There was a time in my life when I really enjoyed eating out at restaurants. At least I feel like there was. It’s kind of like a distant, fading memory, but I seem to remember occasionally hopping in the car with Andrea, heading to a nice restaurant, and truly enjoying a relaxing meal together. Great conversation, great food. It was the life. Plus, there is an almost magical quality about enjoying a meal without having to cook or clean that I find incredibly exciting. Makes me feel a little like royalty – just pick from the menu and voila, there it is right in front of you.

To be clear, I have never been someone who could sit through a 3 hour “dining experience”, but there is no denying the fact that, at one point in my life, going out to a nice restaurant for a wonderful meal was quite a treat. My children, whom I love more than life itself, have somehow managed to take that away from me.

Don’t get me wrong, every few weeks Andrea and I still put our game faces on and try to take the family out for a “fun family dining experience”, but it rarely ends well. It usually takes a few weeks for the “we will never do that again” feeling to fade away before we try again, but invariably we try again. For better or worse, we always try again. I must admit, despite the angst that I carry during these “relaxing” family dining experiences, I am so thankful that we haven’t given up. At our most recent attempt, Tyler, Kailey and a $0.02 plastic slinky taught me an important lesson.

The outing started like all the rest. It was probably 4:00 or 4:30 in the afternoon and I asked Andrea if she wanted to take the kids out to eat for dinner. You know, just a fun family outing. It had been a few weeks since we had been banned from the last restaurant we had gone to,

so the pact I had made with myself to “never go through that again ever in this lifetime” (I have been told that I have a flair for the dramatic) had long since faded. Everyone was up for it, so the process began.
I use the term “process” because taking kids to, well anywhere, is exactly that. It is a process. A fairly lengthy process actually. It is about as far from the old days of hopping in the car and going as imaginable. Once, I made the near-fatal mistake of taking Tyler to a restaurant after circumventing the process. Only once. Lesson learned. Let’s face it, most little kids are not capable of sitting quietly in a brand new environment, patiently waiting for food. At least mine aren’t. They want to touch, taste, see and hear anything and everything around them. Most of our preparation process is about bringing whatever tools we can think of to keep the kids entertained so they don’t get bored and go all Lord of The Flies on us.

About 30 minutes into our preparation process we took stock of where we were:

Books – check
Crayons – check
Cheerios – check
Toys – check
Change of clothes – check
Leapster – check
Nintendo DS – check
Coloring book – check
Fruit snacks – check
Dolls – check
Wipes – check
Hand sanitizer – check
Sippy cup – check

With the exception of Tyler running around without pants – pants that had been on him only moments before – and a missing flip-flop for Kailey, things were looking good. Departure was imminent. With pants finally back on and a quick change of shoes, we were on our way.

You would think that showing up to a restaurant with what would appear to be enough luggage for a weeklong vacation would be slightly embarrassing.

You would be right. But, as embarrassing as it might be, showing up with nothing is not an option. There are simply too many things on the standard restaurant table – sharp knives, forks, glasses, salt, pepper, condiments, etc. – that my kids are drawn to that they could potentially hurt themselves, or those sitting near us, with. Thus the luggage. We normally spend some time coloring, then maybe a little reading, perhaps some cheerios to buy some time. It really is quite the production trying to keep everyone entertained so they don’t end up throwing a fork across the room. And I have pretty well-behaved kids!

Probably the biggest shift in my dining habits has been the sheer speed with which I now must consume my food. Once the food arrives, Andrea and I often take turns eating – one takes care of making sure the kids food is not too hot, that it is cut into bite size pieces, and that they are actually eating. Kailey, in particular, seems totally interested in eating until the food actually arrives.

Then, she would rather explore under the table or stand on the seat and introduce herself to our neighbors. While one of us is keeping the kids engaged, the other is wolfing down their food like an animal that hasn’t eaten in a month. To an outsider, particularly one with children, it is probably either the funniest or the most disgusting thing they have ever seen. I can’t imagine that eating at this velocity is even remotely healthy, but on the plus side, I now know that if my life depended on it, I could polish off a complete meal is just under 32 seconds.

