Wife is a saint! Daughter’s party is ended, and Wife is going to heaven as a result. The reason for this beatification? The National Weather Service accurately predicted rain for the duration of the party. (Sure, NOW they’re right!)

The party began at 6pm on Saturday. 8 girls arrived, all but one on time, loudly banging up the stairs with sleeping bags and pillow in hand. Pizza arrived at 6:30pm punctually. With the thunder of a thousand hooves, the bevy headed downstairs for dinner. Soda was poured, salad was declined, pizza was ignored, and chips were hoarded. The level of noise was tolerable, but could have made an OSHA inspector cringe.

When dinner was completed (although that was more based on time at the table rather than pizza ingested) the ladies were invited to have their nails done. Son had a female friend from next door come over to assist, and the girls were all giggles. (Note to self- for his own safety, send Son away when having a girl party. Hugs from girls 4 years younger is not appreciated until a man turns 22.)

They were invited back a short while later for cake, after which they adjourned to the family room for the first video of the weekend, which was “Aquamarine.” The ladies remained hungry, although I cannot imagine how. We made popcorn (2 bags) and there was nary a kernel remaining. I begged my wife to withhold further food until it was requested, because now they were eating for something to do rather than out of hunger. They settled down and watched the movie, eating the next round of popcorn about 45 minutes later.

When the movie concluded, we leapt aside as the stampede up the stairs to the bedroom passed. It is important to note that Wife and I gave up our room to the party(512 sq ft) and moved to the family room (160 sq ft). This left the teeming hordes directly over our head, which allowed for easy supervision, but which we were soon to regret. The ladies eventually dressed and settled in for the night, but not to sleep. The first request for slumber came at approximately 11:30 p.m. At 2:15, Wife got hot. By this time, I was 20 winks into my 40, but wife was loaded for bear. It was the last time I heard from them, but I don’t know if that was owing to their sleep or mine.

Sunday brought a shift at work for me (YAY) so the ladies were with Wife for the first few hours. She awoke at 7:30 a.m. to give medication to one of the attendees, and that began the onslaught. No matter how she encouraged them to stay asleep, they came, in twos and threes, until all but one had come down for breakfast. The one who remained, by the way, was the one she had awakened to take the medication! She slept until 10:30 a.m.

The girls had a variety of breakfast choices, and watched another movie. I can’t speak to the chaos in my absence, but when I arrived home, they had lunch and played a game of “Harry Potter Scene-It” until their parents arrived to pick them up at 3:00 p.m.

Length of the party- 21 hours. Amount of food consumed- 3 pizzas, 6 bags of chips, 12 liters of soda, assorted juices, 1/2 dozen bagels, a few eggs, a cookie cake, 2 dozen cookies, 4 bags of microwave popcorn, 8 party bags of candy.

Son, who had disappeared in the morning, returned at 3:30 p.m. with a friend who stayed until 9:30 p.m. Wife left for work at 6:30 p.m. Daughter and Dad crashed out for the day.

They left for the Cape on Monday morning. I miss them, but the quiet is wondrous!

Daughter celebrated her 9th birthday a few weeks ago, but because we were away, we are holding the party today.

It’s a sleep-over, and there are currently eight screaming 9-year old girls in my bedroom having a pillow fight.

If I don’t survive, I wish for my blogs to be preserved as a monument to all those fathers who may have endured such horrors.

I’ll report the results tommorow, should fate be kind to me.

I ask myself this question regularly. I ask because blogging:

• consumes significant amounts of time, in the following ways;
  • planning what to blog;
  • blogging;
  • editing blogs;
  • maintaining the blog;
  • responding to comments and feedback;
  • reading other blogs (which is necessary research for the conscientious);
• puts my privacy, and that of my family at risk;
• requires an introspection that is at times interesting and at other times painful.

That said, why continue?

I suppose most of it is ego. I enjoy writing, and have been told recently that I do it well. It may be that I am a ‘big fish in a small pond’, where those around me do not write well, so I am comparatively superior. This is what I think when I read others in the blogosphere. There are so many good writers about that I won’t consider including myself in their sphere. I can take credit for even bringing a few along, like the teacher whose students quickly outgrow his tutelage owing to their innate talents.

The need for catharsis is another driving force. I can say things on the internet that might not be said aloud. There is comfort in the anonymity (whether real or perceived) of a blog, and we cherish and protect it. I have many identities on the internet. I am all of those people. Each of them is unique and independent. Here I am a father trying to be a loving and caring member of his family. In other circumstances, I am a man striving to be an expert in a field crowded with brilliant individuals. In another, I am an expert, for I must be. The ‘logic of confidence’ dictates that for me to be successful, I must be trusted implicitly. Therefore, each morning I remind myself (aloud, by the way) that ‘I am a leader. I must lead.’

