For now, I think my level of engagement is acceptable to Kailey and Tyler. To them, I am still somewhat cool. I can walk Tyler to his class, hand in hand, and even give him a hug at the door without it causing him too much angst.

Let’s face it, kids can be cruel, and it won’t be too much longer before the elementary school social system takes shape and he would rather lose a leg than have his dad give him a hug in front of his friends. To be clear, even probably well into his high school years, I will still be there trying to give him a hug – that’s just the way I roll – but I don’t think he will be quite as enthused with my level of engagement at that time.

As my son, my boy, my-chip-off-the-old-block, Tyler definitely has a special place in my heart. He is my little buddy, and I am so proud of him it hurts. Now, before you think I am getting too mushy, let me assure you that our relationship is not all wine and roses. After all, we are father and son, and that relationship is typically rife with tension. But even as my blood pressure periodically spikes as a result of his antics, there is no denying that he brings an incredible amount of joy and fulfillment to my life. And that is why I am terrified.

I’m terrified because I don’t want to lose this special relationship we have. He is growing up way too fast for my liking, and I am afraid that as he continues to grow into the incredible person he is meant to be, that the far too common trappings of the dysfunctional father-son relationship will rear their ugly head and we will lose what we have. He is my pride and joy and it breaks my heart to worry about stuff like this, but I need look no further than my own relationship with my dad to know that great expectations don’t always ensure great relationships.

People have children for a whole host of reasons. I am confident that my parents’ motivation for having me was not to burden me with countless insecurities and then turn me loose on the world armed with a nagging sense of not being good enough. I’m sure that, just like the rest of the sane world, they wanted to have kids for the obvious tax benefits. All joking aside, I’m sure they had only the best of intentions, but somehow along the way this is how I ended up. I went from anything’s possible

to a neurotic mess with an unhealthy amount of self-doubt.

In the beginning, there was no telling who I was going to grow into. Doctor, lawyer, artist, ball player, firefighter, accountant, you name it and it was a possibility. I couldn’t even hold my own head up or eat solid food, but I was good enough, or at a minimum I wasn’t aware of the fact that I might not be.

The hard part to swallow – the part that has me worried about my relationship with Tyler – is the fact that somewhere along the way in my childhood, things changed. I don’t know when, where or why, but there was definitely a shift. When a father has a son, look out world. Your little chip-off-the-old-block is something special, and everything they do – from first poop to first step to first base hit – is a monumental accomplishment worthy of a write up in the local sports page. Granted there really isn’t anything earthshaking about the achievement, just the fact that “your boy” did it is more than enough to set off the old pride-o-meter.

I am sure that, just like all dads, my dad had those same great expectations for me, but at some point I must not have lived up to them, and the weight of not being good enough crept into my life. I have read that fathers have a tendency of living vicariously through their sons trying to achieve what they themselves were unable to achieve. I’m not sure if that was the case with my dad, but whether it was realizing that I wasn’t athletic enough to become a pro ball player or not smart enough to become a doctor, somewhere along the way my “sky’s the limit” was replaced with self-doubt.

It is almost frightening the amount of power fathers have over their son’s emotional well-being. As son’s, we are almost hardwired to need our dad’s approval, and when that approval is not forthcoming, the result can be a lifetime of not feeling good enough that can shape almost every aspect of our lives.

Now, before you launch a fundraising campaign for my therapy (please make checks payable to Zach Streight or Cash, either is acceptable) I think it is important to point out that I wouldn’t change anything. It has been fairly difficult working through some of the issues I have been carrying around as a result of my own special brand of family dysfunction, but the reality is that I love my parents, bless their heart, and I love my childhood. Sure they could have done better on some fairly impactful aspects of child development, but nobody’s perfect. They did the best they could with the tools they had, and the must have done something right, because, to quote Stuart Smalley, “I’m smart enough, I’m good enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.” Some of them do at least.

