Why Would Parents Watch a Cartoon without the Kids?

"Hey, close your eyes and pretend you're driving!"

While I was unpacking groceries on a Sunday afternoon, Mark shouted those instructions to me from a few rooms away. He was relaxing on the couch, with beams of long-awaited sunshine bouncing at him from all sides. A few seconds passed before I understood his directions. It wasn't until I heard some very familiar voices ringing after him that I knew exactly what he meant. Hearing the voices of Dory, Marlin, Nemo and his aquarium friends quickly transported me back in time eleven years. They took me away from my present kitchen, surrounded by boxes of cereal and jars of peanut butter, to the front seat of my very first, and perfectly clean, mom-car.

Those characters project the voices of Reese's babyhood. The voices that soothed him during the countless long drives we took between our home and his grandparents' homes two hours north. That movie played on repeat for many months before we ever took it out of the van and into the house to watch it on a real television. Mark and I had memorized every single line before we ever viewed any scenes with our eyes. That movie and those voices represent such a memorable point in our lives: the extremely short period of time when our family was only just beginning, when there were just three of us.

So, on this recent sunny winter Sunday, when Mark stumbled upon Finding Nemo on TV, he instinctively quit flipping channels and called me into the room. When I stopped at the carpet, I expected to see a few of the kids sitting on the couch with him, or sprawled out on the floor. Except nobody was around. The kids were nowhere to be found. It was just Mark...watching Nemo...alone.

Curiously, I asked, "You're watching this all by yourself?"

"Yeah. It's such a cool movie. It's so colorful," he said.

That's when I gazed up at the television with him and realized he was right. The movie is breathtakingly beautiful. The bright and vibrant hues reel you in, making anyone watching feel entranced by the pure artistry. I snuggled down under Mark's arm, and we watched that familiar cartoon...together...while our four children were playing somewhere else in the house.

 

Only about twenty minutes remained in the film, but we paid such close attention to it, like it was our first time seeing the movie. We watched in anticipation, as if we still weren't sure what would happen at the end. We listened to Nemo's heartfelt pleas to his father, as he tried to prove that he should trust him. Like seeing an old friend after a long absence, we smiled and laughed...a lot.

I held Mark's hand and secretly reminisced about Reese's baby years. I thought about how much he has grown and changed since he went everywhere in his car seat, with our fluffy golden retriever at his feet and the soundtrack of his life being the fish from the reef in Finding Nemo.

In half a year, he'll be a teenager. In just a few more, he'll be the one driving the car. How did that happen? As Marlin cradled Nemo in his fins, I wondered if Mark was thinking about his own relationship with our sons. Dads know they need to let their boys become young men, yet how do they know when and how and which way is best?

Is it strange that we're so attached to this movie and these memories that it brings up that we would watch it by ourselves? Who could have known that when our new mini-van included a free copy of Finding Nemo, it would have woven itself into the fabric of our family for so many years to come?

Do you have a movie or show that reminds you of your children's baby years? Do you look back on it fondly or wish you could break the disc in half?

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Being a Child's First Valentine-6 Reasons My Dad Was Mine

It's usually around Father's Day when our social media feeds explode with abundant expressions of love that people feel for their dads. It's only fair that fathers receive that recognition during lawn mowing and grilling season, but I'm about to break tradition. I'm about to gush about my dad in the middle of February, because while spending time with my little boys over the weekend, I realized he was my very first Valentine.

Still chilling in our jammies, Marshall, Chip and I were lying, tummies down, on the family room carpet. Armed with red pens and class lists, we surrounded ourselves with dozens of store-bought Batman and Star Wars Valentines. The boys signed their names on the cards meant for classmates and friends, and then they stuffed them in baggies in anticipation of the big party coming up on Friday. My youngest planned to save one of his cards for me. He examined them all, and he carefully chose one that was two inches bigger than all of the others, featuring the forever-wise and wonderful Yoda. I'm sure he didn't choose it for me because he believes I'm as enlightened as Yoda. More likely, it's because I'm tall, so I should have a tall card.

The thought of receiving a Valentine from my small son pulled a vivid memory to the forefront of my mind. A memory of a special surprise dessert I made for my dad when I was a little girl: a chocolate cake shaped like a heart. It was the '80's, so even if heart-shaped cake pans were in existence, my mom had no plan to buy one. We were going to create our own heart cake with what we had at home.

We whipped up a trusty box of devil's food cake-my dad's favorite-and evenly poured the batter into one square cake pan and one round cake pan. Courtesy of Google and Pinterest, people in 2015 know that you can create a heart-shaped cake by cutting a round cake in half and connecting the two halves to the square cake. In the '80's, my mom just knew. I was convinced she was a genius.

To frost the cake, we also made a batch of my mom's famous homemade icing, and I colored it a light shade of pink. She slathered that pink fluffiness all over the chocolaty goodness, and suddenly, we no longer could see any traces of three individual pieces of cake. We had turned those fragmented slices into one giant, seamless, chocolate heart, covered in rich whipped cream icing.

