Pride and Fear the day after your third birthday.

Dear Grace

Yesterday was your third birthday. You had so much fun. We went to Castle Fun Park, had a pizza party with friends, ate cake, opened presents and went to Choo Choo's for dinner. It was a great day.

As a parent, you can't help but reflect on birthdays. A lot has changed since last year. I really think we're starting to get a more clear picture of who you are. There are things about you that have been a part of you for a while, but are becoming more and more defined. Your passion for music, your kindness, your concern for others, your silliness. They're all just becoming more obvious as you grow. I couldn't help but think that I really like who you are becoming. Everyone love's their kids, even if they're bad at expressing it. I feel lucky that I also really like you.

So that was yesterday. Today has been a little more relaxed. We've run a few errands, played with your toys, and hung out around the house. But one thing happened that, while it may seem insignificant to others, was a very big deal to me. Your mom and I brought you and your brother to McDonalds so we could have a coffee while you played on the play place. You did what you always do, looked at the play place very excitedly and watched other kids play while hesitating to go on yourself. I think you get that from me.

After about twenty minutes of you standing shyly at the stairs and your brother trying to chew on other children's shoes, we decided it was maybe time to go. After informing you of this, you got really upset because you wanted to stay and play some more. We told you we could stay longer if you actually played in the play place. That's exactly what you did. Honestly, it was one of the first times you went off to play without one of us by your side.

It was a weird feeling for your mom and I. We couldn't see you at all. I could feel my blood pressure going up. I knew logically that you were old enough to do this, there was no danger, you weren't far away, and there were just other kids in there. But it was still terrifying. Shortly after disappearing we could hear you laughing and jumping, and then you would pop out of one of the slides.

It's hard to describe just how proud I was of you. That was a big risk for you. You're like me. Cautious. Vulnerable. But you knew you wanted to play so you went for it any way and had a great time. I'm so proud of you for that. I know that as you grow older there will be times I can't be there for every part of your journey, I won't see every step you take, but I trust you. I trust you'll do the things you're passionate about, make good decisions, and come out the other side. And I promise I'll always be there, waiting to congratulate you, and bursting with pride.

I love you

Dad

To the one in the trenches

One of the themes I like to explore in this space is the idea of evolving gender roles, how just because I'm the dad doesn't mean I'm working, and just because my wife is the mom doesn't mean she's doing housework. The funny thing is that right now, she actually is a stay at home mom, and I am the one going to work. The important thing is that this isn't because we like to conform to social norms, it just works for us right now. This summer, when my school is closed and I'm not working, those roles will most likely be reversed.

That kind of terrifies me.

I love my kids. They're the best kids you could ask for. They're happy, healthy, fun, and loving. I can't get enough of them. But truthfully, I don't know what it's like to be with them, by myself, all day, everyday.

That's what my wife does, and she's incredible at it. I see the activities she does with them, decorating our ceiling so Grace can look at the stars, baking, coloring, making crafts, all sorts of things, and I'm not sure I can come up with all that stuff. She keeps the house clean too.

I can't even keep the house clean with just myself home.

The other day I had them for one hour, she tried to call me, but I couldn't answer because I had an infant screaming in my ear, a toddler screaming to go to the bathroom, and the floor was covered in spaghetti. How do you deal with that for 8 hours a day by yourself?

Today is mothers day, and I've been reflecting on how lucky I am to have such an incredible mother for my children. I am blown away everyday by the patience, wisdom, creativity, and care she shows our children all the time. Frankly, I'm envious of her. She's in the trenches everyday with those two, and some days aren't easy. Some days run you down. But she wouldn't trade it for the world; and I wouldn't trade her for the world. So, here's to Moms. Not just any moms, the best moms. The ones who make the everyday exciting, who make the missteps lessons, who make childhood magical, and who make us all proud.

Anger

We had a history with this child. I won't use his name, but I will tell you we've given him the nickname "El Diablo". He's just one of those loud, in your face, won't leave you alone kind of kids. You know the kind. He's probably 3 or 4 years old. We've encountered him a few times at the park. The first time it was Grace and I there. He decided he wanted to play with us. You know, if I was a perfect human being, I would've probably let him. I wasn't feeling particularly altruistic at the moment and really just wanted to play with my daughter during a nice day at the park. El Diablo had other ideas. Grace and I were playing a game where we would pop out of different parts of the playground to surprise each other, and this kid decides he wants to do the same. He gets right in my face, and at a couple points saliva flies off of his face and onto mine. Of course, this is not the kind of child who listens to requests to be left alone. Eventually you just kind of have to move on and play somewhere where you hope he won't follow you.

