We don’t do a whole lot of arts & crafts around my house. It’s not that I have some aversion to it. I actually enjoy painting and the like, but it’s really challenging with little kids. It’s usually super messy, set-up & clean up take 45 minutes while the project itself only lasts 10 and the resulting project will either end up in the trash or a box in the garage within 3 days. Today, however, I decided we were going to throw caution to the wind and break out the paints.
On occasion I send the kids out into the fenced-in back yard to run around and play while I get dinner ready in the kitchen and watch them through the large bay windows. I usually open one of the windows so I can keep a better ear out for anything that might be going on.
It is not uncommon to hear crying and one child yelling out that another isn’t sharing some toy or another. But, this one particular day while I am preparing dinner I turn my back to the window and happen to hear a child screaming “Help, Help”
Now a cry is one thing, a cry means the damage has already been done. I can only offer comfort at best at that point. But a cry for help is a completely different thing all together. A cry for help means danger is imminent but hasn’t happened yet and I might be able to stop it. I instantly dropped what I was doing and sprinted out the back door not even pausing to look out the window first.
I threw open the door and sprinted out into the yard to begin my visual sweep and assess the situation. I just knew that there wasn’t a moment to lose. Then I looked up. I saw my child in trouble. I stopped running. My three year old looks up at me and with deep concern in his voice calls out:
“Help, Help. This thing is stuck on me and it made my pants fall off!”
“Umm, yeah buddy, I’ll help you out. Just let daddy get his camera first….”
When our first child was born all he knew was one on one time with mom or dad. When our second child was born we could still rather easily find the time to split the kids up and get some quality one on one time with each of them. When our daughter was born it started to become more difficult to carve out any great one on one time with her. By the time our 4th kid came along the idea of one on one time was becoming a distant memory.
Trips to the doctor’s office are always unpredictable. Thankfully today was one of those days where my wife had off and I didn’t have to take all the kids in with me. The two youngest had well-checks so I tossed some extra snacks into my bag and off we went. Both kids fell asleep in the car on the way…that’s going to mess up nap times later. After checking in and clearing up an issue where they got one of my other kids mixed up with another child on a previous visit I head to the waiting room. The waiting room is always a special adventure. I sit there like a fly on the wall while the moms carry on with their motherhood conversations. Today’s topic of conversation was public breastfeeding.
I consider myself to be a typical dude. I love football, I hunt, I fish, I do my own car repairs, if I need a handyman I go into the garage and get my tools, I do my own yard work, I carry a pocket knife, I love all things electronic, I shave a couple times a month, I cried during The Notebook, I build furniture out of old pallets…you know, all the typical guy stuff.
I also just so happen to be a stay at home dad of 4.