It wasn't their fault. I was late picking them up from school knowing that I had a work call I had to get back to. I had sat in the car, getting more anxious with every second that passed, texting them to hurry up.
I called our oldest Beatrice. "C'mon, I have to get back," I said. "We're coming," she said. Seconds passed. Then a minute. The rubicon of me not making it back in time for my call was coming.
It was a busy time at work for me. Still is. The weight of things I had to do combined with my perception of the state of world and our country became an avalanche of glacial darkness. I could feel the impotent rage not far behind.
I texted both Beatrice and our youngest Bryce. They said they were coming. Finally, I could see them approaching the car. It had only been a few minutes, but it felt like a span of geological time.
They got in the car. Bryce said hi. Beatrice said she was really tired. I don't even remember what I said at first, just that my voice escalated with rage as I pulled into the street to drive home. I yelled and pounded on the steering wheel. I vaguely remember babbling about how hard I work for our family to support them, and how I have so many things to do, and how they didn't seem to care about that.
Then it was over. Neither of them said a word. I'm not even sure they breathed for a minute after that. I know I didn't. I felt horrible, but I was still mad. We drove in silence for a few minutes. I kept my gaze forward watching the road ahead.
My anger drained away and I felt empty and ashamed. I knew I had scared them. "I'm sorry I yelled at you both," I said. "I'm just really busy and frustrated about work right now." I sounded muted, like I was on the other side of a room from them speaking quietly. No one spoke the rest of the way home.
Once we got home, I told my wife Amy that I had "flipped my lid" and yelled at the kids. I then went straight upstairs for my work call. I struggled to stay focused during the call, but I got through it.
Afterwards I got the opportunity to apologize again to both of them. Bryce seemed aloof about what had happened (such a teen) but appreciated my apology. Beatrice and I had a positive, reflective conversation about what had happened. She appreciated my apology, too, and apologized for not hurrying to the car. I told her it wasn't their fault, because it really wasn't. We told each other we loved each other and reconciled.
It's rare that Amy and I blow up at the kids, or at each other, but it's happened over the years. We're human, but usually centered, empathic, respectful, and mindful in how we treat each other and communicate with each other, and with our kids. I'm still the grumpy dad sometimes, yes, and we're still the parents and they are the teens. We are all sometimes overwhelmed by our own ancient limbic system and biological breakdowns. We know they're learning to adult, and we want them to model loving and resilient humans who understand life can feel overwhelming at times, but how we react to it makes all the difference in our quality of life.
So, for my birthday today, I will celebrate my family and our quality-of-life difference.
The hopeful yet trite saying that most people are good must still be somewhat true, otherwise half of us would always be hating the other half.
[Pause]
Maybe that's not fair, to think that half of America, or half the world, hates the other half. That's an over-simplified view of the human experience, even in the realities of today. However, the history of humankind has shown us again and again how easily others are marginalized and trampled underfoot, usually by those in power and the way the wind blows. Plus, our biological human history has been a continuous struggle between the want of experiencing immediate and irrational gratification and self-preservation, and the painful emotional dissonance of rational evolution.
In other words, we're mostly feeling beings who sometimes think, no matter the amazing human accomplishments throughout history. I certainly raise my hand in full admittance here.
As a species, we have evolved rationally, ethically, and spiritually, and every generation tests this progress by demanding evidence and pointing out how fallible we are. My wife Amy and I are experiencing that right now with both our teen daughters. Two questioning kids on their own paths to independence and their own identities who grapple with the human-condition realities of today.
Our oldest Beatrice currently has an honors World History course that we help quiz her on and we always get the tough ethical questions of why. They're studying World War II now, the Holocaust, and development of the atomic bombs the U.S. dropped on Japan to attempt to end the war. Why were over six million Jewish people exterminated? Why did we kill over 200,000 people with the atomic bombs?
And the list of questions goes on and on. Just like I remember doing when I was a teenager. All the hard questions, all the time, and never feeling satisfied with the answers I received. "Most people are good, and sometimes we do bad things, and God forgives us all."
