right where we want them

Got the boys pretty much right where we want them these days. Jonah’s tantrums still march ominously into our lives from time to time but they can more or less be subverted with a few well placed words and Ben’s (ahem) “heightened sensitivity” (which is a careful way of saying crying about everything) has subsided somewhat as he develops the ability to recognize and sometimes even join in on his parents jokes. Sam is still Sam and he more or less trots down the trail of life at his own pace and apart from the whole “wrong side of the bed” routine that plays itself out in our house one or two mornings a week, he gets through life on his charms seems to do so happily and without too much objection.

Yup, it’s under control out here in the woods and that feels good. Almost like we might be doing this parenting thing at some sort of passing level. Here’s hoping.

It strikes me this week that the stages your kids hit blend together in this seamless sort of way that makes it hard to recognize the boundaries between them. We don’t change diapers anymore and we don’t wipe bums anymore and now I don’t pack snacks anymore or even feed pets with my own hands. All of this requires the usual amount of shepherding and cueing and reminding but the boys are quite capable in many areas of life and this makes every day so much easier.

And this, very much to my surprise, makes me sad.

For the first time since the birth of our twins I am looking at babies again with more than a shudder and a thought of “thank heavens that thing doesn’t live at my house.” For the first time since that fateful fall of 2007 I am starting to look back with something like fondness or reminiscence or wistfulness. This is weird.

Thing is some of these milestones have passed for us and we won’t be there again and while it’s easy to be thankful about sleeping through the night and all the good things that come with older kids it’s just as easy to forget how hard the other stuff is. A good friend posted a picture that featured our two little monsters less than a year old and it gave me some pangs I did not believe myself capable of. The first year of Sam and Jo’s existence in our house is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and not something I look to repeat but then (I’ve already written about that here) somehow I miss it. Isn’t life the strangest thing?

So as quickly as we see our kids entering new stages they are just as quickly leaving old ones. As important as it is that we hold on to the memories of those times past I suppose the challenge for us now is to keep a keen eye to the times present. Babies are cute, but so are 8 and 5 and 5 year olds.

There will be no more babies in our house and that’s sad but also ok. We have nephews and maybe someday nieces that need us to play a role and we will take that role and run with it.

…

Today is the Cremona Community Christmas Concert and all three of our boys have a role, Ben the pianist and Sam and Jo with the preschool choir. Then it’s off to fun hockey and tomorrow is another day of another week so rinse and repeat I suppose. I’ll enjoy the music and the sport today but tonight, after the boys are in bed and quiet, I’ll likely take some time to look at some pictures of some of those stages we have passed.

learning to dad

I have had several occasions over the years where a friend from ages past will contact me out of the mists in some kind of panic. It usually starts with a facebook message something to the effect of “Jon! I’m having a kid! I don’t know what to do and your facebook status says you have kids and HELP!” I’m paraphrasing of course, but you get the idea.

See I got started on the kids thing (and the marriage thing for that matter) earlier than most. Not all mind, Nik watches Teen Mom and we were a bit behind that schedule but earlier than most non the less.

Anyway, my friends look at my facebook page which of course portrays me as some paragon of dadhood because don’t any of us post the really ugly stuff. It still happens, but we don’t broadcast it.

Anyway, my advice usually goes something like “Look, I wont lie, it’s the hardest thing you will ever do. At times you will want to kill your kids so remember that I said that and that you are only a bad person if you actually do. You’ll be fine. Just know it’s going to be harder than you think but it’s in you to do it.” I’m paraphrasing again because usually I ramble on for a while and say way too much and the reply comes back in a word or two like “Umm, thanks?”

See nothing gets you ready for your first kid. Or your second or third mind you. Whenever I hear someone talking about waiting until they are “ready” to have kids I harken back to my dear friend Robs somewhat intoxicated wisdom regarding when you are ready to have kids “You’re never ready. Never. You just got to DO it.” Buddy has six kids so I suspect he knows a thing or two about that.

Anyway, the tangent is supposed to show how this parenting thing doesn’t come with a guidebook.