Unfortunately, the reality is that the story of the neurotic adult who has spent a lifetime not feeling good enough, is almost boringly common. In fact just yesterday, 32,476 new blogs launched with that as their primary theme. The more I talk about my own parenting challenges with my male friends, coworkers and colleagues, almost universally they all share a similar story of having a painful relationship with their own dads. While it is nice to know that there is nothing special about my particular brand of family dysfunction, I must admit, the recurring theme has definitely increased my level of worry for my relationship with Tyler.

What is it about the father-son dynamic that seems to always lead to such heartache? Why do so many doting fathers end up being angry, disapproving critics who focus on what their sons aren’t as opposed to what they are? Don’t get me wrong, I would love for Tyler to end up breaking a home run record, winning a gold medal, or curing cancer, but more than that I just want him to be himself, to live a great life and to know that he is loved. I bet the vast majority of dads want that as well, so what happens? What ends up causing the shift? And more importantly, how can I stop it from happening?

I have heard that worrying serves no purpose and is basically just a waste of time. For the most part I agree, but in this instance, I am okay with worrying about my relationship with Tyler because the stakes are too high. I don’t want him to grow up constantly doubting himself and feeling like his best isn’t good enough. I want him to focus on simply being the best Tyler he can be, and to know that, I will always be proud of him for that.

The good news, from my perspective at least, is that even when all I can do is sometimes go to another room and silently yank clumps of hair out of my head through clenched teeth because of his behavior, I still love him more than words can say, and I rest easy knowing that he is good enough for me. I just hope that I am going to be good enough for him.

After a spirited debate on the definition of “old”, I end up tap dancing around the subject with poor analogies and befuddling metaphors until even I am confused, and they have forgotten their initial questions.

Sadly however, I fear that the day of confronting the realities of death might be coming sooner rather than later for them. Thankfully, everyone in the family is healthy. Even Amy, our 16 year old dog, while definitely slowing down, is still going strong.

No, it is highly unlikely that old age or ailing health will be the catalyst which forever alters my precious children’s innocent views on mortality. It will be murder. You see, I am precariously close to killing Sunshine.

To be clear, I am decidedly conflicted about bringing harm to another of God’s precious creatures. As both a pacifist and an animal lover, I am not at all happy with the thoughts currently rattling around in my head. That said, Sunshine has not left me much wiggle room. I am still not entirely comfortable with a rodent living under my roof, but the reality of the situation is that Sunshine and I have actually developed a nice little working relationship. I don’t bother her, and she doesn’t cause any undue burden on me. All was harmonious until about a month ago.

During the day, Sunshine’s cage stays in our game room. This lets her feel like a part of the family, and gives the kids easy access to playing with her when they want to. As a nocturnal animal however, she typically wakes up right as we are trying to drift off to sleep, and without fail, begins to exercise with a ferocity similar to Andrea in a cardio-kickboxing class. For those of you who haven’t seen my wife in a cardio-kickboxing class, suffice it to say that hundreds of thousands of calories are being burned.

As a result, and largely due to the fact that Sunshine’s exercise wheel – despite being advertised as “silent” and being regularly oiled – has roughly the same decibel level as a fully operational chainsaw, we have started putting her in our laundry room at night.

This has allowed us to get some sleep, while still letting Sunshine get out her obvious anger issues.

The real trouble started a little over a month ago when, with everyone quietly sleeping, I heard some strange noises in our house. Naturally, like any heroic husband and father, I immediately took action. I buried myself further under the sheets, and tried to get back to sleep.

In my defense, it was like 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, so I was a little out of it. Unfortunately, the noises did not go away, and I eventually woke up and realized that something out of the ordinary required my attention.

With my bat in hand for protection against any and all potential trouble, I slowly tracked the random scraping noises to the laundry room. Heart beating at a precariously high rate, I threw open the door and quickly turned on the light. Nothing suspicious. No burglars, no criminal activity, nothing. More scraping noises drew my attention to my immediate right. Something was inside our washing machine.

It was at this point that I began putting two and two together. I noticed that Sunshine’s aquarium-style cage with a mesh metal top had a jagged hole in one of the corners.

