My Failings As A Father and as a Person

 

Alexander the Great I'm not.

It's my birthday tomorrow, which always brings me a certain level of depression and frustration.  It's right around this time each year that I start to think about all the things I haven't accomplished, all the things I haven't done, all the things I wanted to do this year, and somehow managed to avoid.  

When I was in my 30's, my joke used to be "When Alexander the Great was my age, he'd been dead for five years.  He had conquered all of the known world.  I've finished making payments on my five-year-old car."  

Yeah, I know.  I have it good compared to a lot of people.  I'm still alive and without COVID (knock wood)  My wife still has her income, and I'm fortunate to continue to be a house-husband, stay at home dad,  and (sort of) pursue my goals as an artist. And I've accomplished a lot this year.  (Including shedding 70+ lbs, working out every day for a year+, and keeping it off during the pandemic!)  I've also taken three major workshops, attended a couple of conferences, joined a mastermind of sorts, live-streamed every day for a month, wrote every day in my blog for a different month, started playing D and D again, and produced almost 40 sonnet videos (although I've stalled the last few months) on my Daily Sonnet video project. 

So I've done some things this year, but not enough, not enough.  I'm feeling disappointed in myself that I didn't jump on the virtual show bandwagon, that I didn't miraculously monetize my sonnets, that the idea that I have for an online course now seems stalled.

Dark skies ahead.

But  I wasn't thinking about any of these things when I lost my cool with my son tonight, in a way that did not reflect my best self, my best intentions, or show myself as a good parent.  Instead I got pretty angry and frustrated.

My son has been having focus issues at school, particularly with math.  He is complaining all the time about school.  We have had to cut down his computer game time, and assiduously watch it, because he's lied about checking out game sites during the day, about doing his homework, and he's just putting in the absolute minimum effort to do his work.  He doesn't want to do what the teacher expects, which is to write down the problem and show his work.  He's downright belligerent about it.  And sadly, I can be belligerent too.

After online school today, my son came to my office to ask if he could download a video game and play with his friends FIRST before he did his homework.  Typically he has to do his homework first.  But all of his friends were playing now, and I want him to have fun. He said that my wife had left it up to me.   I said, okay, but afterward, you need to finish your homework and take a shower.  He agreed, and even pinky swore.  

That was at 2:30 pm.  I had a bunch of stuff to do, and was in my office working at 4:30pm when my wife called me to say that she was leaving to have a socially distanced dinner date with a girlfriend, and did the boy do his homework?  I went upstairs to check on him, and he (naturally) was still playing video games.  It turns out children are not self-regulating, and they need to be reminded to do the things they said they were going to do. I asked him to get off and start on his homework.  

He grumbled but said yes.  About 8 minutes later, he was off, and when I checked in on him 10 minutes later, and he hadn't done a single Khan problem.  He's just looking at the problems, and he seems a little dejected.

There's nothing on his notepad.  He hasn't tried it at all..  I ask him if he needs help.  He says yes. 

 I pull up a chair and say "Okay, what's the first problem?"  

He pulls it up on the computer.
I say  "Okay, what''s the first step? " 

He says  "I don't know.  This is stupid. I don't understand it all."

"What don't you understand?"

"Everything."

"Like what?"

"Everything?"

I can't stand this kind of answer.  If you are having problems with understanding stuff, that's cool.  Math isn't easy, algebra isn't easy, you have to practice.  But when you haven't tried-- when you've put in zero effort, and then you ask me for my help, it is frustrating.   And then you start just making excuses, saying you don't understand everything, well, shut up.  It's not that you don't understand it.  It's just that you are refusing to try.

I try to show forbearance:  

 "The first step is: Write the problem down."
He says "I don't want to... I can't.  My fingers hurt.  I don't know where the sign goes, I can't multiply by a decimal. I don't know how to add or subtract."  And a dozen other excuses.  I chide and chide him. He finally writes it down.  He writes it extra big so that the problem takes up the whole piece of paper.

I say, "Okay, let me show you again how to do it."  I take the pad, and put it down, on the mousepad, moving the mouse slightly.

"AYYYYYYYYYYY!" he yells.  "Don't move the mouse!" 

"Why is it broken?"

"No, I just don't want it moved."  There's not enough space on the desk to make notes.

We go through this four times.  At this point, he wants me to just solve his problems for him, and he's pretending that he doesn't know how to add or subtract numbers.  Every time I try to show him, he is not paying attention, or he yells about me moving the mouse slightly.