I suppose the final reason is that these are secrets we share, secrets are burdensome. Each of us holds secrets within. They are secrets from co-workers, from spouses, from friends. Some are insignificant, others are monumental. Each weighs heavily on the bearer. Unhappy customers berate call center employees because they are secretly dissatisfied with a product, and wish to share their secret. They begin to tell their friends. Their secret disdain becomes a cry from the village square.

How many of us revel in sharing stories of disaster? We all do. They are the best stories. A skilled storyteller can take a $20 product failure and turn it into a 20 minute diatribe on the state of manufacturing, customer service, and the world in general. That story will be told and retold until all have heard it, or at least heard of it. Eternally Depressed Grandmother (EDG) is a terrific storyteller. If she were Eternally Happy Grandmother, would the stories be nearly as entertaining.

So I speculate, dear reader, that I write to unburden myself of secrets. Of course, now that you have read them, are you not similarly burdened? Stay with me, and the burden is communal.

I am an only child. No big deal, but it definitely has an impact on how you live your life, especially if you have to share a house.

I suppose the issue is compounded by the fact that I was an only child in a divorced family. Eternally Depressed Grandmother and I lived alone but together from the time I was 5 until I left for college at age 22. It was a small apartment we shared, but we were pretty good about giving one another space. The living room was common area, but bed rooms were pretty much off limits. Bathroom and kitchen were shared. A variety of differing schedules through the years made the place seem much larger, and allowed for solitary moments every now and again. When EDG was out, the television was my constant companion, especially on the nights when she worked late and didn’t get in until after bedtime.

Before leaving for college (at the late age of 22) I met a lady eventually to become my wife. She and I began to share a place that final summer at home. It was a tiny place as well, but we were so happy to be in each others company that sharing the place was a joy. We discovered one another’s rhythms, and even enjoyed crunching ourselves into the tiny bed in the hot loft apartment.

My first year in college found me sharing a room with my first ever same-sex roommate. He was a hosehead who stole my car and wrecked it. After that, my dorm director allowed me to keep a single for the rest of the year. After that, I got a job as a Resident Assistant, which meant I was given a single as part of the job. That made my fiance (same woman) my only roommate besides EDG.

When I was younger, and again while I was away at school, I got used to eating alone. I had no trouble with it, and actually enjoyed the solitude. I would bring a book, magazine, or newspaper and catch up on world and local events. Many of the campus eateries had televisions, so my constant companion and I would spend a few minutes sharing a plate of pasta or a plate of wings. I was happy, but my friends were offended. Their thought was that no one at college should eat alone. They didn’t understand that I didn’t do it because I couldn’t find someone to eat with, but to get the solitude to which I had become accustomed. I learned to spend more time with others, and even joined a fraternity, but still relished my time alone.

Wife and I bought a small house after we were married and I settled in for the long haul. It was probably the first time in a while that I started to feel the need for more room. After 4 years of sleeping alone, making my own hours, and eating on my own schedule and terms, it was tough getting used to sharing your time, life, and space. She’s an extraordinary sport about it, and we have a chuckle about it from time to time, but I guess it still bothers her to some extent.

Wife is now Mother. Having kids has made it even more complicated. We have expanded our dream house to have enough space for the children as they grow. They are growing fast, though, and we have plenty of stuff filling the space as well. The house isn’t small by any standard, but we are in a constant state of trying to maximize the space for our comfort.

I still, even with the extra space, try to find solitude. The family, always wonderful, understands even though we never really discuss it. When I go off into another room, they usually don’t come in. I feel bad for the ‘don’t bother your father’ kind of feeling, but I really enjoy the times I get to revel in my own thoughts. I plan for work, consider financial futures, blog, podcast, and generally get my head clear for the next thing to come along.

I’ve been trying lately to spend a little less time in solitude and more in company, but it’s hit-or-miss. Certain days I just can’t do it. Others I have an overwhelming need to be with them all day. I try to budget the times so they coincide with events of import, like the upcoming birthday celebration for Son. Other times it’s a planned walk with Mother. These times are terrific, and yet sometimes I forget and fall into my own solitary world, forgetting how cool they all are to be around.

I’m doing it right now, aren’t I? Sitting on a bench in the kitchen with my laptop, sequestered. Separate from Son, who watches TV in the next room. I think I will go in and spend some time with my cool Son.

I though about this while over at Minor Revisions, a blog I love reading. Thanks Katie.

Tomorrow is Son’s birthday.

What he wants is video games. He always wants video games. The problem is, I can’t find video games that meet my standards.

The most popular video games are all ‘melee’ games, in which you shoot everything that comes your way. The most vivid demonstrations are games like Doom and Halo, but it’s also in most of the Star Wars games as well. I like a good shoot-em-up, but it is just not right for me to be the one who brings all this violence into Son’s life.

So I stood today, dumbstruck, before the PC game rack at the computer store, trying to puzzle out what game to purchase. In between the offensive game could be found the occasional SimWhatever game, some Nickolodeon sponsored goof-fests, and the occasional children’s-level fantasy game. In short, a disappointing collection when looked at through the eyes of a soon-to-be thirteen year-old boy.