Except that for most of us it does.

My mom and dad raised me as close to what I imagine “right” can be. I’ve dedicated a lot of space on this blog to being a dad myself, but seeing as today is dads day I find myself reflecting on my own dad.

My dad was in many ways a traditional sort if we accept the definition of a role that has only really existed for a generation or two. He worked, mom stayed home with us boys. Dad was the guy you got in big trouble with, the guy who took us to hockey and soccer, the guy who would lie on his back in the living room after finishing the paper and “airplane” my brother and I, holding us up in the air and us with our arms stretched out and making the obligatory noises.

Dad was the guy who taught us to fish, the guy who introduced us to archery at the local range and taught us how to change the oil in the car and any number of skills my brother and I carry into the world.

My dad taught me lots of little lessons in life but the ones that stick are the big ones. My dad had polio as a boy and has walked on crutches his entire life. I knew this of course but it wasn’t until I was a few years into school that I realized it was unusual. I still remember one of my friends in Kindergarten or grade one or two asking “Is that your dad?”

Yup

“What’s wrong with his legs?”

I still remember not being sure what that meant. See my dad has never let his disability stop him from doing much of anything so I had stopped seeing it. I have learned huge lessons about determination, perseverance, and strength from my dad’s legs. Even now as his arms tire and he uses his wheelchair and scooter more and more and mom and dad modify their home to make life just a little more doable I don’t see anything wrong with my dad’s legs. They are perfect, just not in the normal way.

My dad is crazy smart. He has a bunch of University degrees and could make big bunches of money if he chose to do so but he has always followed a path of passion and service. My brother and I were both born oversees as my parents served with Mennonite Central Committee, we grew up in the states as dad worked in the MCC head office and now he works for Mennonite Church Canada. This may help explain why I work at a job that pays me in t-shirts (well, not really, but it feels like it some days) and why my brother, the proud owner of several University Degrees himself has chosen a job based on interest and passion and left lots of money on the table himself.

When we came back from the States my dad with his bunch of University degrees decided to go back and get one more so he went back and got an education degree and went off to teach high school. My dad showed us that it’s never too late to learn some more.

The smarts seem mostly to have gone to my brother at least when it comes to papers for the wall and the traditional way that smarts are measured but it’s thanks to dad that the love of learning is in the heart of both of us Olfert boys. We watched our dad read everything in sight (mom too, but today is about dad) and we copied the example. I attribute the example to my love of reading and, more recently, writing.

So with all that and so much more I realize now that when it came to becoming a dad I DID have a guidebook. A pretty good one actually. I know I am lucky in this. I have so many friends who did not have good guidebooks for raising their kids and who worked from a “the opposite of what my dad did” approach and this breaks my heart a little.

Today, I appreciate dad. Thank you dad for everything you did for me. From the 6 am hockey practices to the BIG LESSONS to teaching me that everything is worth knowing and helping me learn how to know it.

I am who I am because of you. Thank you.

signs

I am arguably the most talented sleeper I know. When I go to sleep I go to sleep. My wife complains that she goes to bed hours before me, tosses and turns for a while and then I saunter in, plunk my melon on the pillow and fire up the ol’ chainsaw within minutes. Makes her crazy.

And I can sleep anywhere. Sitting up, hard mattress, crappy pillow, no pillow, no problem. I go to sleep and I wake up in the morning. It’s a gift I’ve grown to appreciate more as I realize just how rare it is.

Yup, I am a pretty talented sleeper… most of the time.

…

This time of year is a crazy one when your job title happens to be Camp Director. Pair that with a string of funerals and some illness and you end up feeling like the eight ball is up on the horizon somewhere and you’re left chasing.

And wouldn’t you know it, the darndest thing about having a job you’re invested in is that you get so darned invested. So this time of year finds me fretting about camper numbers and where we will find a cook and any number of things on my to do list.

Sign #431 that summer is approaching? Workmares.