He's telling me that he's stupid, that's why he doesn't get it, that he has a little brain, that he's not good at anything, he's not good at Minecraft.  I'm reassuring him that he's not stupid, I've seen him do this work before, he can do it.   But I'm not cheerleading him, it's not buoying him up.  He wants to get out of doing his homework and I don't want to be tricked or taken advantage of.  He's looking for sympathy, but I don't have a lot for him. We have been down this road many times before.

At this point, I know I need to show compassion, but I don't have any to give.  He hasn't met me a quarter of the way.

His obstinance and deliberate obtuseness is getting to me.    I say "Don't be lazy."  Then I regret telling him that.  I say, "I don't mean that you are lazy.  I mean that you are not doing the work you need to do, and now you are just being obstinate, hoping that the problem will go away. But it won't." 


Still no movement from him.  He's dug in.  I explain to him the options.   I tell him that I will take away his computer for the rest of the weekend.  I tell him he will have to sit at his desk until he finishes his homework.  He has three more problem sets to do.  It's 16 questions.  It will take him 15 minutes if he works at it, or it will take him three hours if he doesn't.  There's nothing else he can do. 

 Despite my best intentions, despite my desires, I've turned this into a power struggle, one I'm destined to lose.  

I'm trying to be patient with him.  I try to show him the problem again, he yells at me again about moving the mouse, I pick up the pad, and it brushes his face and "Ow!  You hit my nose!"  He won't let me work on the desk, so I bring him to  the kitchen table, and he puts his foot under mine and now "OWWWWW!  My foot hurts!  You stepped on my foot!"

I dealt with that, and brought him back to the desk.  I'm trying to persevere, I'm trying to show him how to write down the problem, and he yells about the mouse again.  In a fit of frustration, I clear all the stuff on the desk onto the floor with one sweep of my hand.  Everything clatters to the floor. I meant it to be "okay, let's clear the desk so that there's room to work within your ridiculous phobia about moving the mouse."  And yes, it was an overly dramatic gesture.

But that's not how it read to him.  (Of course.)   It came off as "I cleared this desk, and if you keep on making me angry, I'm going to clear you."  He gets frightened and runs into my bedroom.  I'm fuming at him for his obstinance and at myself for the way I've handled this.  Why can't I have more patience with him?  Why can't he just do the work, and save us this endless runaround?  Why do I care so much that he tries at his homework?  And why did I let him get to me?

He's barricaded himself in my bedroom, he's called my wife, she texts me to say, leave him alone, don't worry about the homework.  I text her to say I'm considering joining the French Foreign Legion.  Because I just want out.

I'm pissed.  I'm fuming.  He's played us again, he got to play video games, he didn't take a shower, he didn't do his homework, and I feel like a failure as a father.   I don't want any part of him, I don't want to hug him, or comfort him or find out what the problem is with his math.  My goodwill towards him is at zero, and I'm upset with myself that it bothers me so much.

I make my own dinner.  I toy with not making him dinner at all, and letting him fend for himself, but decide I can try to be the peacemaker.  He yells at me "Where's my food."  I give it to him, and we sit in silence, not looking at each other, not talking to each other.  I hate it, but I am not going to let him get the better of me.  I have to review an online show, so he goes back to my bedroom and watches The Good Place.  I don't say a word to him.

 

Self portrait as a frustrated dad.

My wife finally got home, and she soothed him a little bit, as she is capable of.  They watched TV in the bedroom.  I didn't want to go in there.  I watched my show and wrote this blog post, read the news, watched my own show, avoiding our bedroom, avoiding them.  He fell asleep in our bed, and I considered just not going to sleep, or sleeping on the couch.  But I went in and pulled him out of the bed and brought him into his own.  But I'm not tired and I don't want to sleep, and I feel like I need to share this post, even though it's not a good look for me.

I wish I had a better, happier ending to this story.  I wish I knew how to let it go, to let it roll off my skin like water off a duck's back.   But I don't.  Right now I don't even know how I'm going to let this go, and I know I need to, but I don't want to.   I'm disappointed in him, and I want him to know it.  And I'm disappointed in myself, and I don't know how to fix it. 