My dad came home from work that Valentine's night to find his big pink heart waiting for him on our kitchen table. He smiled and MMMed through every morsel, as adults often do as they eat something a child has prepared for them. My dad was the best at making me believe whatever I had baked for him was the most incredible piece of anything he had ever eaten in his entire life.

I was so proud of that pink heart cake when I was a young girl. My dad made me feel that I had made something exceptional. These days, heart-shaped cake pans are a dime a dozen, and I've had a few of them over the years. Maybe I should hide mine and encourage the kids to use their brains to make their own dad a special cake for Valentine's Day. He would be proud of their geometry skills for sure.

Though this story is about my own father, I know it may resonate with you as well. For those of you who have sentimental dads like I do, I hope that joyful memories will surface as you think about times spent with your own father. For the men who are reading, my hope is that you can contemplate the ladies and little girls in your life. Are you worthy to be their first or forever Valentine?

We hear it all the time: that we may not appreciate what our parents have done for us until we are our parents ourselves. When we're living through the daily grind as kids, how could we possibly know that what our parents are doing for us will have such significance? Now that I'm a mom and sharing parenthood with Mark, I'm able to see 6 reasons my dad was my first Valentine.

1. When I think of what a man and father should be like, I think of my dad. I grew up in a steel mill town, where everyone's dad worked in one factory or another. Shift work. Overtime. Steel-toed boots and hard hats. Work clothes that can't be washed with the regular laundry. Men taking care of business to take care of their families. No complaining. No whining. Just working hard to make it all work. That was and still is my dad.

2. When I was young, cars didn't have remote locks, and stores didn't have automatic doors. I was let into a building or into our car by my dad's two hands. Even though technology has come a long way to put an end to chivalry, my dad continues to insist on practicing one of my favorite gentlemanly gestures, everywhere we go.

3. My dad was the first person to ever give me flowers. We really didn't make that big of a deal about Valentine's Day, but as my dad would present my mom with flowers and a box of Fannie May Mint Meltaways, he would always have a smaller bouquet waiting for me.

4. When we were on the brink of adolescence, my best friend's father very suddenly passed away. It was the most tragic event imaginable. Up until that point, all of our lives had been completely entwined with one another. It was as if we had two homes, two sets of siblings and two sets of parents. When one father was suddenly lost, my own dad naturally and effortlessly embraced the children in that family. One year later, she and I were attending a summer writing program. It was almost Father's Day, so our teacher asked all of us to write about our dads. She asked my best friend if she could think of another man, someone who loved her as her dad had done, for her story. She decided to write about my dad. Why he was special to her. How he cared for her and her little brother, always taking the bunch of us to the park and out for ice cream. Her incredible story was published in the local newspaper. I was only eleven years old, so I didn't really see the significance or magnitude of everything that was happening through those years. Now that I am a mother, I see it all. I see how my dad viewed that loss and the responsibility to his friend's children. She and I are still best friends, with our own families now, and he has never let that compassion or dedication subside.

5. During all of my cello performances, or at any of the kazillion other activities my brothers and I dabbled in through the years, I knew that if I looked out into the audience or up in the stands, my dad would be there. Even bone-weary from working the midnight shift, his presence was a given...a constant. Now that he's Grandpa to nine grandchildren, he unquestionably watches their games and attends their special performances, too.

6. One of the coolest and most selfless acts my dad has done was forgoing a big 60th birthday bash to celebrate at the McDonald's play land with his grandkids. As his family is what matters most to him, and being with those nutty kiddos makes him so stinkin' happy, he chose to spend his birthday at a place where the kids would be comfortable. They wouldn't need to worry about being bored or staying clean or speaking politely to a bunch of strangers. So, we booked his party at McD's, where he was the oldest birthday "child" they had ever hosted. He played the silly games, wore the special hat, posed for crazy pictures, and in the end, it's a party none of us will ever forget.

Aren't all parents supposed to be a child's first Valentine? The most trusted source of love they'll ever know? I know I'm honored to be Marshall's. Unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with such strong and caring parents, so I guess all I can really say to my own father is thanks for being "Dad."

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love,
Sissy-Liss

Would you tell me about your own first Valentine? If your own memories are not filled with pink hearts and chocolate, what have you done as a parent to show unconditional love to your babies?

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My Kid Drank from a Fire Hose!

I'm pretty confident that the title of this post and the picture tell it all.

 

However, the incident does come with a cute story. Last summer, when Marshall was still only three, we were all attending a picnic and carnival for Mark's company. Trixie and I were in line for the face painting lady, while Mark took the three boys to check out the fire truck that had been parked on the property. The firefighters had hooked up their gigantic hose to a hydrant. From every vantage point throughout the carnival, guests could see high pressure water shooting across the lawn.

