This past week, my son was off from school, so I took a personal day to stay home with him. As we hung out, played video games and watched TV, I found myself drifting to the days when he and his brother were much younger and every Wednesday was Daddy Day ….
[*insert “Wayne’s World”-like hand-waving flashback motion*]
Yeah, wanting to be a good parent and not quite understanding what I was getting myself into, I decided after the birth of my first son that I would change my work schedule so that I could be home with him one day a week. In theory, it covered a few bases: I could be part of his (and eventually, his brother’s) life, we could save some $$$ on daycare and I had a four-day work week—sure, they were 10-hour work days, but there was still only four of them, which meant I had 52 more whole days off than I had the year prior! Win all around, right?
Of course, once I actually started staying home with the kids, I learned what generations of stay-at-home parents already knew: That actually working at a desk on any given day is about 100 times easier than being home with two young kids!
I used to joke with my wife that her father’s mother died young because she’d birthed 10 kids and her uterus fell out. I realize now she probably keeled over from pure exhaustion.
Now don’t get me wrong—it has nothing to do with how much I love my kids; it has everything to do with the physical demand of keeping up with them. If you’re thinking I’m whining because I only had to do it one day a week on my own (my wife and I were both home on weekends), well … you’d be absolutely right. But this is my blog and I get to whine here!
So although I would now never trade that time I got to spend with my two sons, there were days where I was so tired all I wanted was for Mary Poppins to magically appear to take charge so that I could lay down and sleep. Even though they were—and still are—terrific kids (shhh!), being solely in charge of them for nine straight hours came close to breaking me once or twice.
In order to get through, I found myself dividing the day up into shorter segments and telling myself, “If can just get through *this* segment …”
Here’s how my day generally went—
8 a.m. – 9 a.m. The first hour of the day was usually play time, and as my wife liked to tease me, I invented dozens of games and activities that I could do while sitting on my butt … you know, to conserve energy.
One of our (my) favorite games was “Bury Daddy!” (In retrospect, the kids shouldn’t have been so excited about this concept; I think my wife liked the idea of it, too. Hmm …) In this activity, I would lay on the floor and they would get all the blankets, pillows and sheets they could find and pile them on top of me. I would rest under the pile, somewhat cushioned, and they would have fun hopping on pop until I rose up out of the “grave,” made some monster noises and let them bury me again. Simple zombie fun, right?
This game finally had to end when one time I was under the pile, nearly napping, and I was jolted by an impact akin to a sledgehammer crashing into my back. When I was done coughing up blood and got my head out from under the pile, I realized that one of my sons had gone Superfly Snuka on me, launching himself from the top of the couch and directly into my kidneys.
After that, I went to board games, books and other activities where the risk of being maimed was reduced.
9 a.m. -10:30 a.m. This was usually the time I let the TV take over for a little while—we didn’t (and still don’t) have it on all the time, in the dream of fostering imagination and other creative play. (I guess that worked to some extent.) When it was TV time, however, I did watch with the kids, and often tried to steer them toward more intelligent programs that I could stand like “Between the Lions,” “Zoboomafoo” and of course, “Hi-5.”
Yes, let’s get this party started! I remember Hi-5 came to the Connecticut Post Mall in Milford and my buddy Bob and I brought our kids to see them. I don’t know who was more excited, the kids or me and Bob—we both sort of had a creepy-old-man crush on Jenn, who was even more attractive in person. … (Hint: It was me and Bob.)
Anyway, as the kids got older, their tastes in TV (as molded by me) got better. I still say that “Teen Titans” was the Best. Animated show. Ever.
10:30 a.m. – noon Outside time! Although I tried to teach them games like baseball and soccer, I also was not afraid to delve into the “sit in one place” playbook, which included old favorites such as “Red Light, Green Light” and “Hey, why don’t you take this shovel and dig up the backyard for a while.”
In the winter and snow, we’d all bundle ourselves and go sledding. The hill on the side of our house may not be impressive to most, but for young kids and their dad who didn’t want to repeatedly trudge up a large incline, it made for a good sledding experience.
Of all my Daddy Day time with the kids, getting out in the snow and on the sled probably brought me back to my own childhood most because once I started lurching down the hill, it was the same exact experience—I didn’t care how many of us were on the sled, I just wanted to go down the hill faster and farther than the run before. If we could hit the fence at the back of the yard with some serious impact, then it was a good ride! And then there were the visceral elements—snow eventually getting under your clothes, your nose running like a frozen faucet and the numbness setting in your extremities when we stayed out too long. Ah, the simple joy (and pain) of frostbite!
This was also the period of the day when they got older where we would venture out into the world for adventure. At first, I’d take them to the mall—free, air-conditioned, plenty of bathrooms—and then when they were more mobile, we hit places like museums or the beach. I tried a few hikes and walks, except they involved hiking and walking. I never got around to teaching the proper way to make a sweet, sweet fire and properly burn things, although this would’ve been the ideal time.
Noon – 12:30 Peanut butter jelly time!
12:30 p.m. – 2 p.m. This stretch was “No Man’s Land” when they were young, as it seemed like it should be closer to the end of the day, but it was only barely halfway through. Every minute during this stretch could seem like an eternity.
It really made this segment the toughest part of the day sometimes. We did all sorts of activities during this time but they were all fraught with the danger of extreme meltdown because crankiness—and the all the joy that comes with that state of being—was in play so close to nap time.
When the kids outgrew their naps, this time became the computer and video game zone—half an hour each, or one total hour of what should’ve been a semi-break for me but often was spent either helping in the conquering of electronic challenges or calming frustrated nerves from the inability to conquer electronic challenges.
More than once video game time was ended early. I blame that whore Princess Peach—if she didn’t tart it up so much, she wouldn’t be kidnapped all the time. Oh, speaking of kidnapping …
2 p.m. – 3 p.m. Nap time, glorious nap time!
For a year or two, both kids would sleep at the same time, so wanting to … uh, set a good example, I would snuggle down for a quick power nap myself.
I remember when my older son grew out of his nap, I’d occasionally give him “secret bonus TV time”—i.e., sit him in front of the better babysitter with a sippy cup while I’d continue to try and set a good example for my younger son. I’m a giver like that.
[On a side note: The Spanish have it right—there’s nothing more rejuvenating that a 20-minute siesta. Why doesn’t every “civilized” nation do this? I think it’s time to start a movement—I’m going to set up a cot in my new cubicle … warning to co-workers: I snore. Loudly.]
Anyway, to this day, in honor of this tradition, I pop open a can of Coke at 2 p.m.—or “a nap in a can” as my wife calls it.
3 p.m – 4 p.m. TV time redux. On the plus side, I kept it to only an hour in the afternoon (not counting secret bonus TV time—again, shhh!), and often I’d multitask—my younger son wasn’t as content to just sit in front of the boob tube, so I’d have to actually interact with him. Go figure.
4 p.m. – 5 p.m. The final period of free play. We’d head outside when possible, and knowing that the finish line was in sight, I’d have that final burst and kick to get through, so this was usually a spirited segment.
Again, as much as I love my kids, sometimes nothing was as sweet as seeing my wife’s car coming up the street at the end of the day. Not that I ever dumped the kids on her and ran off when she came through the door—seriously, I never did—it was just good to see a face that wasn’t covered with snot or drool and to have someone else in the house who was (mostly) potty trained.
The good news is that those days are gone, but my kids are still here. And it’s sooo much easier to hang out with them when they don’t have to bury me to pass the time.
