Category Archives: Papa Prattle

Nov 17 8 comments
Papa Prattle

We need a monitor, STAT!

My lovely wife has been a nurse for many years. She has always had a fondness for the elderly among us and spent many years caring for them either in their home or at assisted living facilities. She was incredible at this job and eased the heart of many a passing person and their family as they would say their final farewell.

Just over a year ago she switched roles and began working for a local hospital as a NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) Nurse.  She was unsure of whether or not the transition would suit her. She had cared for the elderly for so long that the thought of caring for someone on their largely difficult first days of life, instead of their last, was a bit unsettling. I knew she would take to the new role like a pro and after a short introductory period she did just that. Today she loves her job and each and every one of the children she cares for.

monitor-stat If you recall, my wife and I are expecting our third little girl in December. We are currently in our 37th week and everything has progressed quite nicely. The difference with this pregnancy  is the new found knowledge my wife has gained on the job. Several weeks ago, week 26 or so, my wife assisted with the delivery of a 26 week old baby. It was a surreal moment as she held this child and considered that the baby inside her was the same age and approximate size.

The process of delivering a child early isn’t an easy one, even from my second person perspective. It was during this process that my wife thought, “Where’s my monitor? Why isn’t their a monitor on the baby inside me? How can I be certain she is doing OK?”. I’m not sure of the specific number but premature births are something like 1% of all births. A thankfully small number, however, this number can seem pretty big when you are constantly immersed in it. Such is the new perspective my wife has gained.

When she shared this thought with me it certainly resonated. She hasn’t become overly concerned for our new little girls safety or health since this awakening but she does look at her pregnancy and the wonders of the body with even more awe than she previously did. As do I.

Knowledge certainly is power when it isn’t scaring the crap out of you.

Nov 03 15 comments
ext, Papa Prattle

In this corner, wearing a look of desperation…

boxinglg Lately, my eight year old son has been asking me some very deep questions. I have never been an authority regarding the questions he asks, and never will be.

I was raised Catholic, and to this day practice most Catholic traditions. Yet as I get older there are things that are getting harder and harder to reconcile between religion, science, and my faith. I have a scientific mind, yet I still believe in God. Scripture, however, is losing its meaning.

Being alone with my son in a quiet car can prove to be pretty dangerous thing. The lack of an electronic distraction, or something to read, causes his mind to yawn and stretch and venture into it’s inner recesses to dissect things that have been gnawing at him for a while. He spins them around and pokes at them like a mental Rubik’s Cube, usually culminating in some hefty questions when the colors don’t quite line up (If his brain is wired anything like mine this is a pretty accurate metaphor for what is going on in there).

He “rope-a-doped” me the other day by asking me whether I believed that dinosaurs roamed the earth. “Cool”, I thought, “A scientific question.” I answered in the affirmative, then he asked me how that was possible if Adam and Eve were supposed to be around “In the beginning”. I explained to him that manuscripts dating to the era in which that was written were fraught with inconsistencies brought about by eons of mistranslation and over analyzing the texts, and it has rendered them fragmented and convoluted. Nuances of the language, and of the period make it even harder to understand. Prose was commonly used in place of plain speak to flower up certain things, and sometimes the original meanings have been lost to time. I told him that my own personal opinion was that the universe was not formed in 6 days, but that it evolved as we know it, and that billions of years passing was only like 6 days for God. That might have been what that particular author meant, but that does not mean God could not have done it in 6 “human” days had he willed it. He is God after all, and anything is possible for him.

He thought about that for a minute and went on: “What is heaven like? Is it just happiness all the time?” Again, I answered in the affirmative. Then he asked if there were any things to do in Heaven. I explained to him that, from what I understood of Heaven, it was not a place, or feeling, that the human mind could comprehend. I explained that we would probably be surrounded by family members we loved, but that had passed on ahead of us, and that we would be in God’s presence, and his love would envelop us and there would be bliss. Boredom is a human trait, and one that we might not experience in Heaven.  He didn’t mull this over for long before he said, in a very matter-of-fact manner, he was not sure he wanted to go, and that he would probably get bored after a couple of millennia of “just being happy”.

My heart sank. I’ve always been prepared to answer any scientific/technical question he’s ever thrown at me, complete with citing references, and a trip to the Internet for an impromptu show-and-tell. These questions just make me feel like a terrible failure in the Faith department. When I had questions like these growing up they were met with scolding (due to perceived blasphemy) and “Just because!” or “That’s just the way it is!”, so I really have no idea what to do. I just know what NOT to do.