It appeared that Sunshine, in a desperate bid for freedom, had gnawed through her roof and was now running amuck in our washer.

At three o’clock in the morning, I didn’t really know what my options were. I seriously contemplated waking Andrea and delegating the problem to her – before you judge me, remember that she was the pro-hamster advocate who vouched for Sunshine – but even I knew that would not be in my best interest. Ultimately, I chose to close the laundry room door and go back to sleep. The problem would keep until morning.

In the morning, we ultimately were able to coax Sunshine out from underneath the washer with a carrot stick. We all had a good laugh and thought that was the end of it – thought we had dodged a bullet – until later when we realized the washing machine no longer worked. 10 days and $193 dollars later, we were once again able to launder our own dirty clothes.

Apparently Sunshine, drunk with power during her escape, had decided to chew through several key electrical components, rendering our washing machine worthless. Sunshine was skating on some very thin ice.

We had every intention of replacing the top of Sunshine’s cage to ensure that escape was no longer an option, but, as is often the case, we were busy with other things and it didn’t seem like a high priority. I thought we were covered since we had eliminated her ability to reach the top of her cage, and the existing hole was being adequately covered by a large book. The setup looked a little rednecky, but from a functional perspective I felt we were good to go. Until I overheard this:

Tyler (in the laundry room): “Mommy, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

Andrea: “What is it buddy?

Tyler: “The good news is that I was going to play with Sunshine. The bad news is that she’s not in her cage.”

As value-oriented folks still stinging from the recent washer repair bill, both Andrea and I covered the nearly 60 feet from where we were to the laundry room in a shade under 2 seconds. Immediately, we noticed that, much to our surprise, Sunshine had chewed yet another hole in the top of her cage.

Believe it or not, Sunshine had climbed – and precariously hung on – her loosely hanging, round water bottle long enough to chew her way to freedom.

Angry, frustrated, and admittedly a little impressed, I began removing the front of the washing machine to check for Sunshine. Sure enough, there she was nestled in and amongst the expensive electrical components we had just recently paid through the nose for.

That day, after a lively debate on the future of Sunshine, we purchased a new cage for her. It is larger, is made of a much thicker wire, and includes many more items to entertain her so she doesn’t feel the overwhelming desire to leave.

The down side is that it does have two front doors that, if left open, provide an incredibly easy way for her to escape. I say down side because, the fairly intuitive notion of closing these doors proved to be slightly too advanced for our children.

While doing my rounds before heading to bed, I checked one last time on Sunshine in the game room and saw that one of the doors was wide open, and she was nowhere to be found. Before launching a full-scale search and rescue operation – she could have been anywhere at all in our entire house – we decided to check the washing machine.

It seemed highly unlikely to me that, given all of the options, she would head back to the washer, but sure enough, after I had taken the front off of the machine yet again, there she was.

6 days and $129 later, we once again had a functioning washing machine.

The easy thing to do would be to kill, or at least get rid of, Sunshine. Well, the killing wouldn’t be easy, but at least it would be easily rationalized. After all, she has now cost me about the same amount as my first car. But I know I can’t kill her. No, I have decided against sending her to the big exercise wheel in the sky because I don’t think it would send the right message. At some point – as much as it pains me to admit it – I have to own up to my part in each of these costly Sunshine escapades, and take some responsibility for my choices.

The truth of the matter is that we were the ones who had stopped playing with her regularly, I was the one who didn’t replace the cage after the first escape, I was the one who didn’t teach Tyler and Kailey how to shut – and the importance of shutting – the cage doors.

For her part, Sunshine was just being a hamster. A hamster of Macguyver-like independence and fortitude to be sure, but ultimately just a hamster doing what hamsters do. How can I punish her for that?

Having had a fully functional washing machine again for nearly two weeks now, I think keeping Sunshine around is definitely the right decision. Blaming her for everything and then getting rid of her would definitely provide an opportunity to teach the kids about mortality, but I don’t think it would teach them anything about personal responsibility or the importance of making good choices. That said, animal lover or not, I am most decidedly at the end of my rope with Sunshine. Any more damage to our washing machine and she will quickly find herself on Craig’s List.

