!