Wearing the elevate patch 24/7/364

I wanted to be an astronaut when I was child, not only because I loved science and science fiction (I was 12 when Star Wars hit the big screen - sigh), but also the leave the abusive volatility around me behind.

However, I struggled to pass to emotional centrifugal force test, instead withdrawing into non-confrontational vastness of my soul's uncharted space.

And for a kid that's one of the safest places to be. The inside space. Down deep.

Unfortunately as an adult a self-destructive cycle developed: extended non-confrontational withdrawal to explosive pique; all-or-nothing scenario.

That really sucked and not the way to sustain oneself or any relationships. Then 12 years ago I incrementally began to better my centrifugal force stamina, learning that being direct lessened my "hurl" factor, and being less reactive and more mindful really helped me to "elevate" in most situations.

To focus, assess and respond to any highly-charged situation swiftly yet methodically, appropriately and without excess emotion.

To rise above.

It takes a lot of friggin' focus and work, that's for sure.

Like the nicotine patches I remember wearing when quitting smoking for the nth time, I started imagining slapping on a "elevate" patch prior to personal or professional emotional confrontation of any kind.

Like the past few days when my mom was in the hospital hundreds of miles from home and I spoke with my sister to whom I haven't spoken with in over a year.

That was a three-patcher, but well worth throwing Mama and Bea in the car and driving down there to help my parents and spending time with my sister, niece and nephew. First time they've met Beatrice.

The 40-70 rule applies and it's time to work together on this one. I call it fixing a hero sandwich.

What's in the elevate patch you ask? Whatever helps you rise above; every prescription is unique to its user.

From now on I'm gonna wear the elevate patch 24/7/364.

C'mon, gimee one day off, would ya'? (In space no one can hear you scream...)

Because it's been almost a full year and we didn't break her yet.

Beatrice turns 11 months old tonight at 7:00 p.m. I remember her birthday as if it was yesterday - or 11 years ago - or 11 centuries ago. Time is fluid that way, like the surf drudging sand and rock only to spill it back up on the shore over here, or over there.

Or everywhere; I like being covered with Bea. Happy 11 months Beatrice!

However, as of a week ago, Mama A and I weren't fully aligned on whether or not to have a big and formal 1st birthday party. It's a lot of work and money and Bea's not going to remember it anyway, right? Sure, it's great to have the pictures and videos - and Lord knows we've already done plenty of that in the first 11 months - our TotSpot and Facebook family and friends have seen 'em all.

There are families with rich cultural traditions with huge, sometimes lavish 1st birthday parties. Our own families always throw 1st birthday parties. It's a glorious celebration when your baby hits the first year mark!

But what about the cost? When you search online for the "cost of baby birthdays" you get quite a broad range - $50 to $38,000. Interesting expenditure stories online.

What the --?

Regardless of socioeconomic strata, cultural and/or religious beliefs, me and Mama finally compromised and decided to have a more casual birthday for Bea. We're not in a birthday competition so no wagering at home.

Actually it is a party for us, because it's been almost a full year and we didn't break her yet. Yep, still intact.

It's still Bea's 1st birthday party - for us - with family and friends and food, cake and fun. No bouncy houses, no ponies, no starship rides and definitely no scary clowns. That crap comes next year on birthday number 2. (Yes, I'll have to work on Mama for the starship rides.)

Don't worry, Bea will still have fun. Like I said, we'll take plenty of pictures for Beatrice to look at when she's older.

What about gifts you ask? Oh, Bea gifts are good. Very, very good.

It's her party after all.

Separation anxiety and Bea's blood-curdling "where the frick is Mama" cry

Mama A always says that even though Beatrice is Mama's girl for now, she'll end up being Daddy's girl for the rest of her life.

That may be true, but right now she's definitely Mama's girl, hands down, and we've been experiencing separation anxiety full force.

It's not that we leave her alone much with others - her babysitter Elyse has had little problem with Bea missing Mama too much once a week, and my Friday Daddy-care day works out nicely with me and Bea bonding.

This weekend we've been at Mama's 20-year high school reunion and had events Friday and Saturday nights. Her family - mother, sister and niece - have watched her before and Beatrice really likes them all (including playing with her 2-year-old cousin Braxton).

