The Family Shop Talk Time

"I'm thankful for mommy, daddy, Beatrice...and...the shelf elves," said Bryce, giggling when she said shelf elves.

This was the kick-off of yet another weekly family meeting (what we lovingly call The Family Bhive Club), where we share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, like being brave in everyday situations. I'm the scribe who keeps all our meeting notes in a journal and the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and the girls write the agenda each week on a small dry-erase board.

The Mama started these family meetings back at the end of October as a way for us to take the time to talk family shop each week about the above and other things such as:

• practicing safety skills wherever we're at, 
• homework that needs work like math and/or reading, 
• everyday self-care, 
• chores that need to get done for the allowance monies, 
• the distributing of the allowance monies (which are always asked for way before we're done with the family meeting), 
• the giving of the monies and/or related volunteering, 
• what's coming on the calendar for the week ahead for all of us, 
• and of course, at this time of the year, talking about the Christmastime -- 
• all of which we empower the girls to help with solutions.

"Christmas!" both girls will shout.

Then both girls will rattle off something new they want, more than something actually -- all the things actually -- and then they bask in the afterglow of sugar-plum want.

Then we wrap up the meeting with open sharing about whatever else is on our minds and then it's fun time. Each week fun time rotates to one of us to choose what the fun time will actually be. Usually it's in the form of playing a game together like Monopoly, Sleeping Queens, HeadBanz, etc.

No matter what's on the family meeting agenda, each one starts with the compliments, gratitude, appreciation and the noticing. It's our family holy day where we not only share with each other the reasons of why we're thankful about each other and others outsides our family, but also what we're thankful for about ourselves. This to ensure at a minimum a modicum of self-worth and love in such a sometimes hateful, self-loathing world.

For us, this is the most important of the family shop talk time, and I'm so thankful for these moments that bind us together and empower each other.

Stink. Stank. Stunk.

Grateful For It All Either Way

“…even my wonder, even my fear, only amount to a couple of tears. There is a rhythm, it's near and it's far — it flows through the heart of us…” --Duncan Sheik 

We fixate so much on the crazy and what's broken that we nearly all but negate the good and what works, of how far we've actually come.

I'm reminded of this everyday with my loving, pragmagical wife who keeps our family propelled in a healthy direction, and me grounded in the good, since I tend to drift from hopeful romanticism to flippant defensive posturing in times of stress.

I'm reminded of this everyday with our caring, smart, uniquely (head)strong, and beautiful little girls who keep me hopeful of a potentially utopian future they'll help create, and who keep the Pop hopping popping.

These words may not console those who struggle daily with any and all the miserable facets of tragic human fallibility, but I'm thankful we all have the capacity to elevate the haggard human spirit when we really need it, and even when we think we don't.

And of late, some of us really need it. I'm grateful for it all either way.

Godspeed and Happy Thanksgiving.

Thankful for My Muses and Christmastime Magic

This is why I'm thankful: my angelic muses carry with them a special kind of perpetual Christmastime magic. The kind that casts imperfections into unique heartmeld spells of empowered adaption and inspiration. The kind that lights the world around me like triple suns rising one after the other, helping me make life-lesson connections I never would've seen before. The kind that guide me to be a better father, a better husband, a better man.

Muse Bryce has a fire in her belly that dwarfs even the Mama Muse's daily motivation. Her first year of preschool has gone well so far, even with her aggressive edge of reactive smacking, something we're working on. We're also still dealing with her exotropia -- a vision problem where one eye migrates outward and binocular vision can be difficult. This includes putting an eye patch on her right eye for one hour per day, since her left eye is the problem child. Hopefully early next year we'll find out it's helped, but this doesn't seem to slow her down; her belly fire only burns brighter, a dissonant dragon of do.

Muse Beatrice has a wonderful shy sensibility and sensitivity to those around her. Even with her processing delays, which she continues to work on and overcome, her intellect and grasp of concepts greater than her current age at normal development speeds is exciting -- especially since kindergarten is starting next year. In fact, her storytelling ability is more creative and rich than ever had at her age, and I was certainly an imaginative introvert as a child. She also has an eye for flexible patterns and design, something conveyed in her storytelling, as if she's working through problems unseen even by us. And of course, there's her Daddy love of Christmas, one that warms my heart and soul, us both longing for the holiday.