Now I used to think about these very things when I was younger, but not at eight. If he’s thinking about these things at this age, and having some serious trepidation about his faith, what am I in for when he’s 10? At 16? At 21? I’ll try to be ready, although I fear he’ll have me “on the ropes” due to some well thought out questions, arguments and rebuttals. Sometimes it sucks having smart kids.

Nov 02 7 comments
ext, Papa Prattle, Proud Papa

Fade to black

I had a great internal battle when I learned my son’s team had made the regional high school football playoffs. The game was scheduled for Halloween evening which meant choosing between the game and taking the girls trick-or-treating. This was to be the first Halloween where they would both be fully engaged in the moment and I wanted to be part of that experience with them. In the end I chose the game because it could well be the last of his high school career. The girls have many more Halloweens ahead of them.

Our team, the Vikings, were facing the Trojans on the Trojans home field. We had lost to them the first game of the season but we were not the same team that started the season. We had picked up solid momentum as the season progressed and had done a good job of identifying our strengths on the ground.  We were ready to fight and the seniors, my son among them, had no intention of ending their season here. This year marked the 10th straight year the Vikings had made it into the Regional playoffs. One milestone achieved.

Upon arriving I walked around the playing field to the visitors side and thought to myself, this field looks like crap. Turf was missing in many places and the middle of the field, marking the 50 yard line, was more mud and dirt than grass. This was going to be a dirty game. The field seemed to invite battle. I thought my son would appreciate this as he has a romance and passion for the game that is difficult to reckon with.

fade_to_black_01 I brought my camera to the game. I always bring it, weather willing. This game I was invited onto the field to take my shots and happily accepted. I’ve shot too many photos from rickety visitors bleachers to know the outcome is often less than desirable. I took several shots as the boys warmed up for the game. The testosterone and trash talk gaining momentum as each team shot glances and occasional words back and forth. I don’t know that anything rivals the invincibility associated with a winning high school football team.

The game began and the Trojans quickly drew first blood by scoring a touchdown within the first few minutes. We answered as best we could by blocking the extra point and succeeded in sending a clear message that we were here to play. The game marched on and my son played almost every offensive and defensive play. The Vikings white colors quickly faded to a dull grey as more and more turf was unearthed in the battle.

My son and I talked on the phone a few times in the days leading up to the game. He commented that he felt like he was fighting for his life with each game, his football life. He talked of the reality that surrounds those last games of a high school seniors career. The fact that many of those on the team would not be suiting up again once this season ended. So many of these boys have been battling shoulder to shoulder since middle school. Team is too light a word to give justice to the bond many of them have created. They have grown into a family.

fade_to_black_03 The battle continued through the first quarter and found the Trojans scoring again leaving the Vikings scoreless as they marched into the second quarter. The clock was winding towards halftime when the Viking found their momentum and moved the ball into Trojan territory. With a final push they rushed toward the goal marker and closed the quarter with seven points. The teams gathered themselves and filed into their locker rooms. Trojans 13 Vikings 7.

The Vikings have community support the likes of which I have not seen, at least not among any of the teams we have played over the years. Home games are as crowded as they can be and more than once there has been standing room only. Away games are almost as crowded and the visitors bleachers often feel too small. We seem to consistently outnumber the fans of any opposing team. I’ve always thought our kids were very fortunate to know what this kind of support feels like it. The roots in their community run deep.

The third quarter began and the tension was certainly high. Each team struggled with penalties and the offenses could find no victory as the lines fought. Punt after punt found the third quarter closing without any additional points on the board. Trojans 13 Viking 7.

fade_to_black_02 At this point I imagine will trumps endurance. Thus far the battle had been grueling with each yard gained fully earned and each possession lost fully sought after. Neither side was showing a clear sign of weakness though the result of the last three quarters could be seen clearly  on their faces and heard in their breath.

The fourth quarter began with the Trojans working earnestly to maintain their lead. The blocked extra point must have been looming heavy in their minds and constantly considered as they strategized. The Vikings put everything they had left into each play and moved the ball into Trojan territory several times. The clock was rapidly winding down and the Vikings had possession. It’s 4th down and a first down is needed to continue the charge. The ball is snapped. The pass is thrown. The receiver leaps. The defender leaps, nudging the receiver. The ball is briefly touched and falls to the ground. The officials call the pass incomplete and the Vikings sideline and stands come unglued. The call should have been pass interference. The decision stands. Hearts collectively sank.

fade_to_black_04 The Trojans regained possession and let the clock run down to win the game. Trojans 13 Viking 7.