Happy Birthday to me.  And it looks like Alexander the Great is going to have the last laugh. His son became the Emperor

Homeschooling, Corona Style

School is canceled starting today for at least two weeks and probably longer, but there's a lot of logistics to consider. How to get assignments, how to teach online, and what to do if kids don't have internet access.  And who will make sure that the kids are learning.

This is not the mug I will be getting for myself.

We kept our son home on Friday and on Monday as well (that's yesterday)

We attempted to have him do an academic schedule of sorts, that worked out a little bit, but there was so much crying and whining and "NO I can't possibly use THAT pencil.  Forget it, I will do nothing for the rest of my life!"  or wheedling about doing work.  I'm not sure how we are going to survive the next two weeks as homeschoolers.


Here was our (now it looks ambitious) schedule.   The idea was for 25-minute segments, with 15 minutes for resting

9 AM:  Social Studies-- watch the first part of Crash Course in World History.  I asked him to take notes, which he did, but he thought it was boring.   I think that was reflexive more than anything else. It turns out he didn't know a lot of the words, so I had him watch it again, and we went over all the words he didn't know.

The words he didn't understand.  I thought for sure he would know ornery and caloric.

9:40 AM  Reading/ELA.  He was allowed to read the LitRPG (literature Role Play Game) novel he's been reading, but I asked him to summarize each chapter after he read it.  This was a huge fight, He eventually agreed.  His summaries were poor (and very difficult to read.)

10:20 AM  Spanish on Duolingo.  He's not actually taking Spanish, but he didn't want to do Chinese which is what he takes in school, and so we agreed on Spanish.  (We are still expecting to go back to Barcelona this summer, although the virus may change our plans)

11-12 PM  LUNCH  Still his favorite subject of the day.

If you buy this shirt on Amazon
I promise to use the affiliate
money I get to buy a pencil
for my child.

12 PM Writing:  I had him write a five-paragraph essay on why school should only be two hours long.  His essay wasn't bad, but it was only three paragraphs and not that organized.  We are going to edit it tomorrow.

1 PM: Coding/programming.  He wanted to do Minecraft mod coding, which is something he already kind of knows how to do.  We said no, learn python, HTML, javascript, or CSS.  This turned into a big fight.

1:40 PM Math  This actually turned into PE, which was spent playing sports on the WiiU, since it's very cold out.  He went downstairs to do this, which meant he was out of my hair.  This went longer than it was supposed to go, because I wasn't focused on it.binto the next session.

2:30 PM  PE-- we switched this out with Math, which was probably a better idea.

3:20 PM Free choice- no electronics. He ended up sitting and reading and then counting down the seconds to 4pm

4-6 PM - Open play online with friends or alone.-- this was the only thing that really started on time.

LESSONS LEARNED

• In retrospect, this seems way too much and too crowded.   But I don't want him on the computer the whole time, and I have other stuff to do that doesn't include sitting with him and coming up with algebraic problems. 
• His handwriting is atrocious.  We need to spend some time working on handwriting skills.  (I say this as someone with atrocious handwriting.  But mine is (amazingly) better.
• Being a teacher of 11-year-olds requires either the patience of a saint or the hardened feelings of a serial killer.  Or both.  

Starting today, the school does have some assignments to do, but it will take maybe an hour to do, all in.  There are another 6-7 hours to fill. 

These are the summaries of the chapters he read. Not very full summaries, and Doctor Quality handwriting.

Part of me is -- okay, let's take on the role of home school teacher, and I will finish teaching this year in six days, driving him like a slave driver.  That's what he needs is someone pushing him harder, and then he will see the error of his ways, and become a genius self-starter (like you know, Elon Musk or Steven Spielberg) and then we will be sitting on easy street, watching his royalty checks roll in like the tide. 

The other part of me (probably the sensible part) is saying NO WAY-- give him rules and structure, but let him figure it out on his own.  He will find his own way, and for me to impose my expectations on him (to "tigermom" him, as it were- my apologies for this troublesome phrase- ) is just wrong on a number of levels, and will end up squelching him.  He gets where he gets, and I shouldn't get upset.

I know my reality is somewhere in the middle, but these two extremities pull at me.

I am pretty great with kids, (professional clown), and have a lot of patience for OPK (other people's kids), but little patience for my own child.  I have a low tolerance for my son's whining and carping on little details, and his cleverness in trying to avoid work-- possibly because I recognize it so much in my own life.  When he does that, I get unproportionally pissed off.  (Or when he professes that he doesn't understand something when he clearly does-- but saying he doesn't understand it means he doesn't have to do it.)  #igetupset

THE BIG QUESTION

So how do I NOT be a hard-ass while at the same time get him to be excited about school, and get him to (MOSTLY) be a self-starter about this stuff?