However, last night was a tough one. We were hoping to make it past 10:00 p.m., which is an hour past our usual bedtime. Two calls later about Bea's blood-curdling "where the frick is Mama" cries - one at 8:30 and one at 9:30, and that was all she wrote.

No boogie shoes for Mama and me.

We got Beatrice to bed with fuzzy and thumb, and then realized we hadn't paid our bar tab at the reunion dinner. Whoops. Mama's mom drove her back down to the restaurant to take care of it.

Hey, at least she still got a dance in with her friends, but how much fun can you have with your mother? (wink)

When it comes to separation anxiety, quite a bit. At least between 6 months and 3 years old.

I found some great strategies at KidsHealth.org that can help ease kids and parents through this sometimes difficult period:

• Timing is everything. Try not to start day care or child care with an unfamiliar person when your little one is between the ages of 8 months and 1 year, when separation anxiety is first likely to appear. Also, try not to leave when your child is likely to be tired, hungry, or restless. If at all possible, schedule your departures for after naps and mealtimes.

• Practice. Practice being apart from each other, and introduce new people and places gradually. If you're planning to leave your child with a relative or a new babysitter, then invite that person over in advance so they can spend time together while you're in the room. If your child is starting at a new day care center or preschool, make a few visits there together before a full-time schedule begins. Practice leaving your child with a caregiver for short periods of time so that he or she can get used to being away from you.

• Be calm and consistent. Create a exit ritual during which you say a pleasant, loving, and firm goodbye. Stay calm and show confidence in your child. Reassure him or her that you'll be back — and explain how long it will be until you return using concepts kids will understand (such as after lunch) because your child can't yet understand time. Give him or her your full attention when you say goodbye, and when you say you're leaving, mean it; coming back will only make things worse.

• Follow through on promises. It's important to make sure that you return when you have promised to. This is critical — this is how your child will develop the confidence that he or she can make it through the time apart.

Wait, I think I hear a "where the frick is Mama" cry. Good-bye.

Family, Leadership and the Hot-Button Self-Check Coaching Train

I wrote recently about how there should be parenting leadership 101 classes. Seriously. So many things we're taught in K-12, and then in college, but personal responsibility, leading oneself, leading others, community and parenting aren't specifically part of the required curriculum.

Maybe there are examples out there today; it's been many moons since I've been in school and many more until Bea starts.

I hope there are. But what about hot-button self-check coaching? With the exception of therapy (sigh), I've never seen these classes in school.

My sister and I got very good pushing each others hot buttons growing up. Chasing each other around the house until we frothed at the mouth with butter knives and glass ashtrays in hand - that's the way we began each other's flash-temper reckoning day after day. Mother always wanted us to work it out, but if it escalated to semi-violent behavior, interventions intervened. That's good mama leadership.

But as adults, unchecked verbal or physical hot-button tantrums should be a thing of childhood past. What's that psych 101 self-check mantra again?

Life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you respond to it?

Again, that doesn't matter much to raging siblings, but it should mean a lot to us as parents as leaders of our families, communities, companies and beyond.

I read a great blog post yesterday from the Leadership Now blog titled Taking Control of the Story: Four Helpful Questions to Ask.

When emotions run high we tend to throw everything we know out the window.

You don't have to tell me twice. Whether it be at home or at work, hot buttons abound. I was just meeting with my leadership development coach yesterday, talking about how we create virtual quicksand traps for ourselves, responding reactively instead of self-checking and responding thoughtfully and effectively. Hot buttons aren't usually based on fact and get us into some awfully painful pickles.

The above post (and book titled Crucial Conversations) suggests we ask ourselves four helpful questions to get ourselves into constructive dialogue and separate "stories" from "facts" when hot buttons are pushed:

• Am I pretending not to notice my role in the problem?
• Why would a reasonable, rational, and decent person do this?
• What do I really want?
• What would I do right now if I really wanted these results?

I read another great related post this morning titled Leadership Development is Essential in the Family Unit that really solidifies where I'm coming to stand on families as the building blocks of true life leadership. Cultural differences aside, families pass on the positive and negative traits that both build and destroy community.

Can you imagine if everyone increased personal responsibility and family leadership by even 10% the impact that would have on domestic violence, child abuse, elder abuse and all kinds of violence in between?

