Bringing Home Baby

D1 just turned 17 the other day and as folks often do on such occasions, I found myself hitching a ride on the wayback machine: It was not one of those long and dream-like excursions through time though; it was more of a momentary flashback, but one in which the sensations were as real as any present waking moment. For a split second, as I passed through a certain place, every one of my senses was telling me it was 17 years ago, and we were bringing our new baby home for the first time. It was enough to stop me in my tracks.

I was simply walking by the laundry room on the way from the kitchen to the front of the house. As I often do, I glanced into that little room, and that’s when it happened. Expecting to see the closed door to the garage, instead I saw – and this is particularly interesting to me – heard, smelled and felt, too – all the same sights, sounds, smells and textures of the moment 17 years ago when my wife walked through that door carrying our newborn son.

The view was curiously cropped. Oh yes, I was filming the event and saw it though the viewfinder of a video camera. I can feel the camera in my hands, warm and smooth. My hand shakes a bit. There is a familiar smell – new construction – our house is only a few months older than D1. But not a smell we usually experience now. In the background there are still boxes in the garage, beyond the blue Honda that I just made room for in there so we would not have to have the baby out in the cold for long. There really are not many sounds; my wife said something like “We’re home - finally!” But I remember the silence most because for a fleeting second that silence I experienced all those years ago reminded me just how scared I was to be coming home to the house we just moved into with a baby that I believed I knew nothing about raising . . . It was a stark, cold, lonely feeling. I put down the camera and embraced my family. Then it was all instantly, awesomely, OK.

I walked on down the hall and found that D1 still has not taken his laundry hamper back up to his room.

Sigh.

One of those Dad things

The other day I picked up our daughter (Diamond 3) from our neighborhood YMCA. She had just been dropped off there after spending the day at a Y day camp called Teen Extreme. I noticed immediately that, along with the rosiness in her cheeks undoubtedly due to the summer sun, she sported a scrape under her left eye. She didn't mention it so I didn't bring it up, just helped her by carrying her backpack to the car.

Later, after we got settled a bit at home, I asked her how camp had been. She gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up sign and big grin. So, again I didn't question the scrape on her face.

A few hours pass and my wife comes home. I'm upstairs taking care of business and changing clothes when I hear a very upset sounding Mom Voice from downstairs. I hurry down there and discover that our darling daughter was written up for fighting. Seems another girl, larger of course, had been playing a little too aggressively at whatever game they were playing, and got in our daughter's face. So she pushed this other girl, who promptly punched her in the face.

(Note to self - check backpacks for notes when we get home.)

Being a dad in this case brings two very strong, very distinct feelings:

1. Disappointment in our daughter for becoming physical with another child
2. Pride in that she stood up for herself against a larger foe

Of course we made sure she understood our disappointment with her. Using this as a teaching moment, we reiterated the importance of avoiding physical confrontations with other children - Especially when there are responsible adults there (well, young adult camp counselors in this case) to settle disagreements in a non-violent way.

But I'm still proud of her - in a dad sort of way.

Unease Returns

Well, our son has been a fully licensed driver for a couple weeks or so now and has had several opportunities to drive on his own. He's been humoring us and calls when he arrives at his destination, and if he is going to be late returning home. He's even agreed to shuttle his sister when we've asked. And get this - he's volunteered to drive her even when it meant an inconvenience to himself!

Now, let me explain "inconvenience" because it still blows my mind that he volunteered to do this: He said he would drive his sister to the YMCA to catch the 8:00 AM bus to her day camp.

OK. If you have teenagers, you may already be thinking that I've lost my mind - After all, It's summer: No sixteen year old boy with no school, no scheduled activities, no job (yet), and a penchant for staying up late playing video games could be pried out of their beds before noon. To drive his little sister. Not our boy. He wanted to do it. And because it meant a big inconvenience to either of us, we were happy to let him do it. He did a good job and got her there in plenty of time too. He even told us that evening that he was glad that he had gotten up early, because he was able to enjoy more of the day watching TV and playing games.

Pretty wise for a sixteen year old, I'm thinking. . .

Pretty wise, and . . . pretty eager too, if I think about it. Uh, wait a second! It would seem that our son is starting to enjoy this driving thing a bit more. He says it was cool because he had more waking hours in the day. But maybe the freedom from being tied down by the schedule of two very busy parents is starting to go to his head. Maybe he's out there right now blasting down the road on some wild adventure! Look Out! Be Carefull! Slow DOWN! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ahem. Mmm. Sorry. It's the Unease coming back.

Such is the lot of a father of a new driver . . .

My Ring has Three Diamonds

I've been thinking about the title for my blog - My Ring has Three Diamonds - and the subtitle quip about the facets. When I made it up I was actually getting a little pissed because I couldn't come up with a title - seemed like every idea I had was already taken. So when I glanced at my wedding band and saw the three rocks there, I thought "Why Not? So I tried it out. It was available, so I used it. I was pretty satisfied with it right away, more so than I really thought I should be for something I pulled out of thin air. I knew there was at least one good story to go with it though, and that was enough.

Or so I thought. over the last day or so I've been really mulling over "My Ring has Three Diamonds" (hereafter abbreviated as MRHTD) Seems that there's more to it under the surface than I was aware of at first, well at least my mind has been able to put some pretty interesting stuff together, but it seems real enough, and vaguely profound. I'll mull over it some more and let you know what comes out.

Meanwhile, let me relate that one anecdote that led me to land on MRHTD as the name. There really are three diamonds in my wedding band. When we were newlywed, my wife and I of course were asked to show off the rings. Ours match - same rings in other words, rather than something plain for me and more ornate for her. Anyway this in itself was usually interesting to folks. However my Aunt was more interested in the diamonds. She told us that she had four diamonds in her band, and they had had four daughters. She obviously was hinting that we might be on the way to having three daughters of our own. We of course thought that was amusing, and since we went on to have two children - one male and one female, it seemed that my Aunt's experience was just a fun coincidence.

It was some years later, (and many years ago now) that I realized that we did have three children (albeit not all female) - The one I had forgotten was the one unfortunately that was lost to miscarriage before having the chance to be born - but a child none the less. Again just a coincidence right? Well maybe, but it sure made me think a lot about my spiritual life - and right at a time when it really mattered. (But that's another article.)

So the title is.