 

The face painting line was very long, so during our wait, Trixie and I heard many boys asking their parents if they could take a drink from the hose. Every mom said no, of course! That's what moms say. "No way! That water will knock your head backwards. It's too dangerous." Sensible moms.

 

Eventually, Trixie's face was painted like a puppy with a drooling tongue, so we met up with all the guys by the fire truck. That was when I learned that their dad had not only allowed, but encouraged, all of his sons to drink from the fire hose! Leave it up to four males to try something so crazy. Apparently, Marshall was the only one willing to do it, although I was surprised that the firefighters let it happen-twice. Marshall actually took one drink and then went back for more, which is when Mark took this photo.

 

For weeks, Mark was showing it to everyone we know, bragging about his brave baby drinking from the fire hose. I made sure to preface the sharing of the picture with the fact that I, his careful mother, was nowhere near the fire truck at the time. After seeing this shot dozens of times, I decided to look at it more closely, and I realized that it was actually a really cool photo.  Little Marshall was not hurt in any way, and he does like to tell people about it, too.

Let this be a lesson to sensible moms that dads (and grandpas and uncles) are capable of entertaining and playing with our children without our control. They can make their own fun, their own adventures and their own memories.

 

Can you think of a time when a man in your child's life (or your own) did something that a mother would probably never do, but it turned out to be just fine and even fun?



Our Kid is Suddenly Afraid of Rain!

Last night, I came home to one of the saddest sights, one that I've never encountered in all of my years as a mom.  Walking into my bedroom, I spotted Mark lying in our bed, while Chip, our seven-year-old son, was curled up and sleeping next to him.  Usually, I would find it sweet to see one of my babies sleeping, but it was only 5:30 in the afternoon, and something just felt...wrong.

I asked Mark what was wrong with Chip, because at first I thought it must have been because he was exhausted from finishing his first week of school.  His brain had grown so much that he was worn out and just needed to crash.

That wasn't it. 

Next, I asked Mark if Chip had thrown up or was sick.  That's usually the only other reason that my usually rambunctious youngster would be in bed before dinner.

That wasn't it either.

Mark looked at me blankly and said, "I sent you a text." 

Gosh, would he just tell me what happened?  I had been out driving in a very raucous thunderstorm with Trixie for the past twenty minutes, so of course I didn't know I had a text.

"Seriously, what happened?"

Mark just whispered to me, "He's scared."

Chip was under the blankets, sinking in the middle of our huge bed, looking like the meekest I'd ever seen him, clinging for dear life to a flashlight.  He was scooted up so close to Mark, there wasn't an inch of mattress space between them.

I quietly crept to my side of the bed and crawled under the covers, too.  Chip immediately felt my presence, and he turned to face me. He nuzzled under my arms and squeezed me as tightly as he could.  I'm talking about my child who will only give me hugs when they're on his terms and usually wipes off my kisses.  It was one of the longest, strongest hugs he has ever given to me.  He laid in my arms, warm, breathing, and waiting for some reassurance from his mom.  I could feel his fear, and I heard the tremble in his voice as he tried to describe what he was feeling.

He was afraid of the thunder.  He was afraid of the rain.  To us it was irrational, but to him, it was real.  I knew he was serious, because I had been noticing a growing fear of rain from him over the past several weeks, as we have had quite a few storms.  I even described it to a friend of mine earlier that morning as "debilitating" to him.  After his practice was canceled because of a thunderstorm, he declared that he planned to give up soccer, the sport he loves, because it will probably rain too much again. 

Suddenly, he had been scared to be in the car when it rained.  He was terribly nervous to see the ominous clouds roll through, bright skies turning dark before so many summer storms. 

The boom of thunder, the bright flash of lightning, the pounding drops of water.  All of it...left him panicked.

No matter how many times we tell him that it's just water, or we're covered by walls and roofs, or the thunder is just sound, he still worries.  I cannot remember the last time our power has been out from a storm, but it must have made an impression on him.  That was why he was cradling a flashlight in bed like it was a teddy bear.  Why is my seven year old suffering from this abrupt fear of rainstorms? 

I don't have an answer now.  I know we cannot feed into his fear.  I know we have work to do in order to help him through this sudden phobia.

For last night, though, we didn't tackle the fear, we just used as much comfort and love as we could to pull through the storm.  The three of us laid in my bed for a little while...just the three of us.  That never happens.  Chip snuggled in my arms in a way he hasn't done since he was a sneaky four-year-old, stopping in my room for extra cuddles on his way down before breakfast.

Reluctantly, I peeled myself from under the toasty nest we had created in the bed.   Trixie helped me find some headphones, and we brought them to Chip, attached to a device all set up for him to play some games in bed. We couldn't make the rain or thunder stop, but we did our best to muffle the sound.  We did what we could to comfort him through the fear.  I walked downstairs to make dinner, leaving those two guys in our big bed together, under the covers...tuning out the thunder, yet tuned in to each other. 

Father and son. 

One scared and one strong. 

Thank goodness for dads and Minecraft.

 

 

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