It’s been awhile since my last post—too long. A lot’s changed in the four months since I posted about sore nipples—they’re still a little tender by the way. Cristian turned two, an orange narcissist was elected President, and I’m no longer a Stay at Home Dad.
Shortly after Mommy and Me Class, (my last post), Esther and I discussed putting Cristian into daycare three days a week. We figured spending time with kids his age is better for learning childlike-behavior, instead of spending days with his old man learning childish behavior. We signed him up when he started throwing his sippy cup at the TV whenever CNN aired a Trump Rally.
Around the same time, I started receiving job offers. A steady gig as a school photographer was a bit scary—not because of the workload but photographing elementary school kids was a sneak preview of the next few years of parenting.
Shortly afterwards I scored an interview for an academic advisor position at a college, my alma mater. Since I was already working steadily as a freelancer with a possible full-time job lined up, we added two more days to Cristian’s schedule. I had mixed emotions—I was excited at the challenge of a new job but was a little bummed too.
I’ve taken care of Cristian since Esther went back to work from maternity leave. We’ve gone to MyGym classes, shopped at Costco, and he came along with me when I delivered documents for my medical billing job.
I knew I’d miss chasing him around the playground, watching him hit new developmental milestones, and miss the vein popping from my forehead as he tested Daddy’s patience time after time, (usually after the playground and hitting developmental milestones. Life was changing yet again.
My mornings are different now. Instead of taking Esther to work and Cristian to the playground, before settling into a few hours of spreadsheets and billing codes, my mornings are now a blur of shave, shower and get dressed. Once again Esther and I are tag-team parents, one of us watching the baby while the other gets ready for work. Sure my new job has nice perks like an office, but I still miss watching Cristian goofing on Wolf Blitzer after coming home from the playground
A year ago today my Dad passed away and I’ve spent the past week with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Whether it was driving past the nursing home where he spent his last days on the way to the baby’s My Gym Class or seeing images of him in a slide show at my niece’s Sweet 16 Party last weekend. Last Friday night’s torrential rain awakened more memories than expected.
I remember a painful conversation with Mom as I drove her home from the nursing home in a heavy rain. I told her the doctor said Dad developed pneumonia, and probably wouldn’t make it through the weekend. That was the best case scenario—the worst case scenario was he wouldn’t make it through the night. You would have thought a diagnosis of Pancreatic Cancer and three months of doctors and hospitals would have prepared us for this—it didn’t.
When my phone rang at 6am the next morning, Esther and I knew it was bad news. How many early-morning calls are good news? I felt numb calling Mom, my brother Bob and various aunts and uncles, informing them of Dad’s passing as I walked Chico. The conversations were short and quick, the numbness stayed with me a few months.
We spent the weekend after Dad’s passing decluttering Mom’s house, devouring cold cut platters, and reliving memories. I’ve always been amazed how people achieve saint-like status simply by dying. I’ve written about my Dad several times he was a good man with many wonderful traits—but he was no saint. We lightened the mood, spending parts of the weekend reliving stories of our favorite meltdowns or Mom and Dad bickering like George Costanza’s parents on Seinfeld. Fifty plus years of marriage will do that.
A lot’s changed in the past year, Esther, Cristian and I moved in with Mom to help out with the house and dealing with losing Dad. Esther and I do much of the former, Cristian handles the latter. The numbness is gone—it’s been replaced with sadness and regret.
I regret not asking him more about the Spanish side of my family tree, about his dad and his brothers. I never met them—they all died too young. I regret being a stubborn child who didn’t pay enough attention when he tried teaching me basic carpentry and household projects. I regret not thanking him for all he gave me, did for me, and for not saying I love you.
These days many people are concerned with their legacy. Once considered the domain of athletes and politicians it’s now a concern among many average people. Maybe it’s a product of the age we live in. I doubt Dad put any thought into his legacy, but he did leave one behind.
To the many carpenters, electricians and other skilled laborers, most from Galicia, the part of Spain he was from, Dad’s legacy was helping them with a well-placed phone call to an employer or union rep finding them a job or a union card shortly after arriving in this country. To him it was paying forward the kindness extended to him by a friend named Viña many years before.
