My wife, my son and I just returned from a business trip.  It was really just a business trip for my wife, a conference she has to attend.  Ever since we’ve had Benjamin (our only child so far, now 4), he and I have always tagged along on any such trips my wife has had to go on.

Our desire to stick together, along with our commitment to attachment parenting, has made this our normal practice.  Having us around makes conferences or seminars more enjoyable for my wife.  For Benjamin and I it’s like a mini-vacation.  Some of my best memories of one-on-one time with Benjamin have been on these trips.

When he was a baby, these were quiet affairs — strolling around the hotel or its environs carrying him in a sling or in the stroller, people stopping us to admire the baby.  We would have lunch and supper with Mama, of course.  After lunch he would nap in the room, and I would just read or indulge in cable TV.

When he was a toddler, I remember one beautiful, sunny fall afternoon in Madison, Wisconsin.  I took a walk with him in the sling on the Lakeshore Path, an alley walled with autumn shades, through the University campus.  We fed gulls and ducks, and watched sailboats being pulled in for the winter. We ended up on a warm hill among some dorms watching hundreds of students walk to and from class, writing postcards just for the heck of it, finding bugs, playing together in the leaves.

Thinking about these memories, I wonder guiltily why they stand out when I’m a stay-at-home parent and therefore one-on-one with my son every day.  Part of it is, of course, the change of scenery: a novel setting, a clean hotel room — for some reason these pleasantries help the connected memories stand out as, well, pleasant.

Moreover, though, when I’m at home one-on-one with Benjamin — whether I do justice to the chores or not, I am always balancing my paramount attention to him with getting meals made, bills paid, and attempting to keep some semblance of order.  On these out-of-town jaunts, that stuff, and the internal pressure to try to get it done, is necessarily left behind.  All that remains is what’s in front of us.

One of my favorite business trips was to a conference my wife had over a year ago in Black River Falls, Wisconsin.  It was one of those cheesy motor lodges at a freeway interchange, though one that was nicely kept-up and refurbished.  The motel’s attention-getting icon was the orange moose.

Benjamin had fallen asleep on the trip, as he often does.  At that time, when he would wake up from sleep in the car, he was not easily consolable.  It would be pretty late when we arrived, and we weren’t looking forward to the transition from car to motel.  But the orange moose saved us.

When he awoke in the parking lot, the first thing he saw was a bright orange fiberglass moose, illuminated by floodlights.  He opened his eyes sleepily, kind of stared and said, “There’s a big orange moose over there.” He kept staring and smiled.  He was pleasant as ever getting ready for bed at the motel.

That trip featured lots of quiet memories that have stuck.  We hiked in a state park along a marsh, climbed an observation tower and saw cranes, egrets and other wildlife.  We went hiking up hills to a rock formation and had a view of miles of autumn-highlighted forest around us.  “Dada, I like walking in the woods,” he told me, and that made me feel so good.  I felt like I was helping him connect with something so much more real than toys with flashing lights, or animated clay singing songs.  Had we been walking through a dump, though, he’d have probably been as cheery.  Really it was about the attention and the time together.

On that trip, we waited for my wife in the convention center (where her meetings were) that also houses a casino.  The security guard had to tell us to stay behind a line on the floor lest a minor — Benjamin — be officially on the gaming floor.  I guess he was afraid Benjamin would bolt away from me and somehow gamble away his life savings of pressed pennies, Happy Meal toys and the jingly contents of his piggy bank.

That adventure would not have been complete without taking advantage (about a roll-full) of the ample plastic animal photo opportunities near the motel.  We got:

• “Ben and big orange fiberglass moose”
• “Ben and giant fiberglass moose”
• “Ben and giant fiberglass deer”
  and last but not least — featuring the ubiquitous Wisconsin classic, fiberglass cheese —
• “Ben and fiberglass overall-wearing mouse eating fiberglass Swiss cheese”

The jaunt from which we just returned was neither as adventurous nor as “camp” as the Black River Falls conference.  Nevertheless, I have a feeling that I’ll long retain these oddments for future recollection:

• Singing “This is the way we reach and pull, reach and pull . . . in the swimming pool,” over and over, back and forth in a pool we had to ourselves
• A picnic lunch at a deer park where 13 whitetails cautiously approached, making me feel as though we  were the attraction
• Working together in a preschooler activity book over tacos at Taco Bell
• Conversing with, and having Benjamin show off the smatterings of Mandarin Chinese he’s learning to, a friendly quadrilingual woman (originally from Taiwan) working at the breakfast buffet
• Benjamin being awarded his very own metal shoehorn while we were shoe shopping

I’m stuck with these memories because there’s nothing like 100-or-so miles, a breakfast buffet, and the diligent housekeeping staff of the Holiday Inn Express to see to it that father and son are “living in the moment.”

