DadCentric

It's Been One Week

The week between holidays, a limbo of well-wishes and unbridled gluttony, is finally running into the other bookend- New Year's Day, and more importantly, the countdown to it.

Some people take this as a time to reflect or plan for the future, some go carpe diem and make the most of the now.  It varies.  Some dabble a bit in everything.

I'm a dabbler.  I'm also a picker, a grinner, a lover and a sinner.  If I played music, it would most likely be in the sun.  But I digress.  My point? I spread it around this week.

First of all, I gave. The boys reaped a haul of toys that would make Santa blush.  My wife and I, and by association, Santa, managed to keep Disney, Apple, Nike, Fossil and Amazon, from going under, not to mention the wages we protected for the kids that make their respective products.  Sweat shop? It was a sweet shop this year.  You're welcome.

We also donated to a number of animal-related charities, no not by eating steak twice a day, but with real old-school checks.  Lots of checks.  We actually do this every month, but it feels extra nice knowing that this time of year those homeless seals and burlap-scented kittens are sitting around drinking eggnog and opening gifts rather than laying tits up on the buffet line at Kathy Lee's employee party.  It feels real nice.

I reflected.  Last Christmas, when I gave you my heart, well, the very next day you gave it away.  That was crap.  This year, to save me from tears I decided to share my heart with my wife and two little boys.  Man, you should have seen them.

There is little that compares to the joy of a child on Christmas morning.  The excitement is palatable.  It is contagious.  To think, just a few years ago I didn't know this experience but from a memory of my own youth.  They say that being a parent allows you to relive your own childhood.  Your debt-laden, stress-driven childhood.  Christmas morning it actually happens. 

That made my segue into planning for the future a no-brainer, more of the same.  As I said, there are few things that compare with the childlike wonder shared by all on Christmas morning, but the one that comes close is Disneyland.  That's why we're packing up the family truckster first thing in the morning and making the hour and a half drive across the country to The Happiest Place on Earth. This is the now.

The year is nearing its inevitable end, and we shall close it where we started it, at Disneyland standing shoulder to shoulder with the masses enjoying a moment of bliss and hope.  A child's moment of naive innocence and hope for what the new year may bring.  Aside from the bills of course.

The Legacy Continues in a Dubious Fashion

Yes, that's a trash truck.  This is what our daughter chose as her Christmas random day in late December present.  A fucking trash truck.  I will admit that it's pretty cool.  I mean, it comes with a trash guy (who's cross-eyed, btw) and a minature replica of a tall, rolling trash bin.  It even has a battery-powered arm that picks up the trashcan, raises it and dumps the contents in to the back of truck just like its real-world counterpart.  About the only thing it's missing is the disgusting stench of rotting garbage juice [which I think will be successfully replicated after a couple more weeks of toddler abuse]. 

Granted, Tonka makes some good stuff.  I remember my big-ass Tonka dump truck I kept for many years.  It carried my paralyzed Spiderman around on many missions for months after I accidentally melted said superhero's legs by leaving him on top of my lamp's light bulb for an afternoon.  It hauled my Army Men collection through the backyard to the catshit-laden "sandbox" my dad cheaply thriftily threw together using an old tire and a wheel barrel full of Georgia red dirt.  It survived my many BB Gun attacks.  It was even a good sport when, in an apparent fit of brilliance, I decided to see if [after a nice push] it could make it across our busy street unscathed.  He failed.  But, dammit!, that sumbitch tried.

Yeah, they're good toys from my experience.  I can only hope my daughter gets as much enjoyment out of hers.  You don't know how weird it felt to type that.  Seriously.  That was weird.

The Bad Influence - Meets - The Crazy Relative

So we've spent a week with the family, and I'll be damned if I can figure out how to avoid the relatives inflicting their craziness onto my kid. 

First let me say that all the kid's aunts are kind of crazy, on both sides of the family. But if there are degrees of crazy, my sister-in-law has a PhD, and of course, the kid follows her around like a dust bunny on a broom, soaking up her every word--including the French ones, since she speaks French to everyone even when we're not in France.

Unlike my crazy family, who live in various western cities and who we only see a few times a year, the Dr. of Crazy is in New York, so we see her all the time, if only in brief dinner or shopping encounters, not long enough to pick anything up except the French word for 'candle' [<em>bougie</em>, but you already knew that].

Now, though, with everyone all together for a week, the kid's getting four or five unwanted life lessons a day--how she needs to step over plaster floors, how she needs to curtsey when she visits the prince in the local chateau [even though he's now just the mayor; didn't 1789 mean <em>anything</em>?]; how to light candles and pray to the local saint [fine if you're Catholic, which we're not, by the way]; how to show off a thong in the winter [didn't that look go out with the Lewinsky Administration?]; going on walks around the village wearing inside shoes--or as we say in English, slippers. Some of it's innocuous and/or amusing, but most of it's stuff we're gonna have to undo, and soon.

So how are you supposed to deal with the undue influences on your kids of wacked out family members, people you can't realistically avoid, especially without creating a huge family scene?