Before writing this piece I thought about Dad’s legacy. Was it fulfilling the American Dream? He arrived in this country in 1956 with little more than the clothes on his back, a few dollars in his pocket, and a trade—he was a skilled carpenter. Over the next 60 years, he married, raised a family, built a home, saved a few dollars, and gave his children a better life than the one he knew as a child.
Although impressive it’s incomplete. As a father he taught me more by his actions and examples than his words. He and Mom were married for 56 years and sure they bickered a bit as they got older—show me an old married couple that doesn’t—but it was his genuine concern for her in his last days that touched me. He insisted I keep him up to date her latest doctor’s appointments, making sure she was taken care of.
Ever the doting grandfather, he waited 88 years for his elusive grandson. Seeing his hazel eyes light up whenever I brought Cristian to the nursing home was one of the few bright spots for me during his last days–but there were sad memories too. I’ll never forget him playing with his nine-month old grandson saying, “You’re beautiful! What a shame I won’t be able to see you grow up.”
Today we’ll honor Dad’s memory, with a memorial mass for him and Esther’s Mom Maria—she lost her fight with Pancreatic Cancer three years ago this week. After paying respects at the cemetery, I’m firing up the grill, serving up sardines and other grilled meats along with wine and beer just like Dad would do on any Sunday afternoon in July. I can’t think of a better way of keeping his memory alive.
We all love our kids but being locked up with your little booger monster takes a toll over the long haul A blizzard, ear infection, and daily bombardment of the Donald-Marco-Ted three-way is enough to make the strongest among us scream for a night out.
If you aren’t sure if you a night away from the baby I created this guide. Helpful hint nicknaming your pride and joy Godzilla thins out the baby sitting pool quickly.
Playdates Dominate Your Social Calendar– Playdates and Children’s Fitness Centers like Gymboree and MyGym are great for socializing your child. They also let new parents compare notes on sleep patterns, developmental milestones, and the strangest place you’ve found poop and puke. As helpful as they are an evening spent with a different circle of friends will make a huge difference. Suggestion – Double date with another couple. Bonus points if their child is old enough to babysit.
You’re Watching Too Many Kiddie Shows –When PBS Kids and Nick Jr are your go-to channels it’s only a matter of time until you get caught up in Elmo’s latest adventures. Waking up humming the Pepa Pig theme is a sign you need a night out. Suggestion – Beer and Wings with the guys at a Sports Bar.
The Last Movie We Saw Was Um…– Having young kids in the house means they determine what’s on TV. It makes you long for the nights when you and the wife battled it out for the remote. If the last movie you saw was the first Hunger Games you’re overdue for a movie night. Suggestion –Dinner and a Movie.
Funerals Become Date Nights – It’s gotten pretty bad when attending a wake or sitting shiva is the highlight of your social calendar. Although wearing something other than the stained sweatshirt and pajama pants will score points with your better half, sharing a meal of brisket and rugelach with your fellow mourners is not a date night. Exceptions may be granted for an Irish Wake. Suggestion– Make Reservations for two at a steak house because nothing says love like porterhouse.
Some Private Time Please – Keeping up with a toddler requires the patience of a monk and the energy of an extreme athlete—sometimes that’s not enough. Working all day and trying to outlast a wired baby late into the night is exhausting—usually resulting in one parent falling asleep before the baby. You know it’s gotten pretty bad when you start comparing who’s better looking Wilma Flintstone or Betty Rubble. Suggestion – Call in a huge favor and have someone to watch the baby while you book a romantic weekend, a three-day weekend if possible in case one of you passes out the first night.
Disclaimer- No Cartoon Characters were hurt during that last joke.
Becoming a SAHD (Stay at Home Dad) at 50 concerned me a little—okay maybe more than a little. I worried about, bathing, diaper changes, and being the responsible adult. I was working without a net—it was just me and the baby—without an adult more adult than me nearby.
I’ve outgrown my initial concerns but still dread the day when someone asks, “How old is your grandson?” Hopefully Cristian will do the right thing and kick them in the leg. I’m counting on you son.
I spent Sunday’s Super Bowl Party comparing notes with Dads who’ve been there and done that. We agreed first-moments are great, tantrums suck, and debated which was more annoying, the Teletubbies or Caillou.