I wake up in a panic because nobody has rung the bell and the cooks are setting out breakfast or because there are campers here on a Saturday and what do we do with them or because I am being reprimanded by some faceless figure for not being able to increase camper numbers. That last one is the scariest.

So you end up working more than you probably should and forgetting what a weekend feels like and taking breaks from things that bring you joy like working on your blog and hanging out with your kids and you know what? This isn’t helping. The workmares increase in frequency as my working hours increase in frequency and it’s a key sign I need to take a step back but man that can be hard to do.

I care so much about this place, this program. I believe so strongly in it’s power and value that it almost seems crazy to me that everyone doesn’t see how valuable it is but the point of this post isn’t supposed to be about Valaqua or even about camp, more about balance.

Balance is a tough thing. Finding a balance between feeling like a success professionally and as a father and a husband has been a big challenge for me in these last years.

When I became a dad, I had no idea what was coming. I imagine most of us don’t have a clue otherwise we might not jump into this game, but the magic of hindsight has shown me how much I really didn’t know.

I didn’t realize how much of an impact my kids would have on my career. It didn’t connect that I would have to limit my work hours in order to be a good dad. I have had to place limits on what I am willing to give to work. I’ve had to realize that my job is, no matter how much I invest in it, just a job and I will likely have more than one of them but I only ever get one family. I have had to admit that there are things I cannot do and that has been very, very hard for me.

So this spring finds me trying to take a step back. A step back towards joy. A step back into balance. A step back towards feeling tranquil and rested in the morning.

The good news on that front is that I am a pretty talented sleeper.

running just a little farther

Running is hard.

I can say this with a little bit of authority because I run now. At least a few times a week. For at least a month.

I wrote a while ago about how Nik and I are doing a half marathon in the fall and I am trying to get mostly prepared before summer because with summer comes camp and with camp comes very little interest in anything outside of camp and running is outside of camp so I won’t have much interest in running in summer.

But I am, despite my whiny tone, interested in doing a half marathon. Mostly because the money is paid and there is probably a free t shirt and camp guys like me will do just about anything for a free t shirt but also because I’ve kind of always wanted to run a marathon and this seems like a good step. I figure once you have run a marathon you can hang up your running shoes and when people talk about running marathons you can casually throw it out there something like “Yeah, I ran one of those once. It wasn’t too bad.” and just leave it at that.

The thing is running is hard. It makes your legs sore and tires you out and the hills take your breath away. It’s hard because you have to find the time and get your gear on and brave the weather. It’s hard because sometimes it gives you blisters and sometime you get frostbite on your tummy (true story) and sometimes it makes your joints ache.

Running is hard except when it’s easy.

Because sometimes it is easy. Sometimes you run on legs that feel strong and sometimes the right song comes on your ipod and you’re flying and the kilometers just tick past and the world seems to be lighter and smaller than usual or perhaps you have somehow gotten larger.

But usually it’s hard. Usually it’s pushing and sweating and thinking about turning around now and focussing too much on how your knees ache or your ankle hurts or how there is a stitch in your side. Mostly running is hard.

And this, I think, is a pretty clear and none-too-subtle metaphor for my life as a parent. I was watching some terrible movie with Nikki that was bad enough to not stick in my consciousness beyond the 2 hours of my life it consumed and stumbled across a gem. A friend asks his friend with children what being a dad is like. He responds something like “It’s awful. Awful, awful awful. And then something happens and it’s amazing! And then it’s back to awful.”

Some days this fits the bill. My kids wear me out. They are relentless. They wake up every morning and need me. They go through every day needing me and sometimes I feel all needed out. And then something happens and it’s amazing! Ben brings home a great report card. Jonah slaloms all the cones at the ski hill. Sammy gives me one of his patented hugs.

And then it’s back to awful.

It’s not awful. Not really. Usually it’s pretty great. But it is hard.

Except when it’s easy.

snow day

A snowy morning here in Water Valley. Well, actually a snowy day followed by a snowy night followed by a snowy morning.

The phone rang last night to let us know the busses weren’t coming and then again to tell us not to bother even trying to get Ben to school. No such luck for Nik though.