The meal was, somewhat shockingly, relatively uneventful. We had our fair share of near misses – Tyler insisted on exploring under the table and Kailey was bound and determined to lick the pepper shaker – but all in all, it was a nice outing. I could tell we had grown quite a bit given that 1) our table did not look like a bomb had gone off on it, and 2) there were not hundreds of cheerios on the ground under our table. I felt like we had done it. A successful, uneventful family outing. I was wrong.

On the way out, the restaurant had a toy chest where the kids could pick out a little toy to take home. Tyler went first and picked out a tiny, plastic, green and pink Slinky. Kailey, always eager to emulate her big brother, also picked out a tiny Slinky, but hers was solid pink. We said our thank you’s and our good bye’s and headed to the car. As I sat in the car waiting for everyone to buckle up, I remember thinking that we had really turned a corner. Andrea and I had stayed calm, the kids had done a great job of eating and behaving, and we had all been rewarded with a nice family dinner. I was proud of the whole family. It was at that moment, most likely as a direct result of my hubris, that the universe decided to take the opportunity to teach Tyler, and the rest of us as well, a lesson.

There are several clichés that address this topic, “the grass is always greener” and “be careful what you wish for” are just a couple. Tyler, unaware of these valuable, cliché life lessons, looked at his Slinky, then looked over at Kailey’s, and decided that he had made a mistake with his selection. He wanted hers. As a 5 year old, his natural tendency is to just take what he wants, but we have been working long and hard about using our words, so he politely asked Kailey for a trade. Kailey, who happens to love the color green, was more than happy to oblige. The trade was made.

It took roughly 3.4 seconds for our fun, family outing to become a nuclear meltdown.

Almost immediately, Tyler looked at the pink Slinky he had so highly coveted, quickly saw that it was basically the same as his original one, only it had far less color, and realized that he had made a huge mistake. He asked for a trade back, but Kailey was not interested. The fact that her new Slinky had green in it was like a dream come true for her. Tyler, distraught over brokering this bad deal, responded by calling her a “piener-wiener” and the tears started to flow. I empathized with him, but as I was explaining to him that name calling was not acceptable, that he had to take some responsibility since the trade was his idea, and that pink Slinkys were just as good as pink and green Slinkys, he lost it.

From the sound of it, you would have thought that we ripped his leg off. In the blink of an eye, both kids were screaming and crying, and the peaceful, easy feelings associated with our successful family dining experience were thrown out the window.

As we drove home, I realized that in a lot of ways, I am just like Tyler. I have a tendency of glamorizing what I don’t have, and discounting what I do. I always seem to want a little more. We have a great house, but I find myself wanting a bigger backyard. We have a nice, big TV, but I find myself wanting to have surround sound. Wherever I have worked, I have enjoyed myself, but always wanted more responsibility, more challenge. I love my life, but always feel like there is more I should be doing to make a difference. Whatever it is, the grass always seems greener on the other side. Over time, and with the occasional reminder from a tiny, plastic Slinky, I have realized how lucky I am, and how wanting what I don’t have isn’t the answer. Appreciating what I do have is far more enjoyable.

With all of my heart, I want to be a good dad. I really do. To be perfectly honest, given my obsessive, perfectionist tendencies, I want to be the greatest dad ever. But what does it really mean to be a “good parent”? Prior to having kids, I thought I knew. Now, I am beginning to realize that parenthood is not as black and white as I thought it was going to be. The one thing that I do know, is that it is much more difficult than I initially thought. It is also far more entertaining and rewarding than I originally thought, but it is also definitely harder.

I am somewhat ashamed to confess this, but for some reason, I always assumed that I was going to be a really good parent, and that it was going to be easy for me. I thought I had all the answers. I would see parents with a crying baby in a store and think “how in the world can you let your child make such a fuss in public”. Or I would watch a 3 year old throw a fit until their dad agreed to buy them a toy, and I would think to myself “there is no way I am going to let my kids get away with stuff like that”. Parenting was a lot more straightforward before I had kids.

One of my biggest challenges with being a parent is that I rarely, if ever, feel prepared for the wide array of “parenting opportunities” that present themselves on a regular basis. Sure, I read the parenting books, painted the nursery and bought a thousand diapers, but my kids seem to thrive on constantly throwing me curveballs.