In my lifetime since, I've always wanted to believe that we've evolved ethically and spiritually, but over time, especially today, I don't think I've ever seen so many poor male and female role models in government leadership, business leadership, and everyday personal leadership who fully embrace, justify, and normalize misogyny, harassment, sexual assault, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, corruption, grift, hate, and violence.
And I go back many decades now. These detrimental ideals are embraced, then denied, and then forgiven. But they never go away. The fragmented and biased media coverage hasn't helped. The constant misinformation hasn't helped (artificial intelligence and automation has fueled this, too). Finding God hasn't helped either and has perpetuated more hate than love. And the questions from our children pile up.
Author James Baldwin wrote, "I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain." That's why I recommend more study of inclusive empathy, understanding, and love, to be empathic allies, but that would mean folks would have to deal with their pain, the pain of why we hate and what we have to give up and give in to do that, and again, human biology fights that tooth and nail.
Amy and I agree we've been judgmental about others and about current events we've discussed in front of our children, about how we see the world and the poor role models around us (and the good ones too), but it's never done out of malice. Anger and frustration sometimes, but never malice. This is why we've worked on as adults and parents is finding joy in the success of others, of those overcoming obstacles and improving their lives and mental health, and more, and how we can help or support their success. In other words, what it's like to have empathy and understanding where others are at, and why they are where they're at. Something our teens remind us of every single day with their adult commentaries.
Blessings to all those poor role models out there in the world today. I hope some of them can turn it around, for the sake of all our children and grandchildren, and especially for the sake of their own children and grandchildren.
Because think about what all the children and grandchildren see and hear and what it does to them, how it taints their perception of others and the world. We can choose to love and understand, or we can choose to hate and minimize. Of course it's not a simple dichotomy; human experience is definitely more complex than we acknowledge and the gradations of good and bad are gray at best sometimes. Again, we're mostly feeling beings who sometimes think, so let's "get on with it anyway" and think more about how we're feeling, why we're feeling, and what to do about it that's inclusive for everyone.
Amy and I believe we can be better, and we can do better. All our children and grandchildren are counting on us.
“We must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope."
―Martin Luther King, Jr
My wife Amy and I have always loved "end of the world" stories. When we first met, we discovered we had both read Lucifer's Hammer, a 1977 novel about a comet breaking apart and striking earth and the survival story afterwards, and still talk about it to this day. Then there was The Stand by Stephen King and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, and television shows like The Walking Dead (based on graphic novels), Station Eleven (based on a novel), The Last of Us (based on a video game), and The Handmaid's Tale (based on Margaret Atwood's novel, and now a little too close to home). Plus, many more novels, movies, and TV shows in between.
Ultimately for us both it was less about the why of the end, no matter how horrible the aftermath, and more about the how of human perseverance and survival laced with empathy and love. As long as there was a thread of hope and love in the story with empathic protagonists, then it reaffirmed our own hopefulness and love for humankind. Of course, that was just as true for us in everyday nonfiction stories, too.
Including reelecting a convicted authoritarian president (and a congress majority) who only leads with misogyny, racism, anger, and fear, reaffirmed again and again by constant misinformation and lies for the past decade. Over half the U.S. who supported him may disagree with that, and/or overlook it, and/or not care.
The world may or may not end with a cataclysmic bang because of this; maybe it'll only end in a whimper and we'll survive this real-life dystopian future that's coming. In the meantime, it's still soul-crushing to believe that so many of us are driven by that much grievance, anger, and fear. Because ultimately it was never about the price of eggs. That was simply an unfortunate by-product of supply-and-demand economics that most of us don't even understand or care to.
We're all fallible, feeling beings who sometimes think, not the other way around. It's always been easier to have scapegoats, others to blame for our misgivings and misfortunes, but history has shown again and again how this all ends. That's what worries me the most. Not the end of America or World War III, but the more immediate danger of a newly empowered harassment and violence escalation against women, the LGBTQ+ community, people of color, immigrants, neurodivergent people, people of different religions, and empathic allies like my wife, our children, and me (and many of you). The targets on our backs have never been bigger. And it's not just coming -- it's already here.
