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Posts for the date of Wednesday, September 19, 2001
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:03 PM |
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I suppose it’s bound to happen sometime. Children do grow up. You can’t stop nature.
Thinking back to when I met her (then just a potential mate’s daughter) I get a feeling of whimsical nostalgia. She was two, a few months away from turning three. She still had that wispy, spotty hair of a toddler. Though she was in advanced stages, she had a bizarre relationship with walking and talking.
The first time I met her was at Grandma’s house. The wife and I had been dating for a few weeks and, I suppose, my background check came through clean and I was given the go-ahead to come face to face with the kid. She looked at me strangely, perhaps a little suspiciously. Who’s this? What is he doing here? Why is he touching my stuff?
Though she could speak, she clammed up. She still regarded me with suspicion. I would pick up a toy and try to engage her in a game of some sort. The response was a look that I’m pretty sure we’ll give to aliens when they touch down on earth. “What they hell are you doing HERE?” Then we hit the magical common ground: Barnyard Bingo. Neither of us understood the rules, nor did we care. We laughed at the hearty “Sproing!” the game gave off when you selected a piece. We enjoyed playing using the animal pictures and just matching the colors.
And she laughed her ass off because I never won. I wish I could hide behind some sort of adult sacrifice that I let her win to build her confidence, but it would be a lie. To this day I still think she hustled me. Maybe she hid a game piece up her sleeve. I don’t know. Still, I have never won.
I further solidified my stature the first time she came over to my apartment with mom. We had come to an early decision that, while mom and I needed alone dating time, time with the little one was essential to finding out if the relationship would work. After all, I doubt mom would have moved forward at all if the kid couldn’t stand me. Luckily, we got along.
They’d come over every Saturday morning. Mom and I would sip coffee while playing with the toddler. Then we’d all decide on something to do for the day. You know, playgrounds, picnics, the zoo . . . the usual. Mom called me before they came over the first time to see if we had solidified any ideas. We hadn’t, of course. She said she would pack up some toys and be on over. I told her not to worry about the toys. She was dumbfounded.
They arrived and the little one decided that mom and I would get married. I had my own pile of stuffed animals for her to play with and shelves full of Disney movies. Not only that, but I had Green Eggs and Ham on the computer! I was a hero. I was the coolest person on Earth.
Mom was a little worried. But, I think she got over it. Though, sometimes when the girls leave, I wonder if I’m under surveillance. “Did you play Don’t Break The Ice while we were gone? Huh? DID YOU????” Answer: probably.
When we got married, it was me who insisted we subscribe to the Disney Channel. It’s my subscription to Disney Magazine. It was me who started the conspiracy with the little one to get a trip to Disney World (guess who won THAT one?). And, it’s me who has been banned from grocery shopping for bad behavior and conspiracy to throw rolls of toilet paper down aisle 9.
Now, though, I look at the daughter . . . I can’t even call her “the little one” anymore. I look at her and don’t see a child any more. She’s officially a “kid.” She plays outside with her friends. We can drop her off at parties and she doesn’t want us to stay. She has the vocabulary of a Rhodes scholar.
And I’m not cool any more.
It’s okay, I suppose. I still have all my toys to play with. Plus some new ones. And Baby Elvis is on the way. I still have time to corrupt him. But, the golden days with the daughter are coming to an end. Yesterday she made a parachute out of plastic, string and a Styrofoam cup. Next thing I know she’ll be sending the cat into geo-synchronous orbit. She even rolls her eyes at my jokes. She’s starting to assert her independence and is no longer following the stupidity of her stepfather blindly. Now she’s scolding me for it. “Gary, I’m not sure you should really put those action figures on the ceiling fan.”
I guess it should be expected. But it’s frightening when your pre-adolescent child exhibits more common sense than you do.
It’s not that I’m unhappy with her growth. I’m thrilled. I’m proud. It’s just . . . I feel left behind. I want to go running off down the block with her. I want to dig up rocks with her. But she has to do that with her friends now. She just doesn’t have as much time for me anymore. And she certainly doesn’t have patience for my silliness at times.
Oh well, it just gives me time to plan for the inquisition her first date. I probably only have ten more years to plan. I have to start stocking up on black socks and sandals.
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, September 18, 2001
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 11:35 AM |
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SECRETS OF A SUCCESSFUL MARRIAGE REVEALED!
Okay, so maybe not. But today is my second wedding anniversary. I think that’s pretty significant. Upon reflecting on the two years thus far, I’ve realized that our relationship hasn’t changed. Sure, it’s become a better machine, as we’ve come to understand each other better. But, I still see us as the giggly newlyweds of September 18th, 1999. We’re just really happy being married. Why? Well, I guess we kind of like each other.
It’s a shame that so many married couples try to dissuade young couples from the union. Judging from conversations you hear from “veterans” you’d wonder why anyone would ever get married at all. “Might as well give up your freedom.” “Get to know your friends now, because she’ll make damn sure you’ll never see them again.” “Just don’t lose your independence.”
Newsflash: If you are truly worried about any of these issues, you aren’t prepared for marriage.
What I think my wife and I have been successful at is our ability to work as a team. We know what each of us is bringing to the table and we work it to our advantage. Sure, we have arguments over money or property or cleaning the house, but that’s natural for anyone who lives in close proximity to one another. At the end of each night, we’re still together as a unit. And we like it that way.