Without the luxury of proper preparation, all that I have left to rely on are the behaviors I learned from my parents. And there’s the rub – my parents, probably all parents everywhere, were just as clueless as I am. They were just like me – trying to do the best they could, armed only with the behaviors they had learned from their parents. And so on. And so on.

Parenting takes cat-like reflexes, and split second decision making has not proven to be a strong suit of mine. One second, all is quiet and well in the house, the kids are peacefully coloring together and I have the audacity to think that I have it all under control.

Then, almost as if sensing my foolish pride, my children will erupt. Without warning, one will want something that the other has and World War III breaks out. Peace and harmony are immediately replaced with people crying, crayons flying, name calling and hair pulling. Over something as simple as a green crayon.

As parent, I know restoring harmony in the house falls squarely on my shoulders, but I don’t have the luxury of time to refer to Super Nanny books. Decisions must be made now. So, I rely on what I know. When all else fails, I do what my parents did. That’s all well and good, until one day you wake up to find that you are on a path to becoming your parents, and you are doing the same things to your kids you swore you would never do.

At Tyler’s school, we are still working through some “pulled pocket” issues. At this point, I fully admit that I am largely responsible for these issues. On the first day of school, Tyler’s teachers told us not to make too big a deal out of the pockets. I heard them say that, but in my head, not having any pulled pockets became a measure of validation. Once Tyler had pulled his first pocket, nothing else seemed to matter. My world suddenly revolved around whether or not he had pulled a pocket at school. When I came home from work, it was the first question out of my mouth. Poor kid. Did I mention that I am somewhat obsessive-compulsive?

One day, while driving Tyler to school, I asked him if he was ready to have a good day. He said he was, but that he was worried he might pull a pocket. I tried to get him motivated to have a great day, listen to his teachers and do his best. In a small, scared voice, Tyler asked “If I pull a pocket, will you still love me?” I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. All it took was 10 simple words from my son, and I realized just how little I knew about “good” parenting. He was honestly worried that I wouldn’t love him if he pulled a pocket at school. How did I let that happen? Sometimes kids can find just the right words to finally get their parents to listen.

Speaking of words, my little angel Kailey has always been particularly vocal. Whether arguing the virtue of vegetables (she doesn’t see the value) or refusing to take a nap (“I’ll just go to bed early Daddy”), she has never shied away from speaking her mind. Her older brother has entered a worrisome phase in his life where all of his communication seems to boil down to “wiener”, “booty”, “stupid” or some equally charming derivative of these. I am not sure exactly where he picked this up, but suffice it to say that trying to get him to speak more respectfully is our current project. We have tried everything, with mixed results. Ever the conversationalist, Kailey has started picking up his new words and phrases and throwing them into casual conversation.

Recently, the following conversation took place between me and my sweet, little 2 year old:

Kailey: “Daddy, can I have a jelly bean?”

Me: “No angel, it’s almost dinner time, maybe after dinner.”

Kailey: “Daddy?”

Me: “Yes, love?”

Kailey: “You’re a stinky butthead.”

Everyone in the house stopped and stared at me. We all knew that trouble was brewing, so all eyes were on me to see my reaction. On the one hand it was virtually impossible not to laugh, because I was so caught off guard. What To Expect When You’re Expecting hadn’t adequately prepared me for being called a stinky butthead by my 2 year old daughter. Pressed for time, exasperated by previous failed attempts at cleaning up Tyler’s mouth and completely unprepared for this parenting opportunity, I was at a loss.

My mind raced as I searched for an appropriate plan of action, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I knew I couldn’t let her get away with it, but if previous attempts at logic and reason had failed on Tyler, it was highly doubtful that they would work on her. It’s hard to say exactly what my parents would have done in this situation – I don’t know how many 2 year olds call their parents stinky buttheads – but it probably would have involved some shouting, and perhaps a threat of a spanking or two for good measure. That course of action definitely crossed my mind, but I really didn’t want to resort to fear and violence, so I resorted to the standard time out.

As I sat her down and told her why she was getting a time out, her nod suggested that she understood, but the mischievous glint in her eye told me it might not have completely sunk in. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about her starting preschool next year. I am considering having her wear a shirt to school that simply says, “Don’t blame my parents, I have an older brother!”