So it’s morning and Nikki waking me at the usual time (she likes company at breakfast, we fight about this) and me dragging my weary self out of bed to check road reports and advise her that she better stay home.

She declines.

So Nik out the door and me offering some excellent tidbits of advice like “Be careful” and “Don’t crash” and her sweeping off the truck and the heading down the road.

The door bangs open about 20 minutes later. Seems the truck is in a snowbank at the end of the driveway. It was either that or suicide slide across the road and the snowbank seemed the prudent choice at the time.

I put the coffee on and she makes the necessary phone calls and then we sit for a bit.

Then I’m gearing up and out the door, shovel in hand. 30 minutes later and some tired arms and some fancy back and forth driving and the truck is rolling. I park it and it is now officially a snow day.

The boys are DYING to play outside so we gear up and they have some little cross country shuffle skis that they got for Christmas this brown winter hasn’t afforded us the opportunity so the skis go on and we’re shuffling up the hill.

Cross country skiing is not a smash success. Seems the boys are disappointed by how fast or more accurately slow the skis are but like all things in this life practice makes… well, not perfect but improvement so we’ll practice here and hope for improvement on the next go round.

Coming down the hill is a little fun though and Ben want’s more when we get back to the house so little boys in for hot chocolate and Ben and I carrying on. It’s good for a while until the grade goes up again and then falling over and teary protestations about an imagined inability to stand up and dad (the monster) standing firm and eventually we polish off the ski and take our turn gulping hot chocolate.

When we get inside he tells his mom he had fun, so maybe it wasn’t a complete disaster.

And by the time we come in the snow has stopped and the sun is out and the sky is blue and it’s hard to see how this whole situation could have seemed so dire just a few short hours ago.

And now lunch and then naps because it’s a snow day and snow days come with naps in the OlfertWiens house and then likely some more time outside and maybe we’ll even get some work done and clean this messy house or maybe not.

Every once in a while in this life you get something on credit. Maybe it’s money that shows up unexpected or maybe it’s just kindness from a stranger or maybe it’s a snow day with your family. Whatever it is, cash it in. If your life is anything like mine there are a lot more invoices than cheques showing up in the mail and so when the cheques come spend them well.

Savour the snow days.

silent helicopters

Reading an interesting Huff post article today and it kind of scratched an itchy spot for me. See as a Camp Director I work with a lot of kids and having done the camp thing in some form or other for the last 14 years I feel I have seen a few changes in the kids who roll through our summer programs and more specifically with the parents who bring them.

Our society has created a panic about safety. Think about those candied apples that some lovely grandma made with care and handed out at halloween that your mom unceremoniously dumped in the garbage. How many of you weren’t allowed to eat unwrapped candy because it might have been “tampered with?” I wasn’t

Did you know how many times in the history of North America this has happened? Not once.

There has never been a case of random halloween candy poisoning. A few horrors involving parents poisoning or overdosing their own kids and blaming the candy, a lot of media attention but no poison or razor blades handed out on halloween.

So we live in fear. We live in fear of poison candy or strangers in vans with tinted windows.

Speaking of vans with tinted windows, according to the RCMP, on any given year in the US, there are 115 “stereotypical” abductions (scary tinted window bad outcome stuff). This in a country of 311 million people meaning that you have about 0.000000368% chance of having your child involved in this terrifying situation. That’s 1:2,704,347. So why does allow this to chew up so much our consciousness? The outcome is horrific, yes, but if you fear those odds you better be ready to live in eternal fear because your child has a 1:56,439 chance of being killed by lightning, a 1 in 650,000 of being killed in a terrorist attack while traveling, a 1:1,000,000 chance of dying of flesh eating disease, and a 1:1,241,661 chance of dying from a poisonous snake bite. We’re all pretty well doomed then aren’t we?

Please don’t misunderstand me when I talk about this, I would do very scary things to protect my children if a saber toothed tiger jumped on them but we as a society go to enormous lengths to protect our children to from risks that are completely or mostly perceived.

