OK...most of my posts over the past year on DadBloggers have been humorous in nature.  Most have poked fun at all things fatherhood.  This month, however, I am shifting gears in choosing to vent a little.  In addition, I am seeking the opinion of my fellow Dads on some activity that took place this past weekend on my street.

Quick background info:  I spent all 38 of my living years on the East Coast until March of 2006.  I’ve been in Utah since then and have loved it completely.  Our house was the place to be in New Jersey on warm weekend days.  Each weekend, a different combination of our family and friends would come by for some great BBQ and backyard activities.  We had a huge yard and there were always kids running around back there. We loved entertaining and we missed our friends and those times tremendously over the past year.

Aside from one or two couples we’ve met in the last year, all of our new friends are neighbors of ours.  We are friendly with 4 or 5 families in our cul-de-sac.  There are lots of little kids in the circle on warm days and our three kids have a blast with them out there.

This past weekend, we had a strong taste of spring here in Salt Lake. It was 73 degrees and absolutely beautiful outside.  We invited our friends to our house for a BBQ and play day.  Because of all the neighborhood kids being outside, we setup chairs and games in our driveway so we could be with them.  The BBQ stayed on the deck in the backyard.

Our friends brought over a six-pack of Corona and a bunch of wine coolers.  It’s part of the Sunday BBQ activity.  I am not a big drinker at all.  I drink a few beers at the Sunday BBQ’s and that’s about it. Same with my wife.  In any case, there we were, running around in the circle, throwing the football, dodging the kids as they rode their scooters, bikes and assorted motorized vehicles....and holding beers.

I didn’t think much of it.  We were sipping cold ones on a beautiful spring day.  At one point, I thought about it and approached one of my neighbors about it.  I was questioning one of the looks I got from another neighbor and assumed it concerned the beer I was holding in plain view of everyone.  Most of my neighbors are Mormon.  They return from church, change clothes, and join us in the circle.  They don’t drink at all.  My neighbor told me not to worry about it....that they don’t judge and I should do whatever I wanted to.

Regardless of my neighbor’s words, it bothered me all night.  I felt eyes on me and almost poured the beer in a cup a few times.  The next day, I came into work and, in my weekly sales meeting (all of my employees are Mormon), I asked what they thought.  One of my employees wasted no time and said, “I would have respectfully asked you to put the beverage away on a Sunday afternoon, right after church.”

Wow.  Pretty strong words.  He went on to tell me that it was disrespectful and that I should not be consuming alcohol in plain view, out front of my house, with kids around.  Especially on a Sunday!

So, the question is, who needs to loosen up?  Should I put the beer in a cup, hiding it from everyone out there, or should they accept the fact that I am not Mormon and just a chubby, balding Jewish guy from the east coast who likes a few beers on a spring day?

I have rules.  I am a pretty laid back guy, but there are certain lines that you do not cross. Call them foibles, call them pet peeves, call them what you will.  Before you complain that the trash is full with a sigh and a sense of overwhelming exasperation, push the trash down.  Simple, yet effective.  I get a little teary eyed when I think of the good I’m doing for the environment saving the trash dumps from all those unnecessary plastic garbage bags.

Sometimes we can’t always follow rules.  A couple years ago, about this time of year, I had to give up on one of my most idealistic rules: ‘never ever go to bed angry.’ Our oldest, BigBrother was about a month old.  One night in particular, he could not get to sleep.  DearWife tried everything to get him to sleep.  Nothing worked.  Finally, she put him in a bouncy seat inbetween her and me in our bed.  Silence.  He was beautiful sleeping.

I had the TV turned on low.  The NCAA tournament opening round was on, and I was not going to miss that.  Two teams that I have absolutely no interest in were playing.  Maryland (a high seed, good team) against UNC-Wilmington (low seed, big underdog).  It was a great game.  UNC-Wilmington was up by 2 with seconds left.  Maryland tried to get the ball to it’s star, Steve Blake for a desperation 3 pointer to win it.  UNC-Wilmington’s defense swarmed the star, and they were forced to go to Drew Nicholas.  Nicholas drove the court under heavy pressure and launched a fade-away three pointer.

…

…

…

When it went in, I sat up in bed and screamed “hell yeah!” I couldn’t help myself.  Let’s just say as soon as I opened my mouth, I realized that I was going to have to let the ‘never go to bed angry’ die.  I didn’t bother trying to apologize.  And it didn’t matter that BigBrother never woke up.

Last week DearWife nearly crossed the line with another rule.  I won’t say she broke it, but she was very close.  She had sent me an email, so funny yet out of character that I thought surely her mentally unbalanced high school reunion organizing friend (who shall remain nameless) was over at the house using our computer.  So I called her to make sure it was indeed her who sent it.

“Oh, yeah, that was me. But I’m not happy with you right now.” That’s the rule.  Don’t talk to me when I’m at work and you’re not happy with me.  It just isn’t going to end well.  But she was being very nice about it considering she was obviously upset.