This was not the last time we encountered this child. Sometimes he would annoy other people at the park, sometimes us. It happened lots. I was not around for the last run in with this child, I only heard about it through my wife, who had taken the kids to the park while I was at work. First, she text me to say that El Diablo was there again, and he was annoying some older kids. Shortly after this I got a text that said "That friggen kid! He just hit Grace"

It's hard to explain the kind of thoughts that text made me feel. I was mad, and as more information about what  happened came in, I just got more angry. He ran up behind her and hit her across the back. Truthfully it doesn't sound like she was very physically hurt, but she got very sad and just wanted to go home. It might have been less infuriating if she was just physically hurt, because she's a tough girl and can bounce back from that; but she loves running around the park so much and the fact that someone could ruin that for her is heartbreaking. It created a kind of irrational anger in me. The kind of anger that makes me hate a small child.

Now, there is one part of this story you may notice is missing. Where are this kids parents? There's usually somebody there with him, but literally every time I've seen them, they've been talking on their cell phone. Rather than playing with their kid, or paying any attention to him, they are talking on the phone every single time. The reason this kid so aggressively inserts himself into everyone else's play is because there is no one there to play with him. You know that stereotype of kids who do things just to get attention? Yeah, it's usually because they don't get any. If we have another run in with him, I'll have to remember to direct my anger towards his parent, not him. Because I know my kid will be okay, I'm not convinced about theirs. 

Terrible

All ages come with their challenges. Newborns need constant attention and deny your sleep, one year olds are constantly finding ways to get themselves killed, but only two year olds are actually named after how terrible they can be.

I love the internet, but it has a few negative consequences. One such consequence is that it causes us to radicalize every issue. Everything is either incredible, or the worst. There's very little room for nuance. This could be said for the way we discuss parenting online. Sometimes it's shown to be a complete train wreck that ruins your life, other times it's glorified above all else. I don't want either of those things to be what this space is for. I want this space to be an honest look at what being a dad is really like.

Honestly, sometimes it's really hard. When Grace was just starting to interact with us, she was the sweetest, most innocent thing you could imagine.

Look at that face. How could that face ever cause anyone any trouble? Terrible twos? Yeah, like my sweetie is ever going to hit that stage. Honestly, by the time she hit 2 I still felt that way. Sure, she was a little more strong willed, but she was so sweet.

I didn't really notice it until her brother came along. Suddenly, she wasn't getting all the attention she was used to. That's when she started acting out. She's clever, because she knows when you're busy. The time to do it is when there's only one parent, and they're busy with Isaac. What's that? I can't throw my food? Well you're busy with Isaac, so across the room it goes!

Or when she does little things like intentionally hit or scratch you, and then laughs when you tell her to stop. Honestly, it's weird how you can feel hurt by the laughter. Suddenly your sweet little baby finds your pain amusing. You know that she doesn't really know what's going on, and that she loves you, but it's hard to be rationale in some of these moments. Especially when you haven't gotten a proper nights sleep in weeks because of the new addition.

Having a two year old is hard. They're smart enough to remember things for months, but you still can't explain long term consequences. Sometimes you forget that they're still toddlers, because they understand so much of what's going on, but they are. You can only reason so much with them.

Grace has moments where her behaviour could be described as terrible. Moments, where as a parent, you're left dumbfounded and frustrated. But there's another sense in which Grace is terrible...

Grace is terribly curious. She wants to know what everything is and how it works. She loves to learn.

Grace is terribly imaginative. Baking strawberry cakes is her favourite new game, but strawberries can be anything. They can be her toys, Mr. Potato head pieces, her lego, or thin air. 

Grace is terribly loving. The amount of hugs and kisses everyone in our family gets is amazing. She's stepped up her hug game too, they involve squeezes now!