Just like they did when they were eleven and twelve years old they lined up and each Viking met the Trojans as they marched single file up the middle of the field. The boys came back around and met in front of their student section. The cheers of victory were sadly absent as they shared in the loss of the game and the end of the season.

I met my son on the field, with a hug,  and he simply said, “It’s over Dad” while wiping away tears. I told him he had every reason to be proud and they’ve ended the season with their heads held high. All around me parents and coaches were having a similar conversation with other players. One person came up to my son and told him he would be playing on Saturdays soon enough and those games were more fun anyway, speaking of college. The emotion was intense.

The players filed off the field and my son and a few other stayed behind seeming to absorb as much of the last game as they possibly could.

Standing on a field that was not their own.

Fade to black.

fade_to_black_05fade_to_black_06

Oct 24 12 comments
ext, Humor Central, Papa Prattle

Wishful thinking

A couple of times a week my wife will pick up the thirteen year old for horseback riding lessons. We don’t have a good place to ride on our property so we board her horse at a family members house closer to where she lives. This makes it much more convenient for her to spend all the time she would like with her horse without feeling like she has to get us involved every time.

Fall crept into Michigan several weeks ago and these treks to watch big Sis ride are beginning to take their toll on the little kids. It turns out they aren’t too crazy about sitting outside in the weather for a couple of hours watching someone else have all the fun. Of course my wife always brings things for them to do which is really great for a good 20 minutes. The remaining 100 minutes are up for grabs.

Wishful_thinking

On a recent trip my wife attempted to entertain the girls while big Sis was riding. They set off on a bit of a nature walk, cruising along the edge of the wooded property and eventually made it back around to a small pond. The four year old spied what may have been the last dandelion and quickly plucked it. Raising the dandelion to her lips she blew and the seeds floated away. My wife asked what she wished for and the four year old replied, “I wished we weren’t here”.

I guess we should feel good that she doesn’t hide her feelings.

Oct 19 9 comments
Papa Prattle

Potty training and playrooms

cricket … cricket … things have been a little quiet around here lately.

Let me take a moment to bring you up to speed with what we have going on.

I’m taking some time away from the day job to finish a room we added in the basement and work on a formal playroom for the kids. We have started to potty train the two year old. The four year old continues to know more than her parents about everything. Just ask her, she’ll be happy to tell you. My son has a couple of football games left in the season and colleges are beginning to come out of the woodwork. My 13 year old daughter is owning middle school and discovering more and more about herself and others all the time.

We have definitely entered that harried stage of trying to pull it all together. Mostly though, my wife and I look at each other and shake our head and grin. In a few short weeks our family will be turned upside down yet again while we get to know the latest addition. We really can’t wait to meet her.

The current lot of them as they look today.

our lot

Oct 06 9 comments
ext, Heart Strings, Papa Prattle

The Traitor

We took my little girl to her 1 year checkup recently. These scheduled visits are always a mixed bag of emotions for me. On one hand I want to know how much she’s grown, and hear reassurances from the medical man that we’re doing good. On the other hand I know my little one is going to be in pain from the multiple needle pokes within the next few minutes.

I played with her and made her laugh moments before the nurse came in. She was in a great mood, laughing, clapping, and chirping, oblivious to the sharp objects being prepared on the table beside her. Then came the finger poke for some test or other. The nurse squeezed her tiny fingers repeatedly until my baby’s blood filled a little glass tube. I was so proud of her. She was more curious than afraid. Then the nurse asked me to lay the baby down for her shots. Three shots in rapid succession. Two in one leg, and one in the other. The nurse has always been good at this. She was fast, efficient, and caring.

Aww The little girl’s demeanor changed after the first needle. The betrayed look was almost more than I could stand. It wasn’t until the third needle that she started crying, and the tears began to flow. I knew all this was for her own good, but I don’t like hearing her pitiful sobs amid gasping for breath. I hugged her tightly when it was all over.