Thankfully a dear friend reminded me that we do need to continue to fight the good fight on the ground in the communities where we live. To be empathic allies who lead with love, hope, and understanding and help ensure basic human rights and safety equity for all. And that's exactly what we're going to do. Blessings to us all.
My mind is mired in work. I'm stuck in a problem; I'm stuck at a light. We are stuck at a light. I'm driving my family somewhere. To where again? I'm not sure. I don't remember. The light's still red.
How do we solve for our growth problem at work? The market's never been more in our favor, but hitting a wall trying to figure it out. We've created the right services, but what else was our consultative approach missing?
Frustrating. Where are we driving to again? Down to the water? Our dog Jenny's in the car, so we must be going somewhere to walk her. To the dog beach maybe? Where everyone takes their dogs? It's not that far away; it's time to take a work break anyway. The light's still red.
It's hot. We're having a warm spell in spring. The drought is still with us and isn't going anywhere. We're using too much water at home. Have to curb what we're using each day.
Red light. Inflation. Recession fears. War in Ukraine. Work stress. Drought. Family stress. Tweens and teens growing up—
The light's now green. There are many cars behind me and some in front of me. We're supposed to cross the road, right? Turn left? I'm not sure and I don't commit either way. My family is talking to each other; I don't know what they're saying.
My wife asks me if I'm going straight. That's when this younger guy in a solar company work car (I can see the word "solar" clearly but that's all) goes around me on the right to cross the highway and I hear:
"Why don't you turn on your fucking signal!"
It feels like slow motion, but now I feel anger quickly. I raise my right hand and flip him off and mouth the words "fuck you." I don't say them out loud, but our kids in the back seat see what I do, feel my anger and frustration. I want to punch him in the face. My wife Amy feels my anger and frustration. It's not a great moment for me.
"Are you going to go?" Amy asks me.
I cross the highway and the young guy in the solar car is right in front of me. He turns left and we turn right.
As I refocus on the moment and driving my family safely in the car, I say, "I'm so sorry family. That was not how you're supposed to respond to people like that."
"It's okay, Dad. He was being mean to you," our oldest Beatrice says.
"Yeah, how rude," our youngest Bryce says.
But I could feel Amy's eyes on me. We work so hard to manage our emotions and respond positively to even the most negative of situations, especially in front of the girls. We talk about it every week at our family meetings. Ugh, but I blew it by flipping the guy off.
"Again, I'm sorry," I say.
"It's okay. It happens," she says. "But we should call that guys company and report him. He represents his company driving that car and cursing at us like that is subpar."
"Agreed," I say.
Our girls concurred, "That's right!"
I smile. We've got each other's backs. As adults, we're always stuck at red lights mired in adult problems, and if we can take a break, we should take one. We can't control how others respond to us, but we are responsible of how we react and interact, no matter how we feel. Always stuck in the middle with me, that is.
I thought it was the trigger. When she said, "What's it to you?"
What my wife Amy said to me wasn't meant to be mean. A little ornery, but not purposefully mean. It was more defensive posturing based on what I said to her and our two girls. And yet, the moment quickly erupted with the heat of a roaring fire.
It was just about taking baths, for God's sake. Our girls they take baths every day. Sometimes twice a day.
I do not. That's a lot of water and energy to heat the water every day. And after dinner every night when I'm doing the dishes and loading the dishwasher and the girls are taking their usual one bath per day, sometimes they run the hot water too much and I end up with lukewarm water to rinse the dishes with. That bugs me.
On one level it's a dad thing, being concerned about water and power, although these regular baths haven't pushed up our water or power bills at all (heating my garage office with an electric heater actually does that).
So after dinner one night the two baths issue came up. I had already been complaining for a few weeks about losing hot water after dinner.
And that's when I said, "The girls cannot take two baths a day."
"Yes, we can!" the girls said together.