It’s hard to believe it’s been two years. It’s flown by, and I’ve been happier than hell. Granted, I could use a 65 inch HDTV ready Plasma Television (ahem), but aside from that (and the fact that I could also use a professional grade digital video camera) I think I’m pretty pleased with the relationship. (Could also use a combination DVD/CD/MP3 open region player.) We’re a good match.
One thing I’ve learned (Could use a G4 Mac to help edit those videos) about us is that we’re compatible. (Speaking of compatible, I wouldn’t mind Final Cut Pro for the G4. That would help with non-linear editing.) We gel on everything. Even when we disagree, we know that our combined experiences will get us through it.
I think we have an advantage too. When we started dating, she had a daughter. That put a pretty serious tone over the relationship. I couldn’t very well light-heartedly date a woman with a child. Essentially I would be dating both of them. Any decision I made regarding the relationship would also affect the little one. Their lives depended upon each other.
The point is, before we proceeded to any step in the relationship, we considered the impact. If we had a serious relationship and it didn’t work out, how would that affect the kid? Tough questions. Luckily, I fell pretty hard for both of them. Despite the fact that they both pile things, instead of putting them away. (Whack! OW!)
So what are those secrets that I alluded to? Well, if you want a successful marriage, consider what we do. No matter what sort of day we have, no matter how busy, we still convene to the couch for a little while. We sit close, often holding one another, and consider our day. We talk about our lives. And we talk about the future. But most of all, we hold each other. Sometimes you just need to shut up and let the love wash over you.
Honestly, I’ve never been happier (a custom build home theater would help me found out if I’m at the happiest state of my life). I’ve married a wonderful woman, and am thrilled about the next 80 years.
I look forward to our children growing, our retirement and the day, when I’m sitting in my wheelchair sucking down oxygen, that I get to chase my lovely wife around our retirement community while the nurses yell at me to consider my heart.
I guess they just don’t understand that it’s my heart that I’ll be chasing.
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Posts for the date of Monday, September 17, 2001
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 11:28 AM |
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We now return you to your regularly scheduled broadcast.
Phrase your wife really doesn’t care to hear: “When you turn the stereo on in the basement, you get perfect sound in the upstairs bathroom!”
How do you plan for a birth? One would assume that you could assume one of two things. 1. No matter how much you plan, you cannot prepare for that actual moment, or 2. you’re an idiot.
We’re currently writing our Birth Plan for when my wife is in labor. Which is to say, we’re deluded. We’re under the assumption that the hospital will look at our plan and say, “Wonderful! You know, we get so many couples who walk in here off the street and just want us to do everything, but you! You even thought of nipple stimulation, thank god!”
No, they’ll probably just laugh at us and say; “We understand that you want a relaxed atmosphere with no interns, no yelling and no time constraints. We also understand that you want no drugs. You do realize that ‘no yelling’ and ‘no drugs’ contradict each other, right?”
Birth plans are part of the Bradley Method of childbirth. It is a document that we create, in conjunction with our OB, to state our wishes for every stage of our hospital stay. It’s helpful because we have a written proof of our wishes, and it won’t all fall on me at the moment of birth. “THIS ROOM SMELLS LIKE CHICKEN! WHY DOES THIS ROOM SMELL LIKE CHICKEN? I TOLD YOU THE ROOM SHOULD NEVER SMELL LIKE CHICKEN!??!?!?!?!”
But it also gets us talking about some very important issues, such as episiotomies, breastfeeding and more. However, I’m not sure how helpful I was in certain situations. Below is a transcript of the conversation my wife and I had about major points in the birth plan. I hope to move back into the house sometime this week.
Q: How long do you want to labor at home?
A: Do they have cable at the hospital? I think that would help me make the decision.
Q: If I have to have an episiotomy, I would prefer to do it without anesthesia.
A: You’re nuts.
Q: How do you feel about circumcision?
A: Well, what’s the trend? I don’t want the little guy to have a funny looking penis.
Q: Do you want to cut the cord?
A: Do you want to see the contents of my stomach?
Q: What should we do with the placenta?
A: Never speak of it again.
Q: I want a squatting bar in the delivery room.
A: I’ve wanted one of those for years.
Q: I don’t want the baby to have any rubber nipples, including a pacifier until its happy with breastfeeding.
A: Good. Accept no substitutes for real nipples.
Q: Do we want a mirror to be able to see the birth?
A: Sure. You can use it to see if I’m still breathing when I pass out.
Q: Are you bringing an extra pair of clothes in case you get hit when my water breaks?
A: Hit? You mean I could get hit with it? No one told me this in the beginning. If I had known this, I may have gone to bed earlier a certain night a few months ago. No one told me at it was projectile!
Q: What alternatives to drugs are we using?
A: Hey, you’re the one committed to this drugless birth. I’m going to be stoned out of my gourd.
Q: Is it too late to get a new coach?
A: Yes, if you want one as understanding as me.
You know I’m excited about this birth. I’m just terrified of the biological implications of this whole thing. There’s blood, fluids, stretching, sometime TEARING (no bodily process should involve tearing), and a whole host of complications that could complicate things for both mother and child (God forbid).
The further I get along in the birthing classes, the more I learn. The more I learn, the more I wonder, “Isn’t there an easier way than this?”
The answer is “no.” But if men were in charge of birth it would last around six minutes. And you could read the paper the whole time.
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