Now, at six years of age, he has graduated to an even more challenging level of daring. Just riding around on his bike or scooter is not enough for him. No, now he wants to do jumps and tricks. From what I can tell, he either wants to induce his old man into having a heart attack, or he just wants to see what it’s like to have a cast.

I try to assure him that casts are not as cool as they look, but as is often the case, my words fall on deaf ears. Oblivious to my angst, he can regularly be seen flying around our neighborhood trying to jump, ride over, or crash into virtually anything and everything.

For Christmas, Tyler had his heart set on a skateboard. During the holiday season, we visited roughly 30 Santa’s throughout the greater Sacramento area at various events, and consistently, it was the one thing he always politely asked Santa for. As you might imagine, the thought of him pulling his Evil Kenevil antics on a skateboard was definitely a cause for concern. Particularly given the well-known fact that skateboard-related injuries pay for the bulk of pediatrician vacation homes across the nation.

As a chronic worrier, I am prone to what could best be described as catastrophic thinking. I am the guy you want to talk to if you are ever trying to answer the question “what could possibly go wrong?” Very little that I come across is ever initially filed into the healthy, “it’ll be fine” category. Instead, most are immediately put in the “someone is going to die, or at least end up paralyzed” bucket. From bikes to board games – Twister is nothing less than a death trap – I have an uncanny gift for identifying, and in some cases fabricating, countless scenarios that all lead to devastation.

On Christmas morning, Tyler woke up and saw that Santa had kept his promise. He had delivered a brand new, big-boy skateboard. Luckily, I have some pull with the big guy, so he had also delivered wrist guards, elbow pads, knee pads, and a note that laid out a few skateboarding rules for Tyler like “always wear your helmet” and “watch for cars”. Eager to try out his new set of wheels, Tyler waited patiently while I outfitted him with enough protective gear to survive a direct hit from a nuclear missile, and he was off.

For a brief period of my childhood, I had a skateboard. Unfortunately, short of being able to precariously balance on it for fleeting seconds at a time, I could never really get the hang of it. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised (and admittedly proud) to see Tyler take to it almost immediately. In less than 20 minutes, he was flying around like an old pro.

Buoyed by Tyler’s athletic prowess, I took it upon myself to demonstrate to my children, my wife, and my in-laws who were in town for the holidays, a monumental lapse in sound parental judgment. You see, Tyler was making it look so fun and so easy, I wanted a turn. Despite having spent the last 3 months pounding into him the importance of helmets, pads, and overall skateboarding safety, I, with no helmet, no wrist guards, no elbow pads, no nothing, hopped onto his skateboard and began rolling down our driveway.

Our driveway will never be confused as steep. “Virtually flat” is probably a more accurate description. Still, almost immediately, my excitement was quickly replaced by terror. Instantaneously, I realized several things. First and foremost, I realized that I am not 6 and that if, nay when, I fell it was going to hurt. Second, it dawned on me that I had not a shred of protective equipment on my person. In the event of a catastrophe, I was banking on a thin layer of cotton to protect me from any and all potential injury. Finally, and perhaps most troubling, I realized that three generations of loved ones were intently watching to see how this was going to play out. At what felt like close to 98 miles an hour, the skateboard and I careened towards the street.

The skateboard came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of our driveway where the sidewalk met the street. I, on the other hand, did not. Flying awkwardly through the air head first, I couldn’t help but replay in my head the countless times I had preached the importance of skateboarding safety. It’s almost as if I could hear Tyler thanking the universe for getting me back for hounding him. As the unforgiving asphalt rapidly approached, I braced for impact. My elbow hit first, taking the brunt of the impact. My shoulder plowed into the ground next, then a glancing blow to the head, before I finally came to rest on my back, in a heap in the middle of the street. Sheepishly, I performed a quick inventory, and thankfully nothing was broken. Needless to say, I have officially retired from skateboarding.

