Self-Reflection

Apocalypse Lifting Dad Strong Weights

Somedays, it feels like “responsibility” is treated as a dirty word. In our current sensationalized-news and media-centric environment, the idea of ensuring that we serve, and love, those around us seems, well, outdated. Tell someone they’re responsible for something and you’re just as likely to get a finger pointing at someone else as an acknowledgement.

From a real-life conversation . . .

This all came to mind the other day when walking with some friends. The one said, “I get the feeling Keith goes home and sits down and reads with his kids and spends time with them”. Then, jokingly, they pointed to another friend who’s a dad and said you expect he just goes home and drops all his efforts at the door.

Yes, they were joking about that other dad. I have known dads, though, who fit that mold. These are the ones who invest more time in their work than their family, who feel like video games are more important than quality time with their kids (see this previous post about that), or who feel they have the same responsibility level as their kids.

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RECENT PROJECT

My favorite thing to bake is bread.  Yes, yes, I know that there are many other flavorful and magical things to bake, from sweet desserts to succulent casseroles to hearty pies.  Yet, the smell of bread baking and, in particular, fresh from the oven is unique in the feeling of warmth and joy it gives me.

The bread book that I use most (and I’ve referenced before) is Bernard Clayton’s “New Complete Book of Breads” (2003).  The book was a gift from a friend, and I’ve found the instructions very clear, the notes useful, and the breads (almost always) exceptional.  Recently, I made the Molasses Wheat Bread (pp. 99-101), as I’d never made a bread that included molasses before, and I’d done few whole-wheat breads in the past.  The really fun thing about this bread is that, before the second rising, you take each of the two loaves and twist it two or three times.  I wasn’t too aggressive with my twists, but I did get the nice top that you can see in the picture below.  The bread was great when it was warm, and only my oldest son didn’t like the reheated pieces (his loss, the wife’s gain).

Molasses Wheat Bread, as viewed from the top

Molasses Wheat Bread, as viewed from the top

TOPIC FOR TODAY

It’s a bit shocking when you go along in life, just working and taking care of the family, and then you pause for a moment and take a look at yourself in the mirror of your own mind.  While there are positive things you might see about yourself in that mirror, it’s far easier to find pock marks and scars that you didn’t even realize were there.  For me, during a recent glance at the mirror, I realized something that truly bothered me:  I’ve become a homebody.

Although I think most people know what a homebody is, for the sake of a common definition, I’ll put it this way:  Someone who is primarily interested in doing activities at home, and who avoids doing things familiar or new outside of the home.  I suppose this could be based out of fear, or laziness, or something else.  So how did it happen for me?

I grew up exploring the areas around wherever we were living quite a bit; sure, I spent time indoors, but I also checked out the forest, or the cemetery, or the river plenty.  Then, as I entered high school and began to work and be more selective on what I did and with what people, that exploring just kind of–faded.  It was simply too much work, or moreso took too much time, to go and have adventures.  Staying in and surrounded by all the things I could have fun with close at hand was so much, well, easier.  And more comfortable.  And safer.  Eventually, that easiness, comfort, and safety became the overriding factors in decisions about what to do each day, and turned into the padded chains that kept me at home.

As with most times we’re simply doing what’s comfortable, it took something significant for me to stop and look in my mental mirror.  In this case, it was my Grandma dying.  Like I’ve heard others say, it was a tragedy to lose her, but at the same time a blessing that all the pain she had or could have had was done, and those conflicting feelings were mixed up in all sorts of other complicated feelings that go along with being a family.  When she passed away, I had a chance to look at my Grandma’s life and what I’d observed about her behaviors that I did or didn’t want to be true in my life.  And what do you know, she was quite the homebody too.  She did some volunteering, but she was far more often at home than she was out doing things.  In the same vein, my Mom is still very involved in volunteering, and has jobs, but she is not really a traveler at all–more of a volunteer and explorer within her well-known realm.  And do you know what this homebody thought when looking at other homebodies?  I don’t want that to be me!