While the terrible twos can be frustrating, they can also be exciting. Watching her play evolve, seeing her language skills grow, seeing her memory expand, seeing her develop traits like empathy. These things are all incredibly exciting. Terribly exciting. There will be bumps along the road. There will always be challenges. That's okay. Grace will always be my little girl. She's still sweet and innocent. She's developing a personality before my eyes, and it's inspiring. If this is the trade off, well, a little terrible never killed anybody. 

The gender question

Something people like to talk to you about when you're having a baby is the gender of your baby. It generates endless discussion. Are you going to find out the gender? What do you think it is? What are you hoping for? I've also heard many discussions about who's easier, boys or girls, and have celebrated the idea of having one of each. I don't want to dismiss these discussions or pretend I'm above them, because honestly I've participated in them too, but I do want to challenge them.

Let me start by saying that I won't argue boys and girls aren't different. That's just objectively false. I've seen it play out as a teacher, the girls at my school cause trouble by talking, the guys do it by fighting. You can see it in other places too. There's a reason sports leagues are separated by gender. Boys and girls are simply different. What I want to argue is that those differences are clear when you look at boys and girls as a whole, but that isn't really helpful on a one to one basis.

Have you ever walked down a baby clothing isle? It's quite an experience. Everything is adorable. It'll melt your little heart. However, something always bugs me about it. Look at the boys side, you'll see things about being tough, being rock stars, athletes, and lots of other fun stuff. Look at the girls side... everything is about being cute or being a princess. Now, don't get me wrong, some girls really identify with the princess thing, and there's nothing wrong with that... but why is that the only option? Why don't girls get to be tough, or athletic? Why can't girls rock? The most extreme version of this reared its ugly head in value village this Halloween.

Look at that. It's kind of creepy, isn't it? Boys get to dress up like cops and firefighters, girls get to dress up like girls going to a Halloween party. Without even touching the sexualization of young girls, we could talk endlessly about the problems here. Part of the reason there are differences between girls and boys is biological, and part of the problem is from socialization. When we give girls these kind of options, we socialize them. The message is clear, boys get serious jobs, girls are cute. 

Now, obviously more boys will be firefighters and cops than girls, because of the nature of the job. That makes sense. I'm fine with that. The point is that just because most boys are better suited for that than most girls doesn't mean that no girls are.

Studies have shown that parents are more likely to discourage girls from doing the same activities at the playground that they encourage boys to do. Boys are rewarded for taking risks, girls are punished. There are little things we do throughout our interactions with boys and girls that socialize them in ways we don't even think about.

I have a boy and a girl. I want them both to know that they can do whatever they want to do. When I look at Grace, I don't see a girly Disney princess. I don't see a tom boy either. I see Grace. She loves to run around. She loves running, jumping, playing catch, dancing, reading, and pretending. If she wants to play sports, that's fine. If she wants to dress up and play princess, that's fine too. When I look at Isaac, I don't see a future quarterback. I see Isaac. He doesn't do much yet, he's 5 weeks old. He's a bit of a blank slate. He can grow up to like whatever he wants. If he likes sports, great. If he likes baking, also great.

The point is, conversations like "who's easier, boys or girls?" don't really make sense to me, because I don't really think of it as raising a boy and a girl. I think of it as raising Grace and Isaac.

Being thrust into Dadhood

I'm not convinced that there is anything in the world quite like becoming a parent. We often dismiss the dad's side of the delivery story because it doesn't at all compare to the mom's. Which is totally true, it doesn't. At the same time, it's still one of the most intense things you can go through, and so this blog is a dad's side of bringing a baby into the world. The day we were admitted to the hospital, to the day we left.

Round 1

It's Monday. We have gone to the hospital to check on our first child because Sam hasn't felt her move in a while.  The doctors have no idea what's going on. They know the baby is okay in there, but have no idea how much longer that will be true for. The due date isn't for 3 weeks, but they want to get her out of there now. This was obviously a bit of a shock. Sam had just finished her last day of work, I had a couple classes left before winter break, and we had kind of assumed we would have some time together to relax before our daughter was born. Nope.

They start the induction process. Nothing really happens that day, but we get excited that night because Sam thinks she felt the first contraction (Don't worry, it loses its novelty). Doctors are checking in on us every couple of hours, and I don't really have anywhere to sleep. That's alright. Nothing we can't handle.