After years of experience, I normally do not take the bait.  But for whatever reason, maybe I wanted to live on the edge, I said “why, what happened.” All the time I was trying to remember what I could have done.  “Did I move something from one pile to another pile?  Did I create a pile of stuff on the island?  Did I misplace her Sarah McClachlan CD?”

“I opened the lunch meat drawer, and there were two open packets of turkey.” There was a long pause.  One of her most dearly held rules was already broken, but the real issue couldn’t just walk into our little party, it had to wait for a dramatic entrance.  “One of them was not dated.” Bum-ba-dum-dum….

My wife buys meat by the grocery cart.  The meat she buys, by my estimation is a scientific paradox.  It has no preservatives, yet when unopened, doesn’t expire for an insane amount of time.  However, the moment you open it, the shelf life is frighteningly short.  My wife is nothing if not organized.  In order to save the health of our children, she dates the meat when she opens it.  Whether or not I am on board with this makes no difference.  It’s her domain.  Her rules.  And given how great a job she does I am in no place to argue.

This time however, I was innocent.  I didn’t open the turkey.

“You made your lunch last night, you probably forgot to date it then.”
“It was open already.”

“Then you must have opened it on Tuesday.”
“You made my lunch on Tuesday.  Besides, I’m sure it’s fine.  Why not just date it on Tuesday?”
“And risk the health of our children?  Are you serious?”
“I ate it today for lunch.”
“How does your stomach feel?”
“Fine.  Just mark it KHYLE ONLY.”
“But your parents are coming over and you won’t eat any for 3 more days.”
“I’ll just have to risk it.”

You’ll be glad to know I’m still alive while writing this.  I have not had any side effects, and I think I am finally out of the food-poisoning danger zone.

My 14-month old boy loves it when I read stories to him. It’s become our nightly ritual. There’s a spot in the nursery where he likes to gather his stuffed toys and stack some books. He’ll plop himself down on the floor and start yelling “Da Da!” “Da Da!” That means he’s ready for his bedtime story. If I’m engrossed in work or on the Internet for too long, he’ll come out and give me a tug. This also serves as my cue to take a break. The great thing about reading to a 14-month old is that I could actually pretend that I’m reading from one of his books and make up my own story. I could add new characters, incorporate myself in the story and completely change the ending so that no matter what, “Da Da” always saves the day.

Never mind that there are only 4 Teletubbies. Besides Dipsy, Laa-Laa, Tinky Winky and Po. There’s also Da Da Wa Da, aka the 5th Teletubby and he can dance better than the other 4 combined. At least that’s what it says in the book I’m reading him. See that picture of a racecar baby boy? Yup, Da Da is driving that car to victory! Who’s that fireman in all that gear? Why it’s Da Da to the rescue. And that rocket ship that’s blasting off into outer space? It’s being flown by none other than yours truly. I get to be a Teletubby, racecar driver, fireman and astronaut all in the same night.

Of course I’m exaggerating just a bit. My boy doesn’t really fall for my tricks. He knows who the real Teletubbies are and his Da Da is certainly not one of them. If something doesn’t quite jibe with him or if he gets bored, he’ll just take the book right out of my hands and give me another one to read. Once he picked a sing-a-long book and I attempted to sing the lyrics to him. Let’s just say that he hasn’t picked that book ever since. Regardless of whether I read a book verbatim or add my own, shall we say embellishments, I’m glad that he enjoys my story telling as much I like telling him stories. It’s just spending the time with him now that I find so priceless and fundamental for our relationship. I hope it’s something that continues far into the future.

Our two-year-old is at that stage where a typical request sounds like this: “Drink drink I want a drink Mommy drink I want a drink no, no water I don’t like it apple juice I want apple juice.”

At that same dinnertime that she asked for a drink of apple juice, I heard myself say, “Sit down, Lexi. Sit down please. On your bottom. Sit, honey. Sit down, Alexis. Sit down or you’re going to your bed.”

Oh my gosh. Do kids learn how to whine from our nagging?

I’m not a creative person. So I suprised myself when I came up with this game to play with/for my wife for her birthday. I’m so proud of myself that I thought I’d share it with you dads out there, who might be looking for ideas for your own wife’s birthday or for Mother’s Day!

All you need is some construction paper, markers or crayons, and something firm for the spinner. I glued a few index cards together and then cut it into the arrow shape. You also might need a hole punch (or drill?) for the spinner, and a brad (I think that’s what it’s called) to hold the spinner down.

The concept is simple. The dad and kids take turns spinning the spinner, and wherever the spinner lands, you do that thing for Mom. You can choose anything, really. Here’s what I chose, going clockwise from the top right:

* give a hug
* give a kiss
* yell, “Yay, Mommy!”
* give 2 kisses
* give a back rub
* say, “I love you, Mommy!”

The kids really love the interaction, and with this kind of game even the very young ones can play. And you can imagine that my wife didn’t in the slightest mind all the love and attention!