We have become helicopter parents, hovering and forming a perimeter to hold off the evil forces of the world and ready to swoop in and air lift our children to safety at the first sign of difficulty and you know what? This hurts our children.

When we do this, when we rescue our children from all dangers and discomforts, our children do not learn how to handle even small dangers and discomforts. I don’t know what your life has been like, but there have been some dangers and discomforts to deal with in mine and I for one would like my kids to have a clue how to handle them when they inevitably come.

The challenge becomes figuring out how to facilitate your kids living their lives without exposing them to unnecessary risk and without taking off too many of the sharp edges. See I want to set my kids up for success and if that means there has to be a few tears now and then so be it, but I don’t want to put my kids through a life of misery either.

All of this has led to an interesting place for me professionally. See camp is having trouble attracting kids. Our camper number have gone down a little each summer and while there are a lot of factors I think the thwapping rotors of helicopter parents are one of the bigger ones. I was talking to Nikki the other day and she was lamenting about why people aren’t sending their kids to camp and in almost the next breath said she wasn’t sure how she will deal with Ben being at camp next summer.

My Ben. At my camp. About 150 meters from our house. Where I work. And she is uncomfortable.

I pointed this little irony out to her and she had a moment of pause. After a brief period of quiet she admitted she hadn’t thought of it like that.

It’s hard, trusting people with your kids.

I field phone calls every spring from nervous parents who ask questions like “how do I know my child will be 100% safe?” and I talk about how we hire and train staff and first aid and how we reduce the risk of activities.

What I really want to say to these parents is that they WON’T be 100% safe. Of course we will keep them safe physically and we will do our best to make sure that they have lots of support and love surrounding them, but when kids come to camp I want them to be pushed. I want each camper, at some point during the week, to be just a little uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s singing camp songs, sometimes it’s pushing higher on the climbing wall, sometimes it’s talking about challenging things at Chapel but my goal is for every camper who comes to be pushed just a little and once they have been pushed to realize they can do it and to be just a little more confident and just a little more resilient the next time.

I guess the point to all of this is that we as a generation of parents are trying to clear risk and discomfort from the lives of our kids and on the surface this is a noble aim but it isn’t helping.

Our kids need to deal with their own situations. They need to do this so they know how because you won’t always be there. They need to know that they earn the marks they get in school and we won’t go in and “fix it” for them. They need to find the strength that is inside of them rather than shelter under your strength. It’s your job to create an environment where your kids can realize how strong they are, not how strong you are.

How do we do that? Well, I’m taking suggestions…

running pretty far

A marathon is a really long way to run.

I know this because I looked it up. It’s 42.195 kilometres and that’s pretty far. Marathons usually take between 2 hours, 6 minutes and 32 seconds if you happen to be Samuel Kamau Wanjiru (what did I tell you about looking stuff up?) and about 6 hours if you happen to be me. At least that’s how long I imagine it would take me considering that that is usually as long as they will let you be on the course and I have never tried to run that far.

So a marathon is pretty far and we run now (darn you Nikki and your active lifestyle) and so now we are doing one of those. Or rather, half of one of those and that is still 21.0975 kilometers and that is still, as far as I am concerned, pretty far.

I imagine it will take me four hours because again that is as long as they will let you be on the course and I have never tried to run that far before.

Back to the story part; we run now. Nikki is getting all fit and she left me in the dust in a workout the other week and that tickled her pretty good and now we run because it is easy to do and cheap and not too bad for you to boot.

Well not as cheap as I thought. Running shoes aren’t free and now we need fancy-dancy outfits to run in the cold and are all reflective and fast looking and those aren’t cheap either but it’s cheaper than, say, golf and not nearly as silly.

Mark Twain called golf “a good walk, spoiled” and that sounds about right and I’ll tell you a story about me and golf sometime but I digress and Nikki hates it when I do that.

But as far as a marathon is and as much as I imagine the half of one I am going to stagger through in September will hurt me it will still be over in four hours one way or the other and four hours is not, really, all that terribly much of my life.