Tuesday is more of the same. Just slowly escalating the medicine, trying to see if we can't make something happen. Slowly but surely contractions start happening. That night is more of the same. Constant check ins, not a lot of sleep, but nothing too intense yet.

Wednesday morning. The doctor is not happy with how slowly things are happening. He breaks Sam's water. This is when things get crazy. The contractions become insanely painful for Sam. Painful in a way I will never truly understand. I found myself freaking out because it honestly feels like my wife is being torn apart. At this point I'm doing things to support her. Telling her it's going to be okay, pushing on her back seems to help the pain, although most of the time I just feel like I'm in the way (especially when Sam accidentally hit me in the head and then told me not to have my head there). I vaguely remember sneaking in to the bathroom at some point to cry. Sam ends up agreeing to get an epidural, which is worrisome to me because that wasn't part of our plan (plans, cute right?). I make sure to check with her that she's okay with that decision, to which I got an emphatic yes. Now, the epidural did help, but watching it happen was insane. Picture it, you have a doctor sticking a giant needle into your wife's spine, but he has to stop every once and a while to make sure she doesn't shake while she's having a contraction. I just have to keep reminding myself that these people know what they're doing, and despite what it looks like, my wife and unborn child will survive this. Anyway, once the epidural takes effect there's a bit of a role reversal, and Sam starts telling me everything's going to be okay, and checking to make sure I'm not freaking out (I was). She then tells me to go get lunch, because I haven't eaten in who knows how long.

Heading down to the hospital cafeteria was a nice break from insanity, but it was also scary because I wanted to know everything was okay. I buy my lunch, sit down, and feel my phone buzz. "Come back" is all it says. I don't think I've ever moved that quickly in my life. I get back in the room and find out that they're preparing for a c-section, because the baby just isn't fitting. I'm going to be a dad very very soon. I soon find myself sitting on a chair outside of the operating room, waiting to be called in. I think I played angry birds for 20 minutes, because how else was I supposed to keep myself sane? They call me in, I stand by Sam's side, and shortly after, a screaming baby comes into this world. I can't describe the feeling that came next, but it was a combination of joy, relief, awe, and terror. Let's call it "Jorelaworror"... or we can just stick with "an indescribable feeling". Because Sam had to go into recovery, I got to spend the next hour with Grace by myself. That was one of the best hours of my life. This person was in my arms who was discovering everything for the first time. She was my daughter. I loved her instantly and insanely. I watched her every movement. I learned how to be a new dad. There were important new dad questions to answer like "How do I pick her up without breaking her?" and "What do I do if she poops?" and "What do I do?" That was a special time for me, but at the same time, I couldn't wait to get back to Sam, and share the moment with her, and also make sure she was okay because I had spent the whole day watching her in agony that under any other circumstance would make me think she was dying.

We spent the next two days at the hospital. The days, we took everything in, it was wonderful. The nights though, you know they'll be hard, but nobody tells you they'll be "you're so tired you lose track of where you are right now" tired. I barely slept our first night with Grace, which if you're keeping track would be the third straight night of barely sleeping. I discovered levels of exhaustion I did not know existed. At one point I came to with Grace in my arms and Sam asking me if I was okay. That wasn't fun. But it's weird how no matter how hard the nights were, the day would come around and I'd be okay and in love again. Friday afternoon we were sharing a room with three other mothers and were ready to leave, luckily the hospital staff had mercy and let us go home. This was exciting, but also terrifying (bit of a theme?) because we would no longer have anyone to ask for help, or to make sure things are normal. Babies do lots of things that don't seem normal, like rolling their eyes in the back of their heads, or having really erratic breathing patterns. Being a first time parent makes you assume all of these things mean imminent death. We have a healthy two year old girl now, so obviously things turned out okay.

Round 2.

Wednesday morning, we head in to the hospital knowing that in a couple of hours we will have our second child. We know this because the doctors agreed that since Grace wouldn't fit, it would be best to plan a c-section this time around. It's a weird feeling, knowing exactly when your baby is arriving. We show up to the hospital, and everything is going according to plan. Unlike Kelowna, Langley only has private rooms, which is a huge improvement. We settle in and wait to be called. Our room is right next to the OR, so the chair I have to sit on is right outside our door. When I get called in, everything feels very familiar. Our son, Isaac, eventually comes screaming in to this world much like his sister did. It didn't feel real until about 3 seconds after it happened, it just suddenly hit me "Hey, that's my boy!". I got hit by that indescribable feeling all at once. Shortly after that we're in recovery, this time we're all together. Things very shortly feel normal, and I begin to wonder when I'll get to take this boy home.