This past Monday was our first new school day after the Easter break. We moved to a new apartment in the past week so we are not around the corner anymore from my son’s school. In fact, we’re not exactly even in the same borough anymore. We now live on Roosevelt Island which is a little slip of an island between Manhattan and Queens here in New York City. As a result, in order for the boy to finish out the year with his class, my son is now commuting into Manhattan with me every day.  Let me tell you that commuting with a child over several different modes of transportation is an experience. I am just glad he sees it as his daily adventure.

Our commute includes a bus, three escalators down into the subway, the subway itself, an elevator out of the subway, then another bus. It was supposed to include a daily tram ride but last weeks events cancelled that. After I drop him off, I get back on another bus to get to my job.

The crazy thing is that after we get out of the subway on the way to his school and we get into that second bus, we pass my office. Yep. I pass my office about 40 minutes before I will actually set foot in the door to the lobby.  The good thing about my office being smack in the middle of this commute is that we have a pre-planned stop if the boy needs to go potty.

Just a few days ago we had to use that stop and the security guards wanted me to take the time to get my son a visitor’s badge. I said I can go get him a badge but they would have to clean the pee off the lobby floor. Needless to say, they let me through.

Now you may ask why go through such pain?  The only answer I can think of is that I love my son. His school is very good and it’s a free public school so I don’t have to pay for it like other school commuters do which helps ease the pain.

Traveling with my son each day is actually fun as it’s part of our special one-on-one time and does promote further bonding between us. It’s fun to watch him interact with the other commuters as well as the mass transit system itself. He loves riding the various escalators and elevators. Between various legs of our trip we have fun looking at the sites.

I just hope the tram gets fixed soon so this daily commute includes some beautiful water views of Manhattan.

When you have kids, your world changes forever. You are now responsible for more than just yourself. You have to provide for a new life; feed, clothe and protect this child in many ways more than you do for yourself. You could once be reckless with your own life, skip a meal or two because you had something better to do. Try having an 18 month-old to miss a meal. Good luck with that. So along with all the new responsibilities you have been given, you also have to keep them safe.

As funny as it sounds, this may be the hardest task you will have as a father. I mean, if you go to work and ‘bring home the bacon’, you’ve got feeding and clothing covered. Protecting them from others - well, I can’t speak for others, but I’m pretty sure I can take care of mine there too. So that brings us to keeping them safe or protecting them from themselves. Parents tend to lean more to the ‘dog on a leash’ method today, meaning that if they don’t want the little ones to get something, they put it out of reach. And if you want them to stay somewhere, you lock them behind gates.

I’m gonna come at this from a different angle. Stop child-proofing your house and start house-proofing your children.

A child’s life is about constant learning, They learn how to crawl, walk, talk, read and write. Now they also learn what is right, what is wrong, what is accessible and what is off-limits. When a child is 2 years old and she likes to play with your cell phone, the most sensible thing to do is put it up high, right? That works only until she learns how to climb. How about electrical outlets? Gotta have a bunch of outlet covers to protect her, right? That works only until she learns that a (metal) butter knife can pry them off. Or how about my in my case. I have lots of guns so shouldn’t I have one of those stupid trigger locks for each one of them? Only until they find the key...and that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.

So we’ve thrown the whole child-proofing thing down the drain and I’ll use my guns as an example. To keep my family safe and to insure that my kids don’t try to play with them, every once in a while I’ll put one of my guns (unloaded) on the coffee table or on the floor in the living room. Then I’ll show it to the kids and tell them not to touch it. The first time one of the kids sees it, they go right for it (of course) and me or mama are there to train them. With a switch, wooden spoon or just a flick on the hand waiting for their little fingers to make contact, they usually don’t go for it more than twice (the second time was to see if I’m for real). Then after I see that they understand, I’ll ask them if they want to touch it. Nine times out of ten, I’m answered with a shake of the head and a “see ya later”. Then we leave it out for a few days to be sure (we don’t leave them alone with the gun) and training is successful. This same method works with cell phones, outlets, knick-knacks or anything else you want far from little hands.

Another thing we have to train for is our woodstove. It’s our only heat so it’s on 24/7 through the winter. We have it in the middle of our kitchen and there’s no room for one of those barrier walls around it. So we train. Now with this you must use caution. What we do (and this has a 100% success rate) is get a fire going and when it starts to get hot, but not hot enough to burn, we tell the kids to touch it. They do, and as soon as heir hand touches the stove, we yell “HOT”! I’m not sure if it’s the temperature that tells them to stay away from the stove or the near heart attack from us yelling, but none of them have been burned on it yet.