It’s funny how much I thought I knew about parenting before I actually became a parent. I had strong opinions about what “good parents” did, and I wasn’t shy about judging others. Now, I know that parenting is one of the toughest jobs I will ever have. For me, I think the best that I can do for my kids is to listen to them, remember to take a deep breath – even while utter chaos is breaking out all around me – and really think. Think about the experiences from my childhood, and learn from the good and the bad from my own parents. Think about the impact of the decision I am about to make, and the importance of trying to do the best thing for my kids. Then, maybe I will feel a little more prepared to make the right decision. Who knows, I might still be wrong as often as I’m right, but at least I’ll know that I’m trying to be a good parent.

Going back to work has been a bit of an adjustment, but so far it has been a relatively good one. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed my tenure as a stay-at-home dad – probably more than I should have – it’s just that during my economy-imposed sabbatical (sounds better than “lay off”) an interesting thing happened. I don’t know exactly when it happened, or even how it happened, but it definitely happened. Somewhere along the way, I became one dimensional.

I will be the first to admit that, after assuming just a few of the at home responsibilities at our house, I developed a new appreciation for the demands of today’s stay-at-home-parent. We live in a busy time. Everyone is always on the go.

It’s not that I took Andrea for granted, okay maybe a little bit, it’s just that I had no idea how busy she was, or how she was able to balance it all. Maybe I’m the only person who missed the chapter in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”, but there never seemed to be enough hours in the day for me to keep up with my kids, let alone find time for anything else. Prior to unemployment, I had many interests. I kept up with the latest news, sports, and politics. I even occasionally found time to read a good book.

While I was semi-retired, I tried to help in the household duties, but it was all I could do to help keep the kids fed, clothed and on time. Each day was a whirlwind of activity. It was a non-stop cycle of wake up, get dressed, eat, activity, eat, activity, nap (yeah right), eat, play, crash, burn, repeat. I love my children dearly, but they can be, how shall I say, somewhat difficult to manage at times.

Most of the time, the minute Tyler was done eating, Kailey would need help getting dressed. The minute Kailey was finished getting dressed, Tyler needed help finding his shoes. By the time Tyler’s shoes had been found, Kailey would have successfully taken her clothes off and would be running around naked trying to feed the dog the remains of her meal, etc, etc, etc.

Just about the time the kids were finally dressed, fed and late for something, one would look at the other with a funny face and complete pandemonium would break out. Needless to say, I seldom had the luxury of reading a good book in my spare time.

Somehow, in all of the chaos, my life had become that of the frazzled dad. Andrea somehow managed to balance kids, health, fitness, meals, friends, even a side Internet business every day. Yet, I was a complete mess just trying to help out. And without the normal adult interaction I had previously enjoyed at work on a daily basis, my entire existence became that of being a dad. Without question, it was a blessing. But even as an incredible blessing, without some sort of balance, my singular focus led me to some unanticipated side effects.

It first dawned on me that I might need to expand my interests when I found myself really connecting with Caillou, Clifford and Handy Manny.

Somehow a bald 4 year old, a gigantic red Labrador and a talking set of tools made perfect sense to me. Seldom would a conversation pass where I didn’t include some reference to how loyal Clifford was or how nothing seemed to phase Caillou. As I gradually became aware of the fact that most, if not all, of my discussions included “if Handy Manny can do it”, it became apparent that my pool of cultural knowledge had grown dangerously shallow.

Another revelation came about when I realized that every conversation I had invariably ended up focused on dirty diapers, temper tantrums or potty language, regardless of how it started. I am pretty sure that I didn’t do it on purpose; it’s just that this was the extent of my frame of reference. Where once I had been fairly well versed in the latest state of world affairs, now my world consisted of trying to keep two little ones alive and my conversations reflected it.

Friend: “Man, can you believe how much money the U.S. has spent on the war on terror?”
Me: “Speaking of terror, Kailey sure didn’t want to eat her broccoli today. She was a terror all afternoon.”

Or

Friend: “Did you catch the presidential debate last night? Great discussion on global warming.”
Me: “Well, if it was anything like the debate I had with Tyler over naptime, then nobody won.”