The Mama Muse has always been my primary sun burning bright who's prescient flares caress my surface daily, reminding me that no matter how harsh and cold things can get, it's the warming reaction of sunrise that makes all the difference. I've known that for 16 years since the day we met that one special day at the beach, the same date when we married six years later (this year being the diamond 10 celebration). Plus, falling in love again and again doesn't hurt.

And then there's the Nonna Muse, my mother-in-law, the Mama's mom, who lives with us and is a blessing to the girls. And then there are the other  muses I celebrate -- my sister, my sister-in-law, my niece, my Aunt Karen and Aunt Margene, and the much missed spirt of my own mother, whom I lost this time last year. And then there's the countless other female family and friends from then to now who I've learned much from. (Gentlemen, I'm still digging your influence, no worries.)

I'm blessed to have so much inspirational light from girl power and am thankful for muses and everyday Christmastime magic that feel like the warm sand from one day at the beach.

Us men need mucho more musing. Amen.

Celebrate the Nonna

At first my heart hurt watching the little boy carry his little suitcase through the airport security line. In front of him stood who I assumed was his grandfather, behind him his grandmother. She said something loving to him and rubbed his back. I couldn't see the little boy's face, but I could feel his warm smile radiate around him.

My parents won't ever travel with my girls like that. Even when they were alive, they were too ill to do much other than us come to them, which we're thankful for. The time spent with them was more precious than precarious, especially the past few years, and Beatrice will remember them, even though Bryce may not.

But then my heart lifted, because of another grandmother in our lives: Nonna as she's known to the B-hive, my mother-in-law, the Mama's mom. Nonna has been a blessing to us all, living with us and helping with Bea and Bryce. The girls adore her and I cannot imagine the time when that changes, will not imagine. I've been gone so much of late that having Nonna with us lifts my heart even further 

No mother-in-law jokes here. Sure there are "wait, what?" head-scratcher moments, but there were many of those with my own parents, and them with me. We've all got 'em, kids. It's what we do with them that makes all the difference in the moment and beyond.

This Father's Day, when I'm on the road yet again, I will celebrate the Nonna. Thank you for all you do. We love you.

The warm smile radiates around me.

Of giving and loss

It's enlightening when you're three-year-old is such a sweet giver. Sure, she melts downs when she can't watch Wonder Pets, The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore or the Yo Gabba Gabba Christmas special -- two weeks after Christmas (please, I can't watch it anymore, help me, it's already January 8).

But from Christmas Day with Nonna to the week after when my unwell folks (Nana and Papa) actually made it here for a few days, Bea reveled in us opening our gifts, some of which she picked out herself, like my Santa Raider ornament and Bryce's toy cars, and like the earrings I had specially made for Mama titled "working them angels" after Mama and the B-hive via the artisan Katy Bransfield at Between Sun & Moon.

And just this last week when Bryce was having a nuclear meltdown during dinner, with both me and the Mama throwing our arms up in surrender, Bea did her best to make her little sister smile and laugh. It didn't quite work, but she tried, the misdirection helped, and we thanked her for that.

Bea's still got some work to do in other areas, but mercy she's fast becoming a smart little girl (again, only three, right?). In fact, nothing tops defining the ultimate toddler giver as what happened one night during the holidays. We had put Beatrice to bed (Bryce was already asleep), and about 10 minutes after that Bea called for Daddy.

I went up and said, "What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Take this," she said, reaching out her hand.

"Take what?"

"Take this."

She pushed her hand into mine.

"Is that a booger, Bea?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She smiled then laughed.

"Thank you, sweetie." Thank you. Really.

From sweet giver to learner of loss -- that's been a fascinating window on what it means to have to say goodbye to those we love. For Beatrice, that means our nanny/babysitter Elyse after two and half years and Nana and Papa after a few days of visiting over the holidays.

Elyse leaving was the biggest blow, but the one-two punch of her moving away and then my parents being in and out really took it's toll on Bea. Watching raw grief spill from a toddler who doesn't fully understand what she's feeling, but understands she doesn't want to say goodbye, cry-howling and red-faced, it's bittersweet for adults who have been there more than once, who've experienced it on more levels than wished to remember. We told her she'll see them all again, but it's no consolation in the moment of grief.

After surviving not quite a Christmas miracle, the lessons of giving and loss have been invaluable, even for an old Daddy who's been there, done that (and will again and again and again).

Happy New Year!

 

Puddles, Phantoms and Peanuts

They wouldn't touch any of it. Not the turkey, the stuffing, the carrot casserole, the scalloped corn, the mashed potatoes or gravy. None of it.