I welcome your advice and hard-fought stories in the comments.

Passover has passed me over

NOTE: This post is going to get a little more personal than I normally get, so feel free to skip if you choose to.  I know that some of my readers are primarily about the cultural stuff I write about, or maybe the parenting tips, or who knows, even the sponsored stuff I occasionally do.  But this is for the ones who might be interested in the personal.

This one is about my relationship with my religion.

 I've got a hard relationship with Judaism.

On one hand I feel very Jewish- my identity is very much as a Jew, at least culturally.  I had a Bar Mitzvah, I went to Israel, I can read Hebrew (although my understanding is limited) I went to Hebrew High School (The Harry Elkin Midrasha), and even taught there for two years.  I know the blessings by heart, or mostly, I have Passover Seders in my house, we occasionally have Shabbat, and I can "Oy vey" and "Nu, so..." with the best of them. I married a Jewish woman, and we stepped on the glass. I cry at Fiddler on the Roof.  I'm also a big fan of Bagels and Lox, brisket, and knishes. Kashe not so much.  And guilt?  Do I know about guilt! Well, that's part of the reason for this blog post.

 I want my son to know Judaism.  I want him to have a Bar Mitzvah, and know the blessings over wine, and bread, and matzah.  I want him to know what a lulav and an etrog are, to know the sounds of the Shofar being blown, I want that to be part of his identity, for him to feel connected to this group of people who have struggled over great adversity and managed to survive for thousands of years.  He is part of that struggle, as I am, and as my parents were before me, and their parents before them.

On the other hand, I am not a practicing Jew. I don't fast on Yom Kippur, don't eat matzah at Passover, don't regularly stop working on Shabbat, or even light the candles.  I eat pork and shellfish with abandon.  I'm not a member of a synagogue, I don't go to synagogue with any kind of regularity (and when I do go, I kind of resent it)  I have a great doubt that any of those things will help me in an afterlife I don't think I believe in and haven't gotten much spiritual comfort from.

I don't think I'd go so far as to say I'm an atheist, I believe there is some Creator, but not one that I have a "personal relationship" with or cares whether or not I work on Shabbat, or eat cheeseburgers. And while I feel a part of the grander scheme of Judaism, I have never felt a part of an individual community of Judaism.  Maybe for about 10 minutes, but certainly not on a sustained level.

The most spiritually moved I've felt has been at the theatre, and occasionally while sitting on a rock jetty with my back to the shore, watching the waves roll in.  (Oh my god, my spiritualism is a tampon commercial!)

When my parents were alive, I went to synagogue, and fasted at Yom Kippur, and didn't eat bread during Passover, and all those other things. I didn't keep kosher, but neither did my parents.  But I kind of felt that I was doing it for my mom, and not for me, and when she passed away, I decided to stop.  Since then, I have become increasingly more ornery about practicing Judaism.

When my wife and I lived in NY, we were part of a synagogue, but I never felt very close to that community.  Perhaps because it was my wife's community, perhaps because soon after I started going there was a great deal of flux due to the spiritual leader leaving, perhaps because my wife got involved in the behind-the-scenes of synagogue politics, and I saw the worst of it.

In the Passover Haggadah there is a parable about the four sons, the wise, the wicked, the simple, and the one who doesn't know enough to ask.  Each has a question about what is going on, and you are supposed to answer each differently.

When I was younger, I always cast myself as the wise son, the one who includes himself, and asks the question "What did God command us to do?"   but now I'm pretty sure I'm the wicked son, the one who holds himself apart from the group, and asks the question, "What did God command YOU to do?"

(a kind of funny film demonstrates this parable below)

So I'm in a quandary-- I feel like I'm Jewish, but don't really believe in (or do) all of the stuff that makes one Jewish.  And I want my son to be Jewish, or at least know about Judaism.  But I'm setting him a bad example, at least as a Jew.  

I'm sure I'm not alone.

I feel like I have two choices--

1) fake it 'til I make it.  Set a better example as a Jew, even though I am not getting much out of it. That might mean more synagogue time for me, more fasting, more "Religion for the sake of religion" instead of for the sake of me.