I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to spend so much quality time with my kids. As great as it was, I still was never able to achieve a healthy balance like many successful stay-at-home parents are able to. I spent so much time wrapped up in the details like when to eat and what to have them wear, I missed several chances to just play with them and enjoy their company. Ironically, now that I am back at work and have less time to spend with them, I feel like I am a better dad because I appreciate each moment that much more.

Every once in awhile, I will hear someone say, “I’m just a stay-at-home parent”. Having walked a mile in their shoes, I have a new appreciation for the difficulty of the job. I don’t know how they do it, how they balance the countless demands of being a full time parent with their personal needs to keep themselves sane, but God bless ‘em for being able to do it. I tried it for six months and ended up a one dimensional mess that talked to animated bald kids on TV.

This past September, Tyler’s first day of kindergarten was bittersweet for me. As a proud parent, I was thrilled to see him all grown up, excited to meet his new classmates, ready for a new adventure. As someone who doesn’t want his babies to grow up too fast, I couldn’t help but think of how fast time flies. I was an emotional wreck walking him to his classroom. It seemed like only yesterday when we were bringing him home from the hospital.

For some reason, quite unknown to me at this point, I always assumed that Tyler would both listen to, and behave for, his teachers. While it is true that I typically have to repeat myself roughly 74 times in order to get his attention, I figured that was because I was his dad. That and I just assumed he was deaf. I have been told that this is fairly normal for children his age. This little nugget of information, while insightful, was shockingly worthless during his first parent teacher conference. Apparently, we are having some listening challenges and are repeatedly “pulling pockets”. Since we have learned about the pulling pockets, our lives have not been the same.

Apparently, in Tyler’s classroom, a three pocket system exists for disciplinary purposes. If a child is not following directions, they are asked to pull their name from the classroom pocket display and move it into the tier 1 pocket. If things don’t improve, pocket 2 is invoked and the threat of telling mom and dad about the transgressions is leveraged. Finally, pocket 3 comes into play if behavior doesn’t improve and a trip to the principal’s office is in the cards. From what I understand, pocket 3 is kind of like Defcon 5 and is rarely reached. At the end of every day, each student gets either a smiley face or a brief explanation of why pockets were pulled on a weekly report card.

Andrea and I are both incredibly competitive people. We like to win, in a mostly healthy kind of way. Occasionally we go over the top, but for the most part we just want to do our best. And win. When we learned that Tyler was a regular participant in the pulled-pocket-process, our competitive juices and parental insecurities kicked into overdrive and we committed ourselves to a pulled-pocket-free life. Since that decision, our lives now completely revolve around pulled pockets.

At first, like rookie parents, we opted for the negative reinforcement approach. If Tyler pulled a pocket at school, he wasn’t able to play with his Nintendo DS at all that afternoon. We realized fairly quickly that this approach wasn’t working when the frequency of pulled pockets did not go down and when Kailey started walking around chanting, “pulled pocket, no DS”. She has always enjoyed her role as the family enforcer.

Now, we are on a positive reinforcement kick. If Tyler goes a day without pulling a pocket, he gets DS time. If he goes a full week with no pockets, the whole family gets to go for ice cream. We are all heavily invested in having a pocket free week since we all love ice cream. It used to be a weekly family treat, but we haven’t had ice cream in over 12 weeks and some of us are starting to lose it. I try not to put too much pressure on Tyler, but for the sake of our family, we NEED a pocket-free week.

I thought we were going to make it last week. Going in to Friday, he had not pulled a pocket all week and he was pumped up for ice cream. Alas the irrational urges of a 5 year old can not easily be tamed and in the 11th hour, a pocket was pulled. I got the call at work and I am sure that my colleagues thought someone in the family had died given my disappointment and tears.

As I tried to regain my composure, I couldn’t help but reflect on the importance of keeping things in perspective. My own insecurities had turned Tyler’s pulled pockets from just a good kid adjusting to structure in school, to a perceived commentary on my worth as a parent. It became all about me and my issues, and not about how Tyler feels about school and how he is learning and adjusting. I think I might try more of a subdued, hands-off approach for awhile. Hopefully it works, because we really could use some ice cream.