Thinking about the relentlessness of life today and particularly about the relentlessness of parenting and the phrase “It’s a marathon, not a sprint” and how that doesn’t really apply in this case.

See, no matter how hard it happens to be or how long it takes you, a marathon has a finish line. Parenting doesn’t. I am thirty something and have kids of my own to worry about and my mom and dad are still my mom and dad. The demands may be less but they are still my parents and when my own kids are thirty something I’ll still be parenting them on some level.

Thankfully the demands change over time otherwise I would have walked away from the whole mess when Sam and Jo were in the baby phase. But these kids grow and when you don’t have to change diapers anymore you teach them manners and keep them from losing it at the grocery store and then you teach them about big things like friendship and getting along with people. And well, I have a guess there will be some stuff about girls in our future and maybe money and cars and school and eventually everything but we’re not there yet.

So yes, even a half marathon is a long way to run. But I’ll do it because Nikki will do it and she’s a sight tougher than me and because, as my brother-in-law so elegantly puts it, “Nothing can be THAT hard” and the man has a point. I’ll go out and put in my four hours or less and then it will be over and when it is I’ll still be a dad because that race doesn’t have a finish line.

BIG GIFTS

I am in Saskatchewan this weekend celebrating Grandma’s life and more on that later but for now something from the vault (ha! like I have a vault… I don’t even have a filing cabinet). I wrote this a few months ago and intended it to be the lead out for the BIG GIFTS series where I wrote about each of my kids.  It didn’t seem to go then so now I offer it to you ex post facto.

..

My boys like to go climbing with me. Now being 4 and 4 and 7, they don’t exactly rule the rock, but they love to try and we have a couple little harnesses for them and we take them out and rope them up and they flail away. My Ben (oldest) is keen and always wants to try but is desperately afraid of heights and so he scoots easily 10 or so feet up and then freezes like a Hipster who just heard a song on the radio from band he thought he liked, until now, because now they’re sell outs.

Maybe my hipster jokes need work.

And then he comes down because he’s scared and I say good job and we try again.

Little Sam talks a good game and always lays the smack pretty good, usually opening with something like “I’m gonna race you to the top of the wall and I’m gonna win!” Hardcore I know, that’s how we roll. This is the same kid who told me without a hint of humour and in a commanding voice to stop the van and let him out because he was going to run to Olds (60Km away) and not only that, he would beat me there and I think he meant it. But when the rubber hits the road it’s usually pretty much the same as the first story, just a few feet shorter (the boy and how high he climbs).

And then he comes down because he’s scared and I say good job and we try again.

And then Jo steps up and it’s a little different. This kid is all about the physical. I know I’ve said this before, but he fired off his first push up as a three year old and I mean a legit, on his toes, military push up. I think I did my first push up when I was 16 and my gym teacher called me princess because I could only do 3 and all the other kids laughed but I was a late bloomer so shut up. So anyway Jo is all about moving and doing and he steps up and ropes in and fires up this dialogue as an undertone as he climbs “I can do this, I am a good climber, I can make it to the top” and on it goes and on he goes. He climbs away and mostly on his own (he’s still 4 you know) he makes his way to the top. That Jo is more than a bit of a shputter (low German for gloater, or maybe it means rhubarb colored socks, all I know is everything is funny in low German) and he comes down beaming and bragging. “I did it! None of my brothers did it but I did!” and on it goes and of course Ben is crushed.

And as I talk Ben down from the ledge I get to thinking. Our boys are all so different and so great. Ben is an ace at school, reads books like they’re going out of fashion (darn you Kindle!), has tons of friends and is a genuinely nice kid. Sam has the most amazing imagination and makes friends with anyone who’ll make eye contact. Seriously, I went to Ben’s school for an assembly and as we passed the kids lined up to go into the gym half the girls new Sam’s name. Kids I didn’t recognize… how does he do that? And Jo is so determined and kinesthetic and wants to make you happy with all his heart and I’ve said it before, but we are lucky folks Nik and I.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere about BIG GIFTS and how everyone has them. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it and when your little brother whups you at climbing it’s hard to believe it, but there’s something in there that you do better than me and better than him and even if you haven’t found it yet you will and don’t you forget it.