We do these things for our kids safety, not to scare them or be mean to them. But I would rather my little ones have a little momentary discomfort on their hand than fall into the stove or get a hold on one of my guns. The consequences there are too much. So if you just want to teach them that things are not allowed if you have gone to lengths to blockade them, then child-proofing is the way. But if you don’t want to live in a padded house with padlocks on the refrigerator and finger-pinching cabinet locks on all the cupboards, then house-proof your children. It works every time.

Most nights my youngest daughter does her best to escape bedtime, thinking if she fights enough I might allow her to stay up indefinitely.  Nevermind that in her entire life this has NEVER happened.  Nevermind her exhaustion.  She simply doesn’t want to go to bed.  As a night owl myself, I understand.  I, however, had to wait until I was out of my parents’ house to stay up indefinitely, and so will she.

Her tactics are many but not yet too clever.  She asks me to read her a book.  She asks to watch a movie.  She dances and sings and tries to be the cutest thing in the world so Daddy won’t put her to bed.  When all else fails, she screams.  The tears flow, the snot drips, and my smiley two-year-old transforms into one of the world’s most gifted—but unsuccessful—manipulators.

She begs to sleep in Daddy’s bed.  She asks me to lay with her.  One minute she wants the door open; the next she wants it closed.  She ask for the closet light to be turned on and the window opened and with her next breath demands the light stay off and the window be closed.  Often the process is frustrating.  Occasionally it’s amusing.  I remind myself her behavior is one more stage of development in a toddler’s life, and like all such stages it will soon pass.

But every once in a while, the stars align and the earth’s gravitational pull does its job with particular effectiveness.  Tonight, as bedtime approached, the girls and I read a book on the couch and they drank their water and danced.  We all laughed and I joined the festivities.  After several minutes of spinning, I fell onto the couch feeling rather ill.  The little one, obviously exhausted, hopped up beside me and laid her head on my leg.  We sat there together, quietly, while the four-year-old continued to spin and sing and stumble.

A few seconds later, I peaked down at the weight resting on my leg, and discovered my daughter sleeping soundly.  I picked her up and carried her on my shoulder.  With eyes closed, she mumbled, “I don’t wanna go to sweep.” I told her not to worry, that she didn’t even own a broom.  As for sleeping, I ignored her wishes and slipped her into bed.  She rolled over immediately and never stirred.

A fresh breeze blew in through the window.  Her closet light was off.  And without a cry or demand, my little monkey was asleep for the night.  It was a wonderful moment, and I smiled staring at the tiny feet and hands poking out from under Dora’s cotton face.  Few things are as precious as a sleeping child, especially one that falls asleep of her own free will.

Some nights are just too easy.  If only they came along more often.

Anyone else have bedtime tales to tell?

I became an instant father to my older kids when they were 12 and 13 years old.  I felt completely prepared to do this, as I had been working with youth in foster care and residential settings for 5 or 6 years at that point.  I felt that since I had been ‘raising’ other people’s kids, it would only be easier being there full time.  WRONG!

I found that my heart got more wrapped up in it, which (ironically) clouds the judgment.  I needed to be on the same page with my wife, which was hard since she had been their parent for 13 years and had certain ideas about how to do things, and as a professional who saw certain behavioral problems, I had certain ideas about what needed to change (I had also closely analyzed and thought about what my parents did that worked and wanted to implement it with my kids).  She thought I was too stern, I thought she was too soft.

Of course, since she was the biological parent and I was basically the interloper, I always deferred to her when we disagreed.  The problem with this is that I never got to finish what I started.  I was taught by my mother that after being stern, you should follow up with an increase of love so that they aren’t left with the sternness as the only view.  This is the time when teaching and bonding really take place.  In my frustration, I never communicated this to my wife well enough.  Since she thought I was being too stern, she often stepped in to finish.  The inadvertent result is that I did the stern limit setting, and she did the caring follow up, and I was left feeling like the bad guy.

Now, after nearly 6 years of marriage my son is now 19 and my daughter will be 18 in a week.  I am finally getting my wife to see my point of view about using consequences as a teaching tool.  (This is a more complex issue than it would appear on the surface, but I won’t go there.)

My point here is not to bring the skeletons out of the closet, but to make a point.  Even though I had studied step parenting and blended families in depth while in college, I still made mistakes and am now feeling like I have missed many opportunities with my older kids.  I spent too much time trying to fix the mistakes made while they were in a dysfunctional home setting with an abusive biological father, and not enough time bonding with them.

I have some regrets there.  I wasn’t as balanced as a parent as I wanted to be; I don’t have the relationship I wanted with them; I was not able to teach them the things I wanted to; I was not able to help them become the people I wanted them to be.  All I can do is move forward from here, work on the relationships as they are now, and learn from my mistakes so I am a better parent to my younger 3 girls.