Happy Holidays From DadCentric!

We may or may not be posting over the next few days. Be safe this season, or next year you may be partying with these guys:

In the Spirit of the Season

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that my wife and I have been ass dragging with this whole Christmas thing.  We're 5 days out and the house still looks like we left it from the day after last Christmas (which is eerily similar to the way it looks mid-Summer).  That is, until last night. 

I got home from work and, after saying goodbye to my wife as she headed off to work, I decided to take our littlest one on a beer run because Daddy is an alcoholic wanted a nice cold one to take the edge off.  We're walking out to the truck when my daughter yells, "Wook Dad! Kissmuk Tree!", as she points to one of those white-lighted yard doohickeys our neighbor had on his lawn.  I was surprised since we thought she didn't have a clue about anything Christmas related.  Evidently, someone's been filling her in on what's supposed to happen this time of year (damn you, oh television!!!).  I asked her if she wanted one and, of course, she did.

Now there was no way in hell that I was going to break out the tree stand, climb up in the rafters and bring out all the crap we have to properly dress a tree.  No fresh-cut evergreen for you. Too late in the game for that, child.  However, I didn't have a problem seeing what nifty little trinkety tree-like gadget I could find at Rite-Aid to make her happy.  After all, nothing's too good for my child if it's cheap, doesn't require a special trip anywhere and can fit in the basket next to my 12 pack.

Lo and behold, a Holiday Miracle took place right before our eyes.  A Rite-Aid employee had just finished slashing their Christmas crap prices by 50%!  And what did we find?  A four-foot, fiber optic, tabletop Christmas tree for $19.99.  I'm all over that.  And so was she.  When we got it home, we set it up and she spent the remainder of the evening in awe of [what I think will end up being] the tree of the future once the robots take over.  Plus, if our phone service happens to go out, I'm pretty sure I can MacGyver something up using these fiber optic thing-a-ma-bobs.

Will this be our ongoing Christmas tradition?  I doubt it.  Rite-Aid doesn't have a good beer selection. However, the kid is happy for now and I guess that's good enough.

The Real (Commercial) Spirit of Christmas

So I was lying there on my ass and it dawned on me- Christmas is freakin' crazy.

Why do we spend the time and money that we do to buy so much crap?  Really, if there was something someone needed or wanted then they would buy it for themselves.  Wouldn't they?  It seems that there must be some other way to show our appreciation of each other.

There is.  Cash.  Who doesn't like money?  I like money. My wife likes money.  Hell, my kids like money.  I don't know you, but I'm guessing that you are also partial to money.

Are we really to believe that Bing Crosby and Santa Claus created Christmas just so we could exchange neckties and fruitcakes?  Of course not.  Sure, Crosby sported a tie on occasion, and I'm guessing that Santa has a few cakes in that belly, but I can't imagine they thought everyone would run with it the way that they have.  Seriously, who likes fruitcake?

No, Bing liked bling, and Santa is all about the Benjamins. It is obvious what has happened. Christmas has fallen victim to the middle man, in this case the mall. It's time to bring Christmas back.

 

It's too late this year, we've already wrapped everything, but starting next year it's cash money! I'm dreaming of a green Christmas.  (not a pot reference)

George Budabin

I get letters. That's part of the deal; when you run a site like this, you get emails from all parts, from all kinds. I read them all; that's also part of the deal. I don't usually share them, but in this case, I'll make an exception. Andru Edwards, a guy I've never met, sent me a letter requesting that I post a link to a particular blog post. I'm honored - and saddened - to answer that request. Here's the link.

Reflection is not uncommon during the holidays. We look out our windows at the snow and lights and think of possibilities, of the world we'd like to see, of the ways we'd like to move through that world, of the way we'd like that world to see us. We'd all do well to strive for that particular and profound state of grace that George reached.

DadCentric Cooks: Chicken Soup For The Soulless

Feeling like ass - the combined effects of too much blackjack and too many Red Bull & vodkas and American Spirits, along with a cold bug that I picked up from the kid - I decided one thing was in order. Chicken soup. But I didn't feel like boiling a chicken carcass for seven hours, as my Jewish forebears might have done. Fifteen minutes and a few bucks later, I returned home from the grocery store with soup making supplies. This was an impromptu experiment - while I didn't expect to replicate my mom's excellent soup, I should be able to come up with a quick and tasty alternative. Happy to report success, and will now share the results; Yiddish folk medicine meets agnostic pragmatism, but hey, it worked.