Then Amy said, "What's it to you?"
Which was to me. Then I said, "Then you pay the bills, Amy!"
That outburst shocked Amy and the girls. Things escalated further with the f-word and pounding the table and yelling from both of us. Beatrice and Bryce looking surprised and a little scared. Although it wasn't the first time we've fought, we haven't had many of them over the years. Disagreements, yes, but heated fights, not so much. Even in the year of COVID-19 and stay-at-home orders and distance learning and everybody in the house all the time, not at all. Until now.
Thankfully I checked myself and used my own Kidpower version of "calm down power." I took a deep breath and just let it go. I understood that in these times of intense emotional triggers, the eruption duration leads to further escalation, and there's a split-second when the angry maw could consume us all. Amy told the girls to go upstairs and take their baths. As they quickly climbed the stairs, I apologized to Amy and even tried to joke that I should call Irene, the executive director and founder of Kidpower, and tell her I needed a remedial course on managing emotional triggers.
Amy wanted to make sure there was nothing else bothering me. There wasn't. She apologized for her flippant response, and we apologized to each other for escalating the situation, which in reality was a non-situation.
It wouldn't be until a few days later when I would realize the true trigger wasn't literally what she said, it was more about an ongoing issue for me (and many men) -- the false sense of being emasculated, to be made to feel weaker as a man for usually inane reasons. Patriarchy can be a soul sucker, that's for sure, and that combined with millions years of biology and my very own blue genes, it's a super soul sucker.
But the beauty of this breakdown is that I was again reminded that I'm married to a loving and strong, emboldened and empathic, independent and interdependent, human being, who just happens to be female.
That I'm a father of two loving and strong, emboldened and empathic, independent and interdependent, human beings, who just happen to be females.
That I'm a loving and strong, emboldened and empathic, independent and interdependent, human being, who just happens to be male.
When the girls came down from their baths, I apologized to them both for how I had acted.
"It's okay, Dad," Bea said.
"Did you call Irene at Kidpower?" Bryce said.
I laughed. "You heard that? Ha! That's funny, Bryce."
"Well, did you?"
I laughed again. "I love you both."
"We love you too, Dad."
And there it was, another mindful #BhivePower moment in another New Year, and a reminder we're a family that just happens to be human.
"You're the best thing about me The best thing that ever happened a boy You're the best thing about me I'm the kind of trouble that you enjoy You're the best thing about me The best things are easy to destroy You're the best thing about me The best thing about me..."
"Heat of the moment Curse of the young Spit out your anger Don't swallow your tongue..." –Rush, Stick It Out
Every morning it's the same thing: we have to tell them more than twice. After weekday breakfast and morning homework (yes, we have them do homework in the mornings when they're fresh and the fact that we're all up early every day), then there's free time before school. This includes playing with their toys or a little TV and/or iPad time.
And then it's time for both girls to brush teeth and brush hair and finish getting dressed for school so they can leave on time. Every time it's the same things. We know it. They know it. The things never vary much on a school day.
But every time we have to tell them more than twice.
"Beatrice and Bryce, IT'S TIME TO GO TO SCHOOL! PLEASE GET READY!" calls out the Mama, what I lovingly call my wife, and the one who does most the wrangling. I follow her lead and follow up.
"BRYCE, PUT THE IPAD AWAY AND GET READY!"
"GEESH! I'M DOING IT!"
"BRYCE! NOW!"
"GEESH!"
"BEATRICE, THAT MEANS YOU TOO!"
"I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME; I'M DOING IT!"
"THEN DO IT!"
"I AM DOING IT! YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME ALL THE TIME!"
Oh my Beatrice and Bryce, but we do...
And then everyone's done and they're out the door off to school. Our kids may still be a few years from the ALL CAPS teen world, but we're definitely an ALL CAPS family now. Most of us know what that means in the texting and email worlds, that ALL CAPS means yelling, whether in excitement or anger.