While pondering my brush with extreme sports, I have found it intriguing that from the second I hopped on Tyler’s skateboard, until the moment my body finally came to rest in a pile on the asphalt, every thought in my head was negative. Moments before takeoff, I had been excited about effortlessly gliding through the streets of our neighborhood like Tony Hawk.

Yet when push came to shove, I was immediately overcome with thoughts of what would go wrong. And of how I could get hurt.

When did I get old? Inside, I still feel like I am a pretty fun, adventurous, young-at-heart person, but even a 4 second skateboarding ride drives home the point that I am not a kid anymore. There has been a definite shift in me, from being a fearless, positive kid, to a risk-averse, worried adult. When did that happen? Did it happen overnight, or was it a gradual thing like my steadily retreating hairline? I watch my kids play – care-free, confident, unafraid – and it brings me incredible joy. Yet sometimes, I also find myself a tad envious. I miss the days where all that mattered was the thrill of the adventure.

Occasionally, I will overhear someone say something dismissive like “quit acting like a child” or “grow up”. As someone who spends far too much of their time either worrying or playing it safe as a “grown up”, I think the alternative might be more fulfilling. I think life could be better lived if I spent more time tapping into the energy of my youth – getting some of my fearlessness back. I doubt I will ever skateboard again, but I hope the next time someone tells me that I am acting like a child, I can respond with a heartfelt “thank you”.

From digging ditches and wrestling goats,

to practicing my slide tackles and catching an array of disgusting bugs and pests, I was your typical, grubby, filthy boy.

Eventually, something must have shifted in me because now, the thought of diving into a mud puddle or trying to catch a rat makes my skin crawl. Growing up, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. A few months ago I found some “evidence” of mice in our garage, and I immediately began preparing to move. Thankfully, Andrea came home to talk some sense in to me before I had the entire house packed up. At 6’ tall, I know I shouldn’t be worried about a tiny mouse. Logically, I get that. Emotionally, I am just not equipped to deal with worrying about opening a cupboard and having a mouse jump onto my face. Doesn’t sit well with my need for cleanliness and order.

Needless to say, given my fragile emotional state with respect to vermin, I was justifiably concerned when Tyler announced that all he wanted for his birthday was a hamster. I did a little research on hamsters and you’ve really got to tip your hat to the marketing folks of the pet industry. From what I could tell, it looks like they basically take a mouse, cut off its tail, call it a hamster, tell kids they’ve got to have one and then sell parents hundreds of dollars of accessories to ensure the mouse/hamster has a pleasurable existence in your home. Whereas mice get trapped, poisoned, caught or killed if they find their way into someone’s house, hamsters – which look and act remarkably like mice – get exercise wheels, water dishes, climbing apparatus and exploring balls so they can live in comfort.

I wasn’t sold.

Tyler made his initial request when his birthday was still over six months away, so I took solace in the fact that his attention span – much like mine – is roughly the same as that of a gnat. I was sure he would change his mind at least a hundred times before his actual birthday. Surely some toy, game or puzzle would catch his attention, and I would be spared the irony of purposefully inviting a rodent into our house. Months passed, and Tyler never wavered. Concerned, but still confident, I shared my thoughts with Andrea. We had a great conversation and we were really on the same page. Getting a hamster would be messy, costly and just one more thing that we would have to worry about keeping alive. Sure Tyler would be disappointed, but the logistics of keeping a hamster just didn’t make sense.

Good. Problem solved. At least I thought we were on the same page, until Andrea called the next day from the pet store.

“Rather than getting a hamster, what if we got a puppy instead?”

I don’t remember the exact words I chose, but as politely and lovingly as possible, I questioned her sanity. I wasn’t quite sure how a puppy would alleviate the logistical concerns – cleanliness, ease of care, etc. – I had with respect to the hamster. While technically not a “rodent”, puppies have a proven track record of pooping, peeing, chewing, barking, etc. that would suggest much more work than keeping an eye on a hamster.

Plus we had a dog. A great dog that has already taken somewhat of a back seat to the kids. Apparently the puppies were adorable, but thankfully I was able to talk Andrea out of bringing one home.