You'll need the following:

1 container of Wolfgang Puck brand roasted chicken stock (quart-sized)
2 cans of Swanson roasted garlic flavored chicken broth
1 package of boneless skinless chicken thighs (at least a pound and a half worth)
1 good sized onion, chopped
3 good sized carrots, chopped
3 good sized celery stalks, chopped
4 to 6 garlic gloves, minced (that means chopped up real small-like)
1 tablespoon of Lowry's or other similar brand lemon pepper
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon of kosher salt
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
A big-ass pot to cook it in
OPTIONAL: egg noodles, or that leftover rice from the Pick Up Stix takeout you got last night because you were too goddamn tired after the drive back from Vegas to cook anything, and screw South Beach, we're getting Pick Up Stix)

Heat the oil over medium heat. Throw in the garlic and onion, saute it until the onion is clear, stirring frequently. Throw in everything else. Stir. Bring to boil. Reduce heat, partially cover the pot and simmer for an hour and 15 minutes. Remove the chicken thighs, put them in a big bowl, and shred them using a couple of forks. Toss the shredded chicken back into the pot, simmer for another five minutes or so. (You can add noodles or leftover riceat this point if you'd like; egg noodles are best and you'll need to add a few minutes to your total cooking time to make sure they're done. But you knew that. I'm sorry to condescend.) If there's any foam floating on top of the soup, spoon it off. Then serve it up. L'chaim!

The Perfect Present

I wanted to do a real post today. Honest. But the combined effects of a weekend in Vegas and some sort of illness that I picked up has dulled my senses. Still, with only a few shopping days left 'til Xmas, I felt obliged to pass this along.

Breaking the Mould.

Many years ago, I used to live with a crazy Scottish guy called Roderick, or Rrrrrrrrrroderrrrrrrrick if you say it in Scottish. It is well documented that all Scottish males are mad buggers and this one was particularly bonkers.

He smoked too much, which led to the devouring of many a packet of chocolate biscuits…..oh, he also smoked way too many cigarettes. He drank even more than he smoked and this led to many a night of drunken stupidity on his and my behalf. (he once kicked in our front door because he forgot his keys. Obviously destroying the door frame and lock mechanism with the brute force of a drunken Scottish foot was more desirable than waiting the 25 minutes for us to get home…..but then after 35 whiskies, one tends to forget such trivial detail).

He had a three year old son at the time I was living with him. Four years prior he was living happily in Scotland with his girlfriend when he discovered that she was pregnant. Doing the valiant thing he obviously married her. After a few months she gave him an ultimatum as she was coming back to Australia; follow me and see your son or stay in Scotland and see him once in a blue moon.

Obviously he chose Australia, but within a year of moving here, he and his wife spilt up. With that came obvious issues and difficulties. I have an inkling the fact his life turned to shit soon after leaving Scotland contributed to his excess in whiskey wine and …….well….you know the story.

Amongst all of this madness and confusion about his life, there was one thing he said to me in his well educated Scottish accent that stuck in my mind since the day he said it. One sunny afternoon over Coopers Pale Ale and Winnie Blues (these are a very popular brand of smokes or durries here in Oz) he told me about the concept of breaking the mould.

 

People break the mould every day. Changing jobs, girlfriends, looks, personality, you name it people break their moulds each and every day. What he was talking about was breaking the mould in parenting. Each of us, in childhood, has had a different set of circumstances thrusted upon us by our parents that reflect the type of parents or people we are now.

For me it was confrontation. By the time I was old enough to understand some of the intricacies of relationships (probably 13-14) my parents were in a downhill spiral headed for divorce. They used to fight constantly and I had no….I mean zero respect for my father (perhaps that led to some of the tattoos and stories I have) 

For Rrrrrrrroderrrrrick it was the fact that his father was an incredibly well off doctor who left him and his mother at an early age and scrooged his way through life not giving them a helping hand. He wasn’t there as a provider and didn’t offer anything in the way of fatherly love.

 

His idea is that when you become a parent you look at the things you liked and disliked about your parents and then try to ‘break the mould’ by being all the things to your children that your parents were not to you. 

Breaking the mould for me is like the concept of pay it forward. With each and every generation, we can use the knowledge given to us by our parents (albeit in a round about way) and use this to improve the relationship with our own children. Each day I try to think about ways I can break the mould of my parent’s examples that ultimately led to their divorce.

 

Here’s some of my mould’s that have been broken. 

• Relationships are hard. My parents didn’t nurture theirs and it died. I try and take time to love and cherish my partner every day.
• I want my kids to learn about the real world. I didn’t learn about love, sex, relationships, money or work ethic. As a result I have had to work extra hard in these areas of my life. I don’t want my kids to have to learn these lessons all by themselves. Sure there are things they need to figure out by themselves but as a parent I at least want to show them a path they can follow if they choose.
• Violence is not the answer. Roderick was beaten as a kid. His dad used to use violence as discipline and he now refuses to use this tactic on his own children. He strongly believes there are better ways to get the message across to your kid.
• I teach my kids about their feelings. One thing that I really try to do is teach my girls about the emotions they are feeling. I didn’t get this type of education but then again, being a boy I’m not surprised. I think teaching my daughters this allows them to express how they are feeling with words as apposed to tantrums, biting, hitting or throwing hard plastic toys at their sister’s head. (trust me, it’s happened!)

 

These are just a few of the things that I have made the decision to change in my own parenting style. How are you breaking the mould?