What is a father to do? I worked hard to avoid the games I believed he would find boring, childish, or easy. Then I skipped over games I thought too violent. The I was in the web development tools. Essentially, I had created requirements that had excluded the entire rack.

I went back through, limiting the search now to the least boring or least violent games. I stumbled upon a 1942 warfare game, which I hope will require a bit more though and a bit less shooting. It includes a Vietnam War follow-up, but that will be removed from the pack as soon as it is opened. I guess that I can accept 1942 as a war of honor, but Vietnam was simply a war of death and destruction.

I hope I’m not wrong about this. I just can’t help being reticent about supplying violent media to my kids. They get so much in my absence, I don’t want to send the message that I believe it’s appropriate. The biggest problem is my hypocrisy.

You see, I love war movies, sniper-style video games, crime dramas, and filthy comedy. I explain it away as ‘adult fare’. There are times where I draw the line, and there are some movies I won’t see. I’m particular to make sure the kids know it, so they have an idea that there is a line, and that we should ALL be respectful of it.

Two-tiered values systems exist in most families. I’m always concerned that there will be a time where someone in the house is going to say it’s time to “walk the walk.”

P.S.- He’s also getting his cell phone back, and his grandparents and I replaced his old video card last week. Just so you don’t think it’s a lean giving year.

My dad came for a visit this weekend.

A visit from him is always interesting, because he built the addition on our house, and actually lived there part time for a year and a half. It makes you feel as if he’s evaluating the way you maintain the house when he arrives. I was excited for his arrival because the basement is filled with his tools and supplies. There are also a number of unfinished jobs, and there is always the possibility he might get some of them done.

He didn’t.

To be honest, that wasn’t the purpose of the visit. His brother from Oregon was visiting, and we were all going to visit on Sunday. Grandpa Hick came on Saturday (not the most convenient day, since we were arriving home from vacation at the very same time!) and spent the afternoon.

Well, not all of the afternoon. I got called into work at 5:30 for an hour.

Since we had not seen him for Father’s Day,we took him out to dinner at a local chain restaurant. It’s a favorite of ours, but he had never been.

We had a good time. The portions are titanic, and they specialize in desserts. We sat and gorged ourselves, while Son and Daughter vied for his attention and a chance to impress him. I bide my time, because usually we spend time hanging out on the porch catching up after everyone goes to bed.

We didn’t.

To be clear, it was me who begged off, since I was whipped from my trip. (Why do you come back tired from vacation?) I adjourned to the bedroom and crashed out until the morning, when I got up for work.

It wasn’t the end of the visit, but the end of the part where we had Grandpa Hick exclusively our own. We joined up with visiting family soon after, but that’s a blog for a different day.

Son and Daughter have both been enrolled in a reading program this summer.

They are not struggling readers, but they do have trouble with notes and following directions. It was our thought, since the vendor claims to have a special way of teaching children to take notes, that they may benefit from this program. It means they continue to do homework throughout the summer.

Anyone who has children knows that they do not do homework alone. Someone must be avaialable for them, to review what they have done, to offer constructive feedback, and to make certain they remain on task. That is my job now. How has it become my job? Because Mother does not wish to do it.

You see, I made the mistake of reading the directions for the homework, and it states that the children are to read for 30 minutes, stopping every five minutes for a ‘tell back.’ At this point, they are to explain to you what they have just finished reading. I pointed this out to Mother, and she explained to me that since she had done all the planning for the program, and had taken on the lion’s share of the work, that if I thought it should be done, I could do it.

I thought it should be done. Son hates it the most, since he feels he is a strong reader. Unfortunately, he is. I mean that because he is great at understanding the grander aspects of the books he reads. He is terrible at reading and executing directions. This understanding of greater literature gives him an arrogance that allows him to gloss over the most important aspect of the assignment- the directions.

The tell backs are a start. If we can get them to focus on the smaller details, then perhaps they can begin to recognize the smaller, more noteworthy aspects of the text. If not, at least I’m getting a page-by-page description of “Kidnapped” (Son) and “The Chronicles of Narnia” (Daughter) in between blog entries.

Filed in: education

Updated on November 21, 2006:

I’ve been writing about family on my other blog, and I though I might like to keep a separate place for the family-related things. A place where I could extol the virtues of fatherhood. A place where I could talk about ancient history. A place to be myself, instead of my tech-geek alter ego.

“Will Daddy Come Too?” had become a familiar refrain in my house. Much of that centered around my search for a job in the spring of 2006. Luckily, that is over, but the idea that I wasn’t doing my best work at home with my kids got me reflective. That’s where the blog came from. My chance to take a few minutes and reflect on what I wanted from fatherhood, and what I thought a father ought to be.

If someone else has it figured out, I have my checkbook.