2) Don't fake it. Explain as best I can why I want him to be involved and knowledgeable, and when the inevitable charges of hypocrisy come, parry them by letting him know that when he's18, he can make his own decisions.

Is there a third option?  Or a fourth option? For those of you who are religious doubters, what are you doing to help give your child/children a basis in religion?

The April Fool's Joke This Year: Logan

April Fools jokes are a little cruel.  They are designed that way.  In some sense, you are lying to a loved one in order to fool them.  On another sense, it is all in good fun, and as long as no one gets hurt physically or emotionally, I can justify it.

For me, some of my favorite moments growing up were little practical jokes that we played on each other-- especially hiding when somebody comes in, and then jumping out and scaring them.  My dad used to love to do that, and he would laugh uproariously when you got fooled, or when he got fooled.  Sharing a joke together is to me an important part of being a parent.

They are now some of my favorite memories of my now-deceased father.

I guess I'm hoping that likewise, these moments, even if they can be a little frustrating in the short-term, will turn into some of my son's favorite memories of me.

An April Fool's Pranks from 1857- there is
no Washing the Lions Ceremony.

Each year, I've played some pretty good practical jokes on my son-- one year, I brought him to school even though school was closed for the day (which meant he had to wake up super early!)  I made up for that by letting him have donuts for breakfast.



Another year, I convinced him it was snowing and he put on his snow boots and all of his other stuff to go to school and went outside only to find out that it was a beautiful day. (Here's that video below)



He's tried to get me too, (when he was two he told me (pretty unconvincingly) that he had pooed in his bed.  It's all in the delivery.

You can read about (and see some video) of some of my best April Fool's pranks here

This year,  no video.  I decided to try a different tack.  It's a Saturday, so school was out. I knew he knew it was April Fool's Day (we had discussed planning to play a trick on my wife, but it didn't really pan out).  I didn't try to surprise him with something crazy.  Instead, after breakfast and he was busy reading, we had this conversation, very casually.

Here's our conversation (with my thought process)

ME: "Okay, Mom and I've discussed it, and we've decided to take you to see the movie Logan. I think you are able to handle it. We'll go to the matinee today."
HIM: "No, I don't want to see that, I want to see King Kong." 

MY THOUGHTS: What? He wanted to see King Kong? I thought he wants to see Logan. I'm sure he told me he wants to see Logan." King Kong might have worked. OH well, too late now. 

ME: "No, I've already bought the tickets, we have to go."
HIM: Starts to cry and whimper
MY THOUGHTS: I can't believe he's crying about this. He must have figured it out. What? He's really crying? I better go tell him. I walk over to him on the couch. Those are real tears! He's really upset!! I pick him up in my arms like a baby and say:
ME: Guess what, little bear. "April Fool's! "
HIM: More crying, and then finally laughing that he really got got.

I had no idea he was going to take it that way.  I really thought he'd be excited about Logan. I'm glad we got through it, and I was able to make him laugh at the end, and of course to REALLY get him, but felt bad after I made him cry about going to the movies.  Not that he should cry over something so ridiculous. And I have lots of experience making kids cry. I am a professional clown after all! Anyway, it's making me re-think practical joking.  I am sure I will still do it, but I don't want to make the kid CRY.
What do you think? And what was your prank for April Fools?
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I am the worst father ever. Just ask my son.

My son's room is a perpetual mess.  Hey, he's 7, I don't blame him.  My office is a mess too, and I'm 7.29 times older than he is!

But last week, when I could no longer find the covers on his downstairs bunk (he's got a bunkbed) because of the layers of stuff strewn across it, I felt enough was enough. (My office is almost at that point, but not quite) I resolved that we had to clean it up.

The day before the cleaning lady was to come, we spent our pre-sleeping activities (usually spent either with him reading solo or  my reading Harry Potter to him) by  clearing off his bed, putting toys away, throwing away broken toys, shoving legos into boxes-- I'm pretty sure if you are a parent, you know what I mean.  (Or if you have a cleaning lady. ) 

When I was in my youth and didn't have a cleaning lady, I scoffed at the people that cleaned up before their cleaning lady got there.  I didn't understand that if you don't do that, the cleaning lady will attempt to make sense of your chaos, and the carefully cultivated and peculiarly ordered chaos that you are pretending to have a handle on will turn into the kind of real true chaos that is caused by cleaning ladies not caring about your carefully cultivated chaos, and moving it around until is actual chaos. But I digress.