We're not really screaming at each other, though, not like you would if the heat of the moment escalated and you're literally mad to a boiling point. No, this is more heat of the moment direct communication, a related segue, something we encourage, just not always the bump in volume. This is the parent and older child dance performed daily, and while we don't want them to unnecessarily talk back, we do want them to speak up.
Internalizing angst, deflecting one's own emotional reaction to everyday situations, and avoiding direct and honest communication are things I had my fill of throughout childhood and young adulthood. Even the early years with Amy before she was the Mama, I would shut down like nuclear reactor melting down at its core, and not talk about what was bothering me. At least not until my foundation cracked with sulfurous radioactivity.
Not at all proud moments in the ALL CAPS emotional rage within affecting the loved ones around me. It took time to unravel from that behavior, but unravel I did.
Today we're direct, open and honest with each other and with our children. And in turn, we encourage our girls to do the same with us and others and not to take things personally and react retaliatory, which isn't easy for kids and adults alike. We create a safe space to talk about anything that needs to be talked about, reflecting on our days each and every day, giving thanks and sharing what we're grateful for, and what we might be angry about.
For us, being an ALL CAPS family means being a vocal interdependent unit of independent beings growing up with each other. Helping each other be better humans in a world where too many reactors are melting down at their cores.
And yet, whether we have to tell them more than twice about doing something or not, we're their parents first and foremost, helping their developing minds and souls grow into something special -- and to get all the friggin' stuff done that needs to get done.
It's been a week since the three words stung me. The pain has since subsided, but the memory lingers on like a healing itch.
The Daddy Day plan was to go to the Seymour Marine Discovery Center, what the girls call the "little aquarium" (we call the Monterey Bay Aquarium the "big aquarium"), and then go to Natural Bridges State Beach and check out the Monarch butterflies. The Mama was away for the day getting some much needed R&R with her best friend, and so I was in charge.
Which is fine. It ain't my first rodeo; the girls and I have had many fun solo adventures prior to this one. The Mama made sure I had plenty of snacks packed (note to self: always have snacks at the ready when adventuring with your children). And of course, don't forget the water. I brought plenty of both with us.
We weren't even going that far away, but the girls and I both were excited to again check out the little aquarium. The warm weather made for a spectacular day and off we went. At first, the adventure was smooth sailing. We went inside the Seymour Center and participated in their scavenger hunt, each girl marking off the different fish and sea creatures we found from an erasable laminated sheet. Or, more accurately, Daddy marking off Bryce's sheet with Beatrice kind of managing hers, but both the girls did help me identify all the various ocean animals and winning a creature necklace in the process (that I ended up wearing).
From swell sharks to sea cucumbers to the touch tanks filled with hermit crabs and green sea anemones -- the girls had a blast. And so did I. Of course they hounded me for a gift from the gift shop before we left, and I caved for something small for each girl.
Back out into the sunshine the girls then wanted to play on the elephant seal statues for a bit. But then a cold front brewed inside Bryce. This happens when she gets hungry and her passive-aggressive behavior becomes a sudden thunderstorm.
"I want to go home now!"
"Let's have a snack, Bryce," I said. "We still want to go see the butterflies after this.
"No! I want to go home!"
"No, Bryce. We're not going home," said Bea.
"Girls, let's have a snack and then we'll go see the butterflies and then go home and have lunch."
"No!"
Ugh.
We took a break and had a snack, which seemed to clear Bryce's angry sky, and then walked around the Seymour Center along the ocean cliffs and back around to where the big whale skeletons were. We were doing okay, although Bryce still wanted to go home, so I should've known better and cut our losses then and there. But I didn't, and we drove over to Natural Bridges. When we got out of the car, the storm clouds were waiting on the side of the road like sketchy hitchhikers cursing under their breath.
Stalemate #1: Bryce wouldn't budge. We had started along one of the trails toward the Monarch butterfly grove and Bryce still didn't want to go. She stopped cold, plopped down on her butt and stubbornly whined that she wasn't going any farther. This fun exchange lasted about five minutes until finally I agreed we could go to the gift shop to look but not buy anything else, but then we'd still have to go see the butterflies. Bryce reluctantly agreed and we were off again.