A lousy mother

I am a pretty lousy mother.

I work pretty hard at being a dad and feel I’m not half bad at it but there is one thing I will never be able to do for my kids and that is be their mom.

This is a realization that struck me as somewhat of a thunderbolt because as obvious as it may seem when I write it down, I sometimes in my heart of hearts think I can do it all. And you know, I can do a lot; I make great cookies and I make a pretty mean pie (yes crust too) and I pack lunches every morning and I do laundry but I am no mom.

When it comes right down to it, the stuff I am really good at is dad stuff. I am the “stiff upper lip” guy with my kids. I’m the guy that watches one of my little guys tumble off the playground equipment without so much as a flinch. Not because I’m heartless but because I know that if I flinch, if I run over, if I ask in a concerned voice if they are ok that they will most definitely not be ok. So I watch Sam tumble off the equipment and I surreptitiously make sure that it isn’t trip-to-the-hospital bad and then I saunter over like it’s no big deal and make my patented dad comment “Good thing you’re tough.” And if it really hurt there will be tears and then I’ll take care of that too, but not as well as mom.

I have mad toy assembly skills and we seem to have entered an age in our family where all Christmas and birthday presents require a full tool box and an ability to interpret Chinese to put together and that is my job. Christmas Day at our house this year had me assembling hex bug habitats and hot wheels tracks and marble runs and if that isn’t a dad skill I don’t know what is.

I’m the guy that helps Ben when he can’t figure out what to do next with his lego though if I’m honest that doesn’t happen too much anymore. Last Friday he got the LEGO HOGWARTS CASTLE for his birthday with over a thousand pieces and moving stairs and so much detail that if you make the mistake of asking him about it you better carve some time out of your day and I figured he would be at it all weekend.

It was done by Saturday afternoon. No help required. But if he had needed it I would have been the go to guy. I am his dad after all.

It’s the mom stuff that gets me though and it starts with tea.

I have been informed by my boys that I don’t make very good tea. See Nikki makes the boys tea from time to time and she steeps a bit of hot water and adds milk and sugar and the boys go crazy for it but when I try to replicate Ben tells me in a disgusted kind of voice that my tea tastes like water.

And when my kids are hurt they call out for mom because my dad hugs just aren’t quite right or maybe aren’t quite enough.

And Nik has the market cornered on zaniness and the boys eat it up and shriek and run and play right in to whatever madness she has dreamed up for them tonight with a zeal that can bring a smile to my face like nothing else.

And I like to cook but mom makes the best suppers.

And Nikki remembers to practice piano and do the home reading and to sign the agenda and a million other little things that I rely on her for.

And Nikki will also attest that I am pretty lousy housekeeper. To my credit I am not really a stay at home dad but my job is flexible this time of year so I am home more than Nik and I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t pull my weight when it comes to the cleaning. I tidy hardcore, but I suck at cleaning and maybe calling that a mom skill isn’t fair but the mom skill in it that I point out is actually NOTICING the mess. I honestly am pretty ok with a messy house and so I don’t pick up on it and in that way I feel that I fail another mom test.

So I coach soccer and play hockey with them and teach them to ski and all kinds of other dad things and I work hard at knowing my kids and keeping up to date with school and friends and life. If I can’t do it all for my kids I suppose I’ll take the consolation prize and be their dad.

And I guess that’s pretty much the best consolation prize a guy could ask for.

Growing Pains

I had a pretty great childhood.

I grew up at the end of an era of free play. I suppose my timing took me through the transition to the programmed-to-the-gills lives of our modern children and I owned a video game system but I hit all of this right around the time that the world was turning the corner and big chunks of my childhood were spent outside, unsupervised and digging in the dirt.