So we are in frenzied activity mode--the kind of frenzied activity that occurs when you wake up late and realize you have to make the bus in 5 minutes, so you are cramming 25 minutes worth of normal activity into that time period. 

When I say we are frenzied, I should say that I am frenzied- pulling everything off of the bed, trying to put it in piles, threatening to throw stuff away.  My son seems perfectly content to bring one book at a time up the stairs of the bunk bed and then lovingly place each book with tender care into its proper place.

Some of the airplanes that were not scrapped
in the purge.

Anyway, during this time period, I found a whole bunch of what I thought were failed attempts at paper airplanes.  They are crumpled up and half folded pieces of white paper, very few with writing on them, and they have been lying on the bed for weeks.  I repeatedly ask, "Are these trash?"  To which he doesn't respond.  "I assume that means yes," I say, mostly for my own benefit, as I throw them in the trash.

Amazingly, we manage to do everything we need to do, to clear off the bed and make it mostly presentable about 5 minutes before bed time.  About 3 hours later, as I am going to bed, I feel a sense of accomplishment, and a small self-loathing for not having had him do 5 minutes everyday before he goes to bed.

The next morning, he gets up in plenty of time, and starts getting dressed for school.  Suddenly I hear a wailing.  He comes into the kitchen, actual tears in his eyes, with a couple of crumpled pieces of former paper airplanes in his hand, saying "You threw away my airplanes. You threw away Frogger!"

I tried to explain, but he would not listen. He's wailing and crying, and saying "I need mom.  You are the worst dad ever!"  I gather him in my arms to comfort him and he starts kicking me.  I told him that we could rebuild them.  He said "I'll NEVER BE ABLE TO RECREATE THEM!  WAAAHHHH!"  

Apparently within all those crumpled pieces of paper, were some experimental airplanes that he had worked on weeks before, and my tossing them away clearly was a capital offense. 

I managed to calm him down, and get him to school, just barely.  By the end of the day, there was still some residual anger, and by the next day he was back to his normal loving self.

I completely understand his anger, but at the same time I see it as completely irrational.  I told him, I don't mind if you get crazy upset about something that is important. But these are not important!  (If I had been the worst father in the world, I probably would have destroyed the rest of his airplanes.  But I resisted that urge.  I am not a monster!)

I'm upset that he kicked me, which should never be the right response to anything, irrational or not.

But I forgive him.  As I said up in the first  paragraph, Hey, he's 7, I don't blame him.

He will learn.  And I will too.

Age limits for children's media

Not my kids.  (Public domain photo from Pixabay.)

I've recently heard from two parents that I respect that they took their 6-year-old children to see the Avengers Movie - Age of Ultron.  I was a little surprised, as I've made ALL of the Marvel movies off limits for my 6 year old, much to his dismay.   He is a big Marvel/Avengers fan from Disney Infinity, and has seen a bunch of the old Spiderman cartoons, where some Avengers make an appearance.

I'm a Marvel fan as well (long time reader, nearly 2000 comic books still collected) and while I'm excited to see his interest, and want to share it with him, I'm also concerned.  The clips I've seen don't seem appropriate.

 My source for answers on all these age disputes, Common Sense Media,  says that the Age of Ultron movie is for teens age 13+ (although the user contributed reviews say 11 --and in a rare sense of solidarity, both kids and parents agree on the age.)

Here's what they say:

READ THE FULL REVIEW 

The biggest issue, of course, is the explosive, comic book-style violence, which includes nonstop destruction, fighting, weapons, flipping cars, imploding buildings, citywide devastation, and massive civilian casualties implied. There's also one sad death, as well as some kissing/flirting/innuendo/cleavage, swearing ("s--t," "son of a bitch," etc.), and celebratory drinking.  

So what gives?  Why would a normally reasonable parent let their younger kid see something that's not really inappropriate?

I have a few theories about this:

OLDER SIBLINGS
In both cases, the younger kid had an older sibling who would be within striking distance of the age range.  It's hard to limit a younger kid, especially when the older kid should be able to see something, and logistically, it would be difficult or patently unfair to separate the two kids.  Letting your kid see a potentially bad movie could seem the lesser of two evils than paying $50 for a babysitter so you can take the older kid by himself.

PARENTS AS FANS
When a parent is a fan, you want to share the thing you love with your kids, even if it might not be 100% appropriate.  Seeing the movie with your child might seem to ameliorate the problem, and the fact that the parent will be there to answer any questions/soothe any fears might also make it seem okay.