Not everyone will be a leader of others beyond their families, but we're sure as hell responsible for leading ourselves first no matter what; get off the ground and tie your own shoes first.

Then get on the hot-button self-check coaching train and bring your kids along.

Baby B milestones: There are a million of them

Most new parents are thrilled and amazed at their babies' mental and physical development, particularly from six months on. Every little baby nuance of sound, smell, taste, touch and other motor movements can be as profound as heavenly miracles.

And that's what they are - aggregate miracles from heaven that culminate and morph into a mini-me and a mini-you.

We participate regularly with glee and reverence in the ascent of Beatrice.

She's 10 months, 16 days, 12 hours, 30 minutes and 45 seconds old. Every second is a milestone, isn't it?

She's a babbling brook of sound. Saying "ma-ma" and "da-da" and "a-ma" and "a-da" and "blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-walla-walla-washington". It's a beautiful, sometimes overwhelming sound, depending on her volume, which is getting louder.

She speaks in sign. A little. Mama A's been teaching her and she's retained milk (squeezing the cow udder) and blanket (pull shirt down or up or something like that). She also knows what the eating and drinking motions mean, although it's the babbling brook of sound that jumps to roaring rapids when she's hungry.

She reads books. Or more accurately enjoys being read to and loves looking at all the pages and flipping them herself.

Her face has blossomed into a rainbow of emotion - happy, hungry, angry and frownie brownie!

She has hair. No more Peanuts' cartoon head with pencil wisps of hair. Bea now has a fine layer of white-blond hair on her head and it comes in more everyday! (Okay, still looks like a Peanuts' cartoon head, but still.)

She has teeth. Well, 1.2 teeth and growing. One of her front incisors has risen from the gum depths causing her flashes of indescribable pain and her mouth to drool incessantly. The .2 will be one more soon and the other chompers aren't far behind.

She has an Ellen Barkin smile. And oh my is that gonna break hearts someday.

She feeds herself. And her lap. With her hands. No utensils yet.

She's point and waving. At people, wall pictures, ghosts, the TV, her toys, furniture and our 300-year-old cat.

She's eating dirt and sand. What childhood isn't complete without eating dirt and sand? Chock full of minerals, Bea enjoys supplementing her daily diet.

She's eating my MacBook laptop cord. Another delicious addition to her diet, my laptop cord found its way into her mouth recently and then wouldn't charge my battery until it dried out overnight.

She's cruising. No Al Pacino movies or teenage cat-call main drag driving here. We're talking shuffling on both feet while pulling herself along the couch, the coffee table and other pieces of furniture. Plus, she's walking around more and more aided at first with both our hands and now she's down to one-hand walking!

She's falling down. Beings that ascend must also fall down occassionally, and a lot when you're a baby. She's taking the butt and noggin bumps in stride, though.

And she walked unaided! Yes, earlier this week she got brave and took her first few steps on her own with no parental-handed aid! Amazing and thrilling. Her bravery has since waned though; she really wants our assistance. It's as if she has horizontal vertigo. No worries, we're her guides!

The ever-amazing-exponential-developmental Baby B.

You can do the proud papa dance with me if you want.

Did you hear? The only choice you have is not to smoke. Addiction is selfish that way.

Mama A and I are big fans of Madmen, the dramatic series about an ad agency in New York in the early 1960's. The new season starts in August and we can't wait. There's currently fun promotion on the AMC Madmen website that allows you to Madmen Yourself. You can see my evil-eye-patch-marketing-twin avatar in this post, complete with a cigarette and a martini.

One of the main characters, Don Draper, isn't the poster-father-husband of goodness and light. Far from it. He's a complicated and dark character that makes for good dramatic fiction, and so his character isn't supposed to be a role for fathers - then or now.

But man, I miss the smoking. Yep, didn't I tell you? I was a smoker for almost 20 years. Loved it, especially when drinking. The alcohol accentuated the burning flow of smoke-filled nicotine to head, heart and lungs - setting every cell afire.

In fact, the first thing I did every morning was light up. Two cigarettes from the get go before anything else. I looked forward to the smack many times throughout the day.

There's a very cool song by K's Choice called "I'm not an addict" and part of the repetitive chorus goes:

It's not a habit, it's cool
I feel alive
If you don't have it you're on the other side
I'm not an addict (maybe that's a lie).