Stalemate #2: We immediately hit another trailhead and again Bryce refused to go on, crying even more adamantly that she wanted to go home. Bea jumped in the angry fray telling Bryce she had to go see the butterflies. Then sister bickering ensued. There were a lot of families out hiking through Natural Bridges, many from other countries, their various languages drifted by us while we stood there on a little wooden bridge along the trail and argued. We were there for at least another 10 minutes while Bryce said she wanted to go and Bea said she wanted to stay. I waited and was patient and did everything I could to keep focused on the principals of positive discipline.
"Girls, the longer we stand here, the less time we'll have to see the butterflies."
"I want to go home!"
"I want to see the butterflies!"
Ugh. Another five minutes went by with them only agreeing to disagree and I finally said, "Girls, we're going home now. If you can't agree on what we're going to do, then we're going home. It's time for lunch anyway."
Stalemate #3: Bryce got onboard with that, but Beatrice did not. In fact, Beatrice's storm clouds broke and that's all she wrote; she wasn't budging. But Bryce took off back up the trail, no matter how many times I told her to stop. Bea's arms were crossed.
"Bryce! Stop right now!" I yelled. "Bea, c'mon now, we're going home!"
"No!" they both shouted back at me.
A German family came down the trail tentatively (I heard them talking, which is how I knew), hearing our shouts and sensing our distress and probably reading the angry daddy on my face. And the fact that I held Beatrice's wrist in my fist pulling her toward me didn't help the situation.
"Hi," I said as they passed.
"Hi," they echoed uncomfortably and scurried on down the trail.
"Beatrice, we're going home now! Bryce wait for us!"
"No!"
Ugh. That was it. I had tried to be patient and calm. I tried to negotiate with them. I tried to muster up my positive discipline and Kidpower powers, but to no avail. They were dead to me. Daddy Goat Gruff firmness stomped its hooves and we were not playin' no more. I pulled Beatrice up the trail, caught up to Bryce, and then finally got them both headed to the car on their own power.
Stalemate #4: But when we got to the car and I got Bryce buckled in, Beatrice stood defiantly next to the car. She wanted to sit in the front seat. Nearing exasperation, I told her she could not sit in the front seat as it was against the law. Instead, she sat in the front passenger seat. That's when I got really pissed off.
"That's it," I said, scrambling around the car to get Bea from the front seat to her booster seat in the back. "We are done and going home now! I'm tired of this crap and you both not agreeing and not listening to me! Get your butts in the car!"
Bryce screamed and cried that she was already in the car as I got in the driver seat. In the rearview mirror Bea's face beamed red with anger. I could almost hear her growling.
"No TV or iPads when we get home! I will fix lunch but nothing else. I'm so disappointed, girls. I thought we were going to have a nice time today."
It was at that moment I was stung (and stunned).
"I hate you!"
That was Beatrice. Three words. One big sting. She was furious with me. Bryce began saying something else through her tears, but I didn't hear her. Beatrice's red face glowed in the mirror.
All I could think about was -- wow, that hurt -- and -- wow, I'm proud of her. Really. Those two things simultaneously. Yes, almost every parent deals with their child's defiance and the words "I hate you." And yes, it hurt, but it also didn't surprise me.
So yes, when the Bea stings as she can now do, it's painful, but it's beautiful, too. I was also proud of her as we headed for home.
"Daddy, why can't we watch TV or play with our iPads?" Bea asked, her fury gone.
Great question, my sweet girl. My anger had also fled as quickly as it had held my heart and head hostage. My firmness had turned to meanness and my punitive response in the end wasn't going to help undo what had already been done; it just made me feel better, that I had the control, the parental power over them to DO AS I SAY.
But the girls knew why I was mad and why we were going home. We did talk about it once we got home and I told them why it was so frustrating for me and that no matter what I still loved them. They told me they were sorry as well, even Bryce, who doesn't take kindly to sorry. "Can we play with the iPads now, Daddy?" they asked.