OVER THE HEAD SYNDROME
I think that parents might think that the bad stuff will go over the head of their younger child.  I'm pretty sure it doesn't.

MY KID IS VERY MATURE
Parents could think that their kid could handle it.

We're not perfect, but like any good superhero, we need to choose our battles.  We've use most of these rationalization sin the past (using older cousins instead of older siblings.)

While Avengers are out for us (much to my son's dismay)  we are considering taking him to see Tomorrowland.   (Which Common Sense Media says is for 10-year-olds, and contains some unexpected violence)    And we let him play Terraria, which Common Sense Media says is also for 10-year-olds. (While there is some violence, I think that the category of building games is generally a safe one for kids, especially if you can't interact with unknown people.)

We're also reading Harry Potter, although he's not allowed to watch the movies.  Not yet, anyway.

Ultimately, I feel its the parents choice, and it's a judgement call.  

What do you think? What are you letting your kids watch or play that maybe you shouldn't?

Sliced Toast

Toast was a new food for my son, age 6.
I told you he was picky!

As devout readers of this blog know, my son is one of the pickiest eaters in the world. He isn't completely adverse to eating (his cousin, on the other hand, seems to exist solely on tiny amounts of plain pasta, and healthy amounts of air.) He just likes what he likes and he doesn't like anything else.

Getting him to try new foods is a trial and tribulation. So a couple of days ago, I was absolutely delighted when he agreed to try toast- and he liked it!

Well, he didn't ACTUALLY agree. He hadn't been feeling well, (complaining that his stomach hurt him) and he'd been farting a lot, and so it was plain foods for dinner.

We had some rice in the fridge and we had some bread, and I said, half-heartedly, "Hey what about some toast?"  He said no.  (Expected response)

But I am intrepid. I cut a piece of bread in half, toasted half of it in an effort to force his hand, and put it on his plate.  I then continued making my dinner. When I looked up again, both pieces of bread were gone!  Guess what?  He ate it!

So I said,  "How was your toast?"
He said "Great!  Can I have some more?"
I fell on the floor. Vindication!

He ate 3 slices of plain toast, and I was feeling pretty good about myself.  (And his stomach issue seems to have gone away. )

So the next day, after eating his snack (chocolate chip cookies and blueberries) , he said, "Dad, I'm still hungry, can I have some toast?"  I said "Sure!"

But I had a secret plan.

I toasted a slice of bread, and when it was done, cut it in half, and put a tiny bit of butter on one piece.  It was a little obvious, so I put it butter side down on the plate.

He could tell there was butter on it right away.

Did I mention he doesn't like butter? Or peanut butter? Or jam? Or maple syrup? Or ketchup, or mustard or hot sauce or anything that adulterates/compliments his food? The only composed food he will eat is cheese pizza.

And by doesn't like, I of course mean "refuses to try."

My hope was that he'd eat both of the slices and say, "Dad this one was extra delicious!"

He ate the non-buttered piece first.  I ignored him, trying hard not to look his way as he stepped into my carefully laid trap.

He took a bite of the second piece and said "Dad!"

 I looked up at him hopefully.

"There's something on this toast!  I'm not eating it."

And alas, my brilliant plan failed. Foiled by a smart and stubborn kid with a fairly sensitive palate.

I dared too much too soon.

One step at a time.  One step at a time.

April Fool's! - It Snowed Last Night.

As a professional clown, my son expects something for April Fools.

I laid the groundwork for this pretty early in the morning.

I got AA up for his shower, and said in passing, you have to wear your boots today, it snowed.

I didn't make a big deal out of it, or tell him school was cancelled.  He would have suspected something.

While eating breakfast: "Don't forget your big jacket.  It's cold out."

Making plans for after school:  "I thought we'd go bike riding, but the playground will be a mess because of the snow."

After his shower, we were rushing around to dry his hair, get ready for school.
My wife (not in the loop) says, "He doesn't need to dry his hair!"
Me, "Yes he does.  Snowed last night.  Inch on the ground."
My wife: "Oh God.  Chicago!"

During his breakfast, he says a little too practiced and nervously. "Miss S. said they extended vacation for an extra week.  April Fools!"

"Not bad, little bear.  Pretty good!"

"Dad, what's your April fools joke?"

"I don't know yet- I haven't figured it out."