Yes, it is a lie. I don't miss smoking. I miss the way nicotine lit me up like a neon sign while calming me at the same time. It's the drug I miss.

You don't choose to smoke once you've started. One cigarette and then a pack and you're on the hook for more. You're hooked on the smack, simple as that.

You don't choose to smoke once you've started. The only choice you have is not to smoke. Addiction is selfish that way. (Learned that from Nicotine Anonymous.)

When we were in Illinois a couple of weeks ago, it seemed as though we passed a cigarette "emporium" every few blocks. Exaggerating, yes, but still there were many. In fact we passed the "Cigarette Emporium" whose sign said:

We like smokers!

Of course you do, silly.

My official quit date was September 22, 2002, and although I've fallen down a few times since, I'm sticking to that date. (And thank goodness I had Mama A for "forceful" moral support.)

According to the American Heart Association, cigarette smoking is the most important preventable cause of premature death in the United States. It accounts for more than 440,000 of the more than 2.4 million annual deaths.

Some may consider that a great way to thin out the herd, but I'd prefer car accidents to addictive carcinogens. Colour me crazy (the British way).

Check out the website thetruth.com. You've probably seen the controversial commercials and the site doesn't disappoint.



A fun factoid from thetruth.com: In 1978, one tobacco executive said that "unhappiness causes cancer."

Wow. It's pretty clear where they're coming from.

According to the New York Times, in 1998, one tobacco executive said, "Nobody knows what you’d turn to if you didn’t smoke. Maybe you’d beat your wife."

Please. Cigarettes got nothing on domestic violence.

This year was the third year I ran the local race Wharf to Wharf. It's a 10K and every mile before and after that race, or any other race I may run, is a mile run for my life, my wife and my child.

Like I said, addiction is selfish and non-discriminatory. Fellow daddies (and mommies) out there who still smoke or battle with addiction of any kind, get help and let yourself be helped.

The only choice you have is not to do it. You've got your families and futures counting on you.

The bosom feels safe and warm again, exactly where I want us to Bea.

Some of my fondest family memories are those when our entire extended family on my mom's side would gather for Easter, the 4th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Second only to the holidays themselves, being a little kid snuggled safely in the family bosom was the only place I wanted to be. The being at home the rest of the year with an abusive alcoholic father and then abusive first step-father wasn't much fun (and the very rare extended family gathering on that side).

So between my mom and sister, grandparents, my mom's two sisters and all our cousins, there was much family fun and love to share. Now, that didn't mean there weren't adult problems between my mom and aunts and other varying forms of family dysfunction.

But the bosom was still safe and warm. And then we grew up.

I was in college the last time we had a family holiday meal together. Thanksgiving. My sister and I sat at the kiddie table, but I didn't really mind. Since then there's only been a handful of times we've gathered. All three were funerals: my grandfather, my aunt, my grandmother.

At my grandmother's funeral my cousins and I were older and a little wiser, most of them had children as did my sister, and we had the best intentions of getting together more often. My mom and sister did get together with them at other non-funeral events, mainly because they all lived in Visalia and Fresno still, where we all grew up.

I didn't, though. Mama A and I lived in Santa Cruz and we didn't have children, and weren't planning to.

Even the most open-hearted of men don't form the familial bond like women do. Women carry the family flame, children or not, and are usually the ones who keep the fires stoked.

Unfortunately even my immediate family's embers are barely a-glow now. My mom and dad battle daily with broken bodies that get weaker and weaker and live too far away, my sister and I are estranged, we rarely talk to her children, and our having a child hasn't made one bit of difference (with the exception of my parents).

I have however rekindled some family love with my dear Auntie M's family and that's a start (Auntie M was married to my birth father's brother).

I'm learning how to start those fires. Hey, daddies can learn stuff, too.

Fortunately Mama A's extended family remains close and our recent trips to see them in Nevada and Illinois has again restored my faith in family. It was our first trip to see the Illinois family and they were all so very gracious to us and happy to meet Beatrice. And Beatrice earned her wings on her first flight! Woot!

My lessons learned in the Land of Lincoln: lead self, lead family, lead the future.

The bosom feels safe and warm again, exactly where I want us to Bea.

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