While the majority of my anti-hamster campaign revolved around my need for cleanliness and order, I was also concerned for the safety of the animal. Both Tyler and Kailey are, shall we say “passionate” when it comes to their mutual distaste for sharing with one another. Often I have seen even the sturdiest of toys destroyed while they tried desperately to pull it from each other’s grasp. As I watched a helpless doll get dismembered in the midst of a particularly physical altercation, I couldn’t help but worry about the psychological impact of having a hamster caught in a similar tug-of-war. I imagine it would take a lifetime of counseling, for both me and the kids, after accidentally murdering a hamster in the midst of a sibling wrestling match. I just don’t have that kind of money. A hamster just didn’t feel like the right direction to go.

As Tyler’s birthday drew near, it became apparent that he was not going to forget wanting a hamster. I tried every trick in the book, but he held firm. Regularly he will forget to put on underwear, yet he somehow magically never forgot this birthday wish.

One of the hardest things about being a parent is that sometimes you have to give your kids a little tough love. Naturally, you want your kids to be happy and you want them to like you, but many times you have to make unpopular decisions that you know they aren’t going to like. As the man of the house, this was going to have to be one of those times. I don’t like playing the “man of the house” card, but there are times when it must be played. The day before Tyler’s birthday, I broke the news to Andrea that getting a hamster wasn’t going to be in the cards for the Streight family this year.

That night Sunshine became a member of our family.

Tyler was beside himself the next morning when he woke up and met Sunshine. He was so excited he didn’t even notice the fact that I was standing on the couch wearing a hazmat suit. I hadn’t exactly warmed up the idea of having a rodent under my roof. To be clear, I am most definitely an animal lover, and Sunshine was pretty cute as far as vermin go, but she had been eyeballing me the entire evening so I still had some trust issues.

At the pet store, they had mentioned that we shouldn’t handle Sunshine for 3 full days. This would give her time to acclimate to her new environment, and would ensure that she didn’t bite us out of fear. While I was grateful to receive any advice that would reduce our chances of getting rabies, I was also skeptical that 3 days would adequately prepare Sunshine for the storm that was preparing to descend upon her. If general handling would be stressful to her, I could only imagine what psychological damage a 3 year old and 6 year old could do. Best case scenario, I was fairly confident that someone was going to lose a finger.

Given that Tyler has no real concept of time, and the patience of a house fly, the next 3 days were the longest days of our lives. For 72 hours, roughly every 7 to 10 minutes, Tyler would ask – in his sweetest voice – “has it been 3 days yet”? Andrea and I would try to explain the difference between minutes and hours and days, while Tyler would do his best to not spontaneously combust.

It was an interesting conundrum for me. On the one hand, I wanted to keep Sunshine in her cage for as long as possible because as long as she was in her cage she wasn’t defiling the rest of the house or lurking in the shadows waiting for the perfect time to jump on my face. But on the other hand, as Tyler hammered away, completely undeterred by any of our responses, I was getting precariously close to jamming sharp objects into my ears.

Finally, thankfully, it had been 3 days.

The only one in the family with any small animal experience was Andrea, so we followed her lead. She calmly stated that there was a chance Sunshine would make a break for it and disappear somewhere into our house, so our best bet would be to barricade ourselves into our bathroom for Sunshine’s first taste of freedom. At least that way, even if she eluded us, we would have her trapped. Made sense. In my head I had concocted quite a worst-case scenario that involved Sunshine escaping, hiding, then attacking me sometime in the middle of the night, but we had come too far to turn back now. We sat in the bathroom, blocked off the opening to the bedroom, and with Kailey and Tyler about to burst, Sunshine was free at last.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but initially, I held up much better than I thought I was going to. Only once was I compelled to dive into the bathtub for safety. I had no choice. Sunshine, perhaps a tad over stimulated given her new freedom, made a beeline for my open pant leg, so it was either drop all pretense of masculinity and dive into the tub or have a rodent on my person.