I packed his shoes in his backpack, got his hat ready for him.

Lunch box. Check.
Homework. Check.
Water bottle. Check.
Toothbrushing... uh oh!

Gave him the 30 second brush (have to remember to do a stronger brushing tonight!)

We walk out of the door to the bus stop (right across the street) one minute early.

I got him!

After this (and you can see it in his face) he's actually kind of upset, because he's wearing his heavy jacket and boots.  They will probably have outdoor recess.  His shoes are already packed for him, but his jacket-he wants his lighter jacket.

I didn't think of that. We run inside to get it.  I am not a monster!

We come back out, and the BUS is already there, we dash across the street, and he makes it on just before the bus takes off!  (If he hadn't, the joke would have been on me, then!)

Another successful April Fool's!

Meanwhile, I go back inside, and my wife says, "I looked outside, and it didn't snow."

I know, honey.  I know.

What was your April 1 prank?

Sledding... And my failings as a parent

Usually when I write about my experience as a parent, I'm writing about the wonderful thing I did with my kid, or how smart or funny my kid is, or how outraged I am that other people aren't parenting the way good parents should, or something along these lines.

Today, I will be writing about the mediocre job I did as a parent this past weekend.  And why it might be okay, even though I still feel bad.

We went to my wife's aunt's farm this past weekend.  It was a good passel of people, including our family, my wife's brother's family (2 kids a little older) , my wife's aunt, my wife's grandmother, and joining us on Sunday, my wife's aunt's kids (older).  The farm is a beautiful working farm/weekend get away place,  about 90 minutes from Chicago, and it's just gorgeous. There are outbuildings, and barns, and a fishing hole and horses and goats, and during the summer fresh vegetables galore.  It's my son's happy place.

We've had lots of parties and happy occasions there. We even spent some time living there this past summer while we had moved out of our house in NY and were waiting to move into our house in Chicago.

It should have been me standing over my son in the cold.

We went up there to celebrate a cousin's birthday, and for the sledding.  Here in Chicago the weather is finally warming up, and there is a big hill there with lots of snow and.... do I need to spell it out?  The promise of sledding there is remarkable for a 6 year old city boy.

All the way up to the farm, we were looking at dwindling amounts of snow, and patchy grass sticking through the snow, and trying to prepare the boy for the possibility that Pengy (his newly bought, never used plastic sledding device in the shape of a penguin) might not be able to get used.  But when we got there, there was plenty of snow.  And the weather was beautiful!

The cousins were already there, and as soon as we got there, my son suited up and ran to the hill, and proceeded to go up and down that hill about 50 times over the next 5 hours.  Plus build snow forts, have a snowball fight, learning to snowboard, getting cold, coming in for chocolate, etc.


Here's where I failed as a parent.  I didn't go out there once.  I had 100 excuses-- I didn't bring snow pants, I'm too heavy for the sled, I'd get all wet, I wasn't feeling up for it, I didn't want to.  Ultimately it came down to the last one.  Yes, I felt like I should have gone out there.  But I didn't want to go out there.  I liked it inside, where it was warm and cosy and I was reading and playing a video game.     I liked pretending my time was my own, and I could do whatever I wanted with it.  I didn't want to leave my comfortable area and get dirty and cold and sweaty and.... whatever. It was an excuse.

Here's where I was a good dad:  That night, he had worked so hard that he started having leg cramps.  He was supposed to sleep on the floor with the cousins, but it hurt so much, and he was in such pain that I put him into our bed, and I rubbed his legs, and held him and told him stories until he was able to fall asleep.

Back to being a bad dad: The next day came, and some more cousins came over, and the kids went sledding again, and I should have gone out there.  But somehow I managed to avoid it.  No bells went off.  No "bad parenting" alerts occurred, except the one inside my brain, the one that said, "Hey go out there!" But I ignored it.

 I'm pretty sure it would have been fine.  I just didn't force myself to do it.

Here's the part where it's okay.  My son had a wonderful time without me.  He was playing with his cousins, having a great time, and he didn't need me there.  He didn't miss me out there. But it would have been fun to share that with him.

Here he is in a slo-mo snowboard wipeout.  One that I missed:  (video courtesy of a cousin!)

Today, the next day, I am regretting not going, and sharing this fun time with him, even if it wasn't particularly what I wanted to do.

And the next time we go sledding (next year?) I am going to push myself to go.

I hope.