Except Nonna's amazingly yummy pumpkin desert. Of course. It's desert.

It wasn't surprising that Beatrice wouldn't eat the Thanksgiving food; she's quite the picky eater these 3-year-old days. But Bryce, who usually eats a little bit of almost everything wouldn't touch any of it either (although the day after she did eat two bites of turkey).


Nope, they were more interested in splashing in the rain puddles earlier in the day. A puddle is like the fun black holes of kid world -- no child escapes its gravity. Oh it's wetness, which is a bummer when you don't bring clothes for your kids to change into after they're wet.


All afternoon while the girls napped, the turkey that this daddy proudly prepped roasted in the oven while Nonna made some side dishes and then I added a couple at the end. The delicious smells of our cooking and the many phantom family meals of Thanksgivings past mingled together in the warm air, causing a mild tryptophan-laced melancholia.

What was, that will never be again, to what is now, that becomes tomorrow, that will never be again.

Hey, there were a lot of phantoms in the air.

Then, while the Mama, Nonna and I sat playing Scrabble, we dug into our Thankful Box. Inspired by another daddy blogger last year, we started own box that gets filled with "what we're thankful for" notes throughout the year to then be read on the following Thanksgiving.

That perked me up; I'm so thankful for the lovely B-hive!

But they still wouldn't touch any of our Thanksgiving meal. Only watermelon, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pumpkin desert.

We might as well have served toast, popcorn, pretzel sticks and jelly beans.

Queue the music.

Daddy K’s thankful for the leftovers. Very thankful.

Sorry I've been away, but life just doesn't wait for anyone. We're busy raising Baby B and recovering from a wonderful Thanksgiving (although Bea has been a little more fussy the past few nights from reentering the atmosphere – all done with everyone except Mama ).

First my folks came to visit us before Thanksgiving. Then on the way to Mama A's family for Thanksgiving, we stopped by my Auntie M's house to visit with her and her family; we haven't seen them for years and it was a pleasure. Beatrice was pretty fussy from the first leg of our trip (because I couldn't wait to pee and Beatrice woke from her travel nap – got me in trouble both ways).

Then we had to go over the High Sierras during the last leg of the trip which was very difficult for Bea and Mama. There's really not a lot for a daddy to do when baby and mama are screaming and crying. Oy vey.

We survived thankfully. Amy's family cooked up a T-day storm and I must've gained 80 pounds in two days. Ugh. Bea held up okay until the night after Thanksgiving when there was a projectile vomiting incident; too many foods in Mama's milk. More screaming and crying.

We experienced a Yahtzee revival, though! My sister and I used to play it all the time with my grandparents and it was so much fun playing it again. So much fun in fact that I downloaded the app to my iPhone. Sweet.

The trip home was much easier and after we unpacked we dove into a final batch of Thanksgiving leftovers. Yum city.

I'm thankful for leftovers. I've always been thankful for leftovers. And unless it was something I really didn't like the first time, which wasn't much, I always ate most of the leftovers.

Since I was a child, leftovers meant abundance; we never went hungry and my sister and I never thought of ourselves as poor.

But we were.

Not destitute like many who suffered in the Great Depression, like those interviewed by Studs Terkel in his special collection of stories from his Hard Times radio series (I recently listened to some of them on This American Life). Not poverty-stricken like many from third world countries of yesteryear and today. Not completely broke like the thousands of families who have lost their jobs and homes this year.

But we were poor – and we always had leftovers. My mother knew how to stretch a dollar, even when my alcoholic deadbeat dad didn't and the relentless recession stagflation of the 70s made it even tougher. She knew how to create culinary delights whether it was holiday faire, or probably one of my favorite childhood meals of all time: ground beef gravy over mashed potatoes with whole kernel corn on the side and bread and butter. And a glass of cold milk to wash it all down.

We never went hungry and we never went without Christmas gifts. Every Christmas Mom busted her butt to get as many of the gifts on our list as possible.

So whether you donate a little food to Feeding America (Second Harvest Food Bank) like we do, or volunteer to help feed the homeless, or donate toys to Toys for Tots (which we pledge to do this year) or the Make-A-Wish Foundation, give a little bit this year to others.

Don't be a deadbeat dad, daddies, even when we're all belt tightening. Be good to your families and to those less fortunate. Every little bit helps.

God bless us all and Merry Christmas. Now, if I can get Mama A to fix me the ground beef gravy and mashed potato delight…