Here’s what I learned:
Looking Silly is Okay –My friends may be wondering about this one. Silliness and an off-beat sense of humor is kind of who I am. I have a hard time seeing a thirty-something me bopping around to kiddie songs during a My Gym class or even out of class. These days I’ve become a rhythmless-dancing machine—it’s easier when you embrace the silly.
Baby-Related Entertainment – My days are consumed binge watching Sesame Street, Sid the Science Kid and Pepa Pig. Going to show or museum used to be a comedy club or MOMA now it’s Sesame Street Live or the Children’s Museum of New York. Cristian’s smiling face makes up for the crowds and loud crying children.
Pacing and Energy – Twenty years ago I was younger, fitter, and had washboard abs. Today, I’m older and grayer, okay mostly white without the hair color. A keg replaced the six-pack. Caring for and chasing after a toddler requires endurance. Finishing twelve marathons taught me how to pace myself. Occasionally I hit the wall, but push through until Esther comes home from work or I’ve worn the baby out.
I’m Older, Calmer, and More Secure with Myself – It’s not like I’m doing yoga, sipping green tea, or reading the Dalai Lama but twenty years mellowed me. I no longer stress things I can’t control. I’ve learned to enjoy the moment because they won’t last forever. That’s not to say I haven’t fired a baby bottle or thrown an iPhone across the room during those special moments.
Payback’s a Bitch – I watched from the sidelines when my friends became parents in their 20s and 30s. Knowing I could bolt when the tantrums started was a good option to have. Those same friends are now empty nesters, offering advice and even babysitting here and there. These days they’re the ones reaching for their coats when the tantrums kick in.
I’m reluctant to call this post a best of, or highlights, because not everything is a happy memory—but they are memorable. 2015 will be remembered as bittersweet. Esther and I experiencing the joys of parenthood was the highlight. Four family funerals and burying our dog made me wonder if we somehow pissed off the Grim Reaper.
Life is never as good as it seems when things are going well or as bad as it seems when they are going bad. This is what I remember from 2015:
Our First Full Year as Parents – Cristian was born in October 2014 so 2015 was our first full year as parents. We watched our little bundle of joy grow from a (not so) tiny newborn to rambunctious toddler. He was one of the few constants over the past year. You have no idea how many people you touched with your big smile and bigger personality. Esther and I are still amazed this adorable little boy is ours.
Dad’s Memorial – My father passed away this year. Five months later his loss still leaves me numb. Although he was 89 and spent much of the past few years in doctor’s offices and hospital rooms I thought, or maybe hoped, he had a few years left.
Dad loved a good story and his funeral gave me several. At his wake I met a charming older gentleman named Serafin who’s touching stories I’ll never forget. His funeral mass included a eulogy which left mourners alternating between laughter and tears and a driving rainstorm at the cemetery soaked those paying their final respects.
What I remember most is spending time with the family at Mom’s house afterwards. Dad loved entertaining—his summer cookouts were legendary. What better way to honor his memory than swapping stories with good food, good people, and good wine, the way he used to. I’m sure El Viejo was looking down with a smile on his face.
I’m Mr. Mom – If you told me five years ago I would be Mr. Mom, I would have laughed at you, but here we are. A freelance consulting gig allows me to work from home on a laptop while Cristian plays or watches Sesame Street and Peppa Pig. I’m usually the only dad at his My Gym classes and story time at the local library. I’m lucky—I get to experience Cristian’s firsts instead of hearing about them from others.
Esther and I Celebrated Our Fifth Wedding Anniversary– On Thanksgiving Day Esther and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary. Although she is sometimes the subject of a joke or two from this cranky blogger, she is what I was thankful for (not just on Thanksgiving). She introduced me to bike tours, long-distance running, and salsa (the music not the condiment). She is the Ying to my Yang and I’m lucky to have her in my life.
I’m now a Published Writer – I’ve been writing for ten years and blogging the last five. This year my work was published in a website I enjoy reading, The Good Men Project. So if I take anything away from 2015, I’m a writer, marathon runner and a badass dad.
Farewell Chico – Some will say “Why are you getting so emotional, it’s only a dog?” I understand not everyone is an animal lover and others consider dogs or cats just pets. Not us. Chico had a tremendous vibe and the ability to coax a smile from most people even non-dog people. Who doesn’t like a nice dog? Yes we spoiled him—he was our practice child before Cristian was born. My day is not the same without Chico’s morning walk.