I remember being 11 or 12 and deciding that we would build an underground fort in the ravine behind our house and lugging armfuls of shovels and spades down the back ally and digging for what seemed like days only to decide that was really too much work and give up on the plan.

I remember fishing for panfish with a stick and some fishing line and a hook and worms we dug out of the earth ourselves in the little pond at the bottom of that ravine.

As kids we followed every creek we could as far as we could and came home covered in mud and smelling like the crayfish that we caught by turning over rocks and reaching in and then pulling them out with the pinchers hooked on our fingers or if you were better at it, by grabbing them just behind the legs.

And when the rain fell in the heat of summer we donned swim trunks and headed out to chase stick boats down the storm sewers or to run and slide on our bums in the grass or just to run because when you are young running is so easy and so natural that it brings joy all by itself.

Now I’ll admit that it wasn’t all sunshine and light. There were scary confrontations with big kids, once a rock fight that ended in blood and big trouble, once in the colder months playing in the creek I went through the ice to my chest and popped back out with one big kick and stumbled to shore. I took one look at Ron, our experienced and worldly leader of the day (probably a year older than me) who took one look and me and commanded “HOME!” and home I ran, sure that at any moment I would just collapse and die because I knew from the dire warnings that falling through the ice was directly linked with dying. And home half frozen and mom is teaching piano and she distractedly throws me in the shower and I’m ok of course, but lucky.

And we had our share of luck I guess. We went off bike jumps with no helmets, fell out of impossibly tall trees, and generally romped around and we did so with skinned knees and the occasional cast but really no harm done.

So I sit here on the other side of the generational shift and I wonder about my kids. I am kind of an old school dad in a lot of ways and we are pretty lucky and because of where we live my kids have room to play outside and you know what? Don’t tell too many people, but I LET THEM. I send my kids outside unsupervised when it’s warm and yes the little ones are four and Ben is 8 now and I’ll probably expect a knock on the door from social services any day but I think it’s important plus they have to stay in the yard. And you know what? They love it. Sure sometimes they pull everything out of the garden shed or make some other sort of mess or fall down and hurt themselves but I keep an ear open and we are well stocked with Band-Aids so we can work with that.

The thing that makes me smile is city folks live in fear of the human type of predator and when they talk to me they are shocked I don’t live in fear of the natural type but just because we don’t live in a center with more than 100,000 people doesn’t mean there are wolves circling in the front yard and you know in the city there aren’t packs of human type predators circling in your front yard either. We live in the safest of times (unless you factor in all the “unreported crime”;))ever and yet we are more and more fearful.

And you know what? People are starting to suggest that people like me aren’t negligent and stupid. Richard Louv in his game changing book (at least if you work in my industry) “Last Child in the Woods” suggests that our structured childhoods and specifically our disconnect with nature is making us sick. He calls it “Nature Deficit Disorder” and very convincingly connects it with a whole whack of illness from ADD to asthma to obesity and talks about how we can meaningfully reconnect with the backyard ravines of our own childhood and you know what? Those ravines are still there and still calling our kids. Anyway, he argues that kids need the space to explore and try and to fail and to be hurt and that all of these things, done in a natural setting, help us grow into quality, healthy people. I think the man has a point.

But instead the world is busy helicoptering over our kids and keeping them “safe” and off the train tracks and somehow we don’t see the train tracks our kids are walking on and the diabetes, heart disease, obesity train is coming but it kills us all a little slower and a little less spectacularly and we seem to be ok with that. And when I read blogs like this one I laugh at the pictures and mutter “Oh, that’s SO TRUE!” and then I get to comments and get sad because when someone says something like I just think we know so much more now and our kids need to be protected from themselves and they can’t make decisions then we are doing our children a huge disservice.

I’m not pushing for free range kids.  My kids have limits and I help them to make good decisions and they wear helmets when they ride their bikes, but I am pushing for all of us to think about allowing our kids room to try and room to fail and if they can do this outside then even better.  So I encourage you to NOT sign your kids up for hockey or dance or swimming or gymnastics and send them outside instead.  Once they get over the lack of outlets and screens they may just have a great time.