A weird thing happened while we were in the hospital. The emotions weren't the same. Don't get me wrong, I was excited to have Isaac here, but something felt different. Everything was more moderate. I wasn't as scared, or as tired, or as over joyed. Part of me began to worry that it was because I didn't love Isaac enough, was I a bad dad? Once we got home I began to realize that once things were normal I felt the same about both my kids, but the problem was I kept comparing two incomparable experiences. I was never scared for anyone's life when Isaac was born. I hadn't spent the last 3 days not sleeping and watching my wife go through indescribable pain. I wasn't worried that I didn't know how to hold my own child. I had a general understanding of how things would work, what to expect, and how Isaac would act. It's not that my love was less for him. It's that the emotion all around was less extreme. It was no longer uncharted territories, Grace had already blazed those trails.

Which got me thinking, Grace will always be our little trailblazer. She will have taken the first first steps and spoken the first first words. We won't be completely clueless when it comes to potty training Isaac, when he has his first day at school we'd have already gone through that with Grace, same with things like sleep overs, being left home alone, summer camp, high school, graduation. It will be an entirely different kind of experience with Grace than it will with Isaac. The challenge will be trying to make sure that that doesn't make these moments less special. It's being able to take in those small moments when he's a newborn, and just wants to cuddle, without thinking about how it would be nice if both were potty trained. It's appreciating all the small things when his sister can do much bigger things. The challenge is recognizing that my two kids will have unique, and separate lives that can't and don't need to be compared.

I think I'm up for the challenge.

What being a dad means to me

I've been a lot of different things in my life. I've been a son, a brother, a student, an employee, a friend, a teacher, and a husband. All of those roles are important to me. They all define who I am to a certain extent. They all mold who I am to a certain extent. But nothing has defined me, or molded me quite the way being a dad has. Being a Dad has meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people. I started this blog to paint a picture of what being a Dad means to me.

When I was a kid, my teacher had us make a card for our dads on fathers day. This card was in the shape of a tool belt. You don't think of it as a kid, but this is painting a picture of what being a Dad means. I don't mean this as a criticism, this was in the hay day of Tim the tool man Taylor, how can you blame them? He represented the "every dad" of his day. Liked tools, power, sports, and beer. He wasn't the brightest but he meant well, and he loved his family. Different eras had different every dad's. The 60's every dad was at work, and came home to a wife who had prepared a hot meal for him. He provided for his family by working long hours and he drank lots of liquor.... you know, I think that I just started describing Mad Men at the end there.

We're in the 21st century now. Things are changing. Things have always been changing, but I think we're more conscious of the change now. Gender roles are more of a suggestion than a rule. There are working moms, stay at home dads, and single parents of both genders. The world is changing at an incredible pace and people are going to adapt to keep up. If people need to throw tradition out the window to make things work, that's what they should do. But it does raise the question, what does it mean to be a dad in the 21st century?

You don't have to look very hard to find people who don't ever want kids. They don't want to give up the freedom that being child free comes with. Do I sometimes think about what it would be like to not have kids? To be able to spontaneously go on trips, to sleep peacefully every night, to watch a couple hours of TV without having to worry about a crying kid, to have two full incomes, without child expenses? Of course I think about those things from time to time. Of course it would be nice. I completely understand and respect people who are child free because of them.

The thing is, I would do anything for my children. The long nights are hard, and that's okay. The time cut out of my hobbies is hard, and that's okay. The expenses are hard, and that's okay. It's okay because of the laughter, the dancing, the smiles, the kisses and the hugs. It's okay because of the learning, the reading, the running and the jumping. It's okay because there is so much more in store and I can't wait to see where life takes these kids. It's okay because I would sacrifice anything, I would adapt my life in any way, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure my children have the best life they can. Lives that are full of happiness, opportunity, and adventure. Lives that are wholly unique to who they are and what they love. Lives that show them how much they mean to me. That's what being a dad in the 21st century means to me, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.