Sigh. "Yes, my lovely bee stings, yes you can."
After reviewing with the Mama and the girls' pre-school teachers during Bryce's parent-teacher conference two days later (Bridges to Kinder is where both girls attended preschool and where we learned positive discipline), at some point you have no choice to be firm. Not mean parental control where I unfortunately defaulted to, but firm nonetheless.
Our dear friend and the Bridges to Kinder preschool director, Teacher Laura as we lovingly all call her, shared some books with me, one of which is called Anh's Anger, about how to teach children (and even adults) coping skills when it comes to dealing with their anger. I highly recommend it.
Learn to sit with the sting until you soothe yourself. Amen.
This morning I slept in until 6:30. Whoopee. Anytime I get up early, which is every time, I have grand designs of doing a gazillion personal and/or work tasks before Mama and Bea wake up.
At 6:40 this morning, Mama called out from upstairs:
"Sweetie."
That is my calling card. Grand designs set aside, I traipse upstairs to see my family.
Mama says, "Can you take her?"
That means Mama needs more time in bed and Bea is awake, kicking her legs and staring wide-eyed into the darkness of the room. I comply and carry my little bundle of joy downstairs.
After reading her 10 Little Ladybugs, Beatrice was content sitting in my lap, so I pick up our latest copy of Parenting and read a very interesting article titled Mad at Dad. The article is all about how dad isn't playing ball when it comes to equal parenting and taking care of baby or kid (or multiples thereof).
Not a shocker to many mothers and wives out there. I just didn't realize that it was still so prevalent. I forget that I'm not like most fathers. That doesn't mean I that Mama doesn't do most the baby care right now, because she does and told me so when we discussed this article. But I'm still very involved and help elsewhere around the house, without incident (usually).
Quick to self – when things are not going right and Mama needs to have a meltdown, don't ask her if she broke the cabinet she just slammed. Not the kind of support she's looking for.
According the Parenting article:
Life for women may be better in many ways than it's ever been, but we're far from whistling show tunes. According to Parenting's nationally representative survey of more than 1,000 mothers on MomConnection, an online panel of moms, the majority of us confess to feeling anger at surprising levels.
46% of moms get irate with their husbands once a week or more. Those with kids younger than 1 are even more likely to be mad that often (54 percent). About half of the moms describe their anger as intense but passing; 1 in 10 say it's "deep and long-lasting."
Wow. Here's why:
Many moms -- 44 percent -- are peeved that dads often don't notice what needs to be done around the house or with the kids.
Lots of moms -- 40 percent -- are also angry that their husbands seem clueless about the best way to take care of kids.
40% of moms are mad that Dad can't multitask.
31% of moms say their husbands don't help with the chores -- in fact, they generate more.
33% of moms say their husbands aren't shouldering equal responsibility and are less concerned than they are about their children's basic needs, like nutrition and clothing.
50% of moms tell us their husbands get more time for themselves.
60% of moms don't tell their friends what they're going through, or they make light of it.
That last one surprised me, because research that I was familiar with always revealed that women are better at talking straight with their friends and maintaining a larger, and deeper, network of friends.
So daddies, we're killing our mommies (unless they kill us first). Anger is deadly. It breeds resentment and depression and according to the article:
When you're mad, your body floods with adrenaline. If you're often angry, you might lose your ability to produce a hormone that blunts adrenaline's worst effects. You can also weaken your heart, harden your arteries, raise your cholesterol, damage your kidneys and liver, and put yourself at risk for depression or anxiety. It's no wonder that some scientists consider chronic anger more likely to kill you prematurely than smoking or obesity.
Anger and resentment road leads to nowheresville, daddy-o. Been down there a time or two myself. Mommies and Daddies alike – work with each other and own the moment when it comes to your relationships and your families.
Later this morning I went on a run, and at the end of it Amy surprised me pushing Bea along the water, and then we walked back to the car together. The last song on my run was The Things We Do For Love by 10CC, one of our favorites.