From the tub, I sat and watched calmly as Sunshine darted between Kailey, Tyler and Andrea, occasionally even allowing herself to be petted. Encouraged by the festivities, I decided to step out of my comfort zone, vacate the tub, and become a more active participant. At one point, I even held Sunshine. Briefly. She immediately tried to bite me, so our honeymoon period didn’t last particularly long.

All was right in the world until, much to our shock and dismay, Sunshine vanished. One second she was running along the bottom of our cabinets exploring the bathroom and the next, without warning, she was gone. As you might imagine, the mood in the room changed fairly dramatically almost immediately. Tyler and Kailey were convinced that Sunshine was dead, and Andrea – when she wasn’t screaming “Oh my goodness!” – was doing her best trying to stay calm so the kids wouldn’t completely lose it.

As I investigated the cabinet, I discovered a tiny hole that was located underneath the overhang. It quickly became apparent that Sunshine was trapped underneath our bathroom cabinet, and that the only way to save her was to tear out the bottom of the cabinet.

Being a value-conscious person, I quickly ran the pro’s and con’s of my admittedly limited options. Either way I looked at it, this was going to be costly. Given where Sunshine was trapped, repairing the cabinet would be no small project. But the cost of getting a new hamster, coupled with the future counseling my kids would undoubtedly require, was equally daunting. I love animals, but destroying a bathroom cabinet to save a rodent – a rodent that had tried to bite me only moments earlier mind you – seemed irrational. Pressed into action and motivated largely by the pleas of my wife and kids, I ran to the garage and returned with a chisel and a hammer, resigned to the fact that I had to tear apart my house to rescue Sunshine. A rodent.

I positioned the chisel, raised the hammer, and miraculously, Sunshine reappeared. Just as I was about to begin the rescue mission, she just magically popped through the hole and was back in the bathroom. It was amazing. In the ensuing chaos and tears of joy – I cried a bit, but it was mostly for the cabinet – we were able to get Sunshine back into her cage and catch our breath. We decided that, at least until we found a truly hamster-escape-proof environment, future Sunshine expeditions would be limited to her exercise ball.

To date, Sunshine has now had several exciting excursions, both in and out of her exercise ball. The bathroom is still off limits given the cabinet situation, but she has had countless adventures throughout the house. As of yet, she has not tried any more great escapes. Additionally, I am happy to report that she has not received any injuries at the hands of Tyler or Kailey. In fact, both kids have been incredibly gentle with her. If I sound shocked, it’s because I am. I love them both, but most of the time, “gentle” is not a word I would use to describe them.

They both get such a kick out of holding her, playing with her, and letting her run around one of Kailey’s dollhouses.

It’s pretty cute to watch. Many times, as I watch them playing with Sunshine, I even find myself forgetting that we have a pest in our house, as a pet. For me, that’s pretty big.

On an almost daily basis, my kids manage to create opportunities for me to “grow”. Whether it is trying to be patient while they refuse to sit still in their seats at dinner, or getting comfortable with vermin running around in my house, they are masters at promoting self-improvement. Either that or they are trying to make my head explode. I have often thought of myself as someone who is comfortable with change, but the reality is that I am as resistant to change as they come. When it came to Sunshine, I was definitely opposed to the idea. Now, I love seeing how responsible and nurturing both of my kids are with her. And I have not died. I have not been attacked in my sleep, or had her jump from a cupboard onto my face. In fact, thus far – knock on wood – nothing but positive has come from Sunshine joining our family. Our relationship is still a work in progress as she is still inclined to try to bite me, but it is definitely improving.

Occasionally, in private, I remind Sunshine that when she was trapped in the cabinet, I was seconds away from tearing it apart to rescue her. Surely it wouldn’t kill her to not bite me every once in awhile. Her stoic expression seems to suggest that she didn’t appreciate how long my “destroy cabinet” or “replace hamster” internal debate lasted during crunch time. We stare at each other for a few seconds, but eventually, she climbs into my hands and lets me hold her. Every once in a while she doesn’t even bite me. And, with a rodent in my hand, I am happy. Sometimes change can be pretty good.