I quickly took her out of the room for a change of scenery, and to let her play with the toys in the waiting room. More distraction on my part to distance her from what just occurred. She started playing happily, and probably already forgot the episode, but I still felt pretty rotten about my part in the deception and distraction. I always do.

Oct 03 16 comments
ext, Papa Prattle

Choosing sides

Our two year old daughter can be ruthless. She’s at the stage where she’s developing her vocabulary but isn’t quite clear enough to always get her point across. This can prove to be particularly troublesome for her four year old sister as the mounting frustration is often displayed in the form of a closed fist.

Dad: (in another room)

4 year old: She hit me!

2 year old: ma ba!

Dad: Ok. Hold on. Why did you hit sissy?

2 year old: ma ba!

Dad: Your ball?

2 year old: (nodding) yep ma ba!

Dad: You don’t need to hit. Ask sissy if you can play with the ball.

2 year old: Sissy play ba peas

How the rest of this played out is of little importance to the remainder of the post. What’s important to understand is these exchanges occur pretty frequently. My wife made a comment, after just such an exchange, that I seem to favor supporting the four year old while she typically favors the two year old. Favor in this context means that I may initially seek out the two year old as the instigator.

I was a bit taken back when she said this only because I had never given it enough thought to notice. My wife apparently had, as she expounded on the comment. She seems to think that I, being the older brother to a younger brother, can see things easier from the four year olds perspective while my wife, the younger sister to an older brother, remembers well the treatment she would often get and therefore sides with the two year old more often.

You should know this subconscious siding doesn’t happen if said incident occurs in our presence. If this is the case then whomever instigated the act is the one being corrected depending of course upon how late it is and how tired we are. Correcting an incident may sometimes mean starting the bedtime, or naptime, routine a few minutes early.

Now, I have this thing I need to consider when I find myself presented with these “opportunities”. Truth be told, the two year old does instigate a lot of … ugh, I’m doing it again …   OK, I know the way the kids interact is simply an indicator of where each of them are given their collective six years of experience on earth. In short, kids fight. You can’t get around this. I, on the other hand, have a few more than six years experience at my disposal and I can’t even bring myself to calculate what my wife and I have together. The question here is whether the parents running this place can learn to correct their behavior before the kids in question get old enough to react a little more civilly when dealing with disagreements. Yea, my money is on the kids getting there first.

Wait a minute. We have a third little girl arriving in December. This should really mess with things. We are clearly going to be too tired to do things like correcting our behavior.

choosingsides

Sep 30 11 comments
ext, Humor Central, Papa Prattle, Proud Papa

The demise of the citrus flavored ladybug

Our little girl turned one last Saturday. What a momentous occasion. We had friends and family over to celebrate the big event. I thought it turned out great.

cake1 My wife baked her a cake, and I decorated it (our normal routine). She loves cooking, and I love making messes. Our theme for the day was Ladybugs. The cake was a rectangular orange flavored cake covered in Cream Cheese frosting. I used regular white frosting mixed with green, red and black food color to gussy up the cake a little bit. I also made some edible leaves out of green meltable chocolate. The piece-de-resistance was a large, red Ladybug made out of a cupcake. It sat perched on the corner of the main cake, and was to be my daughter’s very own “messy cake”.

We did the normal party stuff. Served food, chit-chatted, mingled, opened presents, and finally, blew out the candle. Little Girl needed big brother’s help with that. Then came the much anticipated devouring of the “messy cake”.

My daughter poked at the cake with trepidation. She pulled her finger back and was surprised to see that the Ladybug’s color was now all over her hand. She squished it around a little bit and put her fingers in her mouth. That was the catalyst. Once she tasted the sweet frosting it was all over. The was frosting and cake crumbs all over her head and hair. She rubbed her eyes and got some in there too.What a mess. We let her enjoy her little cupcake, and when all was said and done she pitched her plate off the high chair and shattered it. Naughty little punk.

The red and black frosting covered her face. The once cute, pixie faced child now looked like an extra from a horror movie. I wiped her down and put her on the floor so she could play with her toys. That night I bathed her before bed and the water in the tub turned pink. I’m still wondering what spots I missed.

messy1

I’m sure she had a tummy ache that night. She was restless and fitful. It could have been all the excitement. It could have been the sugar. I don’t know for sure. One thing I do know is that we now have a pile of battery operated toys with enough KVA to light up a small village. Maybe her letter to Santa this year should include a request for rechargeable batteries, and charging stand.