You see, in spite of all the great things you can do at or from home, I realized that the vast majority of great times in my life involved getting out of the house and doing things.  I might think with a groan of having to load up bikes to head out to the local bike trail, but then I remember the wind on my face, the sun on my skin, and the thrill of riding down an open path with a gorgeous view.  While I may hate the time and expense of planning a trip to another country, I remember how blessed we’ve been to be able to take such trips (well, trip), the awesome people we’ve met, and the incredible things we’ve seen.  I may feel like Anger from Pixar’s Inside Out by the time we get things packed, the kiddos into the carseats, and through weekend traffic to go wherever we want to hike–but then, I remember how much I like the exertion of hiking around, enjoy being in amidst trees or on top of mountains, and revel in being with my family in a quiet pocket of nature.

Taking those happy memories into consideration, and realizing I’m not always strong enough to get myself out of this rut of staying at home, I flat-out told my wife she’s going to have to force me into some outdoor activities:  hiking, biking, or even *gulp* camping.  We won’t be able to get out all the time, and I’ll let that feed my homebody inclination, but when we do go out I’m going to do my very best to find that lost explorer that I know is still somewhere inside of me and let him roam free once more.

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Top of a baby's foot and their toes

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.  ~Rajneesh

On October 1, 2014 I was born, the mother, when I held our beautiful son in my arms. I have spent my whole life preparing to be a mother. I have played with a baby doll, babysat, and in some form been a mom to my amazing students at school. Yet, with all this preparation, no one can ever prepare you for what you experience.

There are the beautiful ups where you see their face and smell that wonderful baby smell and all is right with the world as they are snuggled close. Then in the next minute they can be screaming in the middle of the night and nothing you are doing is working. There are all the different cries you have to learn, and then remember what each one means through days or weeks of sleepless nights. It is all beautiful and extremely difficult. My heart is full at times and other times I am so, so empty.

Our little guy did not come with an instruction manual, and my husband and I have had to learn together how to be parents and how best to care for him. So far, that learning has encompassed everything from dealing with acid reflux to an ER visit in the middle of the night to learning how to deal with food allergies.  

This is the hardest job ever! And yet, I would not give it up for a moment. The love I have for our son (and now sons) is unfathomable. Yes, I was born on October 1, 2014. I am not a perfect mom, but I hope to share the struggles and joys of motherhood on this blog. I hope we can laugh together at the funny curve balls that parenthood brings, and I hope we can be honest about the things that are difficult. I am something new and I am learning more and more each day.

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I’ll admit that, on some level, I’ve pretty much always thought, “You know, it would be nice to have kids someday.”  That’s pretty normal, right?  Of course, you can think that for years and years, but after the joy of your wife saying, “I’m pregnant!”, reality tends to slap you upside the head like a five year old cracking open their first pinata.

Wait, though, I wanted to be a parent . . . oh yeah, but my parents were divorced before I can even remember.  Since we just saw my Dad primarily on the weekends and during the summertime, I have no idea what it means to be a dad in a marriage and taking responsibility for a kid.  Other male role models?  I had a few good ones that were just occasionally in my life (teachers, friends’ fathers), but a lot of the men I was around up to and even into high school weren’t what you’d consider stellar examples of their gender, and if married weren’t great husbands or fathers either.

So I can still be a good parent without having viewed a great Dad on a regular basis, right?  Sure!  I can start with going to those required classes for when you’re having your first baby.  OK, breathing techniques for the birth, preparing for the hospital, and–what do you mean that sometimes the baby is taking its sweet time and they have to plunger them out?  Wait, I’m supposed to be there to support my wife when she’s having the baby, but you’re telling me it’s not even necessarily going to be our doctor who delivers the baby?  Now I’m not only an inexperienced Dad, I’m a nervous Dad who’s freaked out that something is going to go wrong or we’re going to miss the birth signals and have the baby in the middle of the interstate.

And now, as our kid grows up, I know that part of being a good Dad is making sure that my wife is happy too.  That makes me a good Dad because I’m taking care of her so she can take care of the kid, and it makes me a good husband, so bonus points.  Oh, except you hear about how much things change when you have a kid, but no matter how much you think things will change you’re way underestimating the reality of it.  Because, you know, all those things that made my wife happy before will be the same things that make her happy now that there’s three of us, right?  If I knew how to type maniacal laughter here, I would do it.

In total, this means I don’t have a good view of how to be a dad from experience, I’m nervous with all the things that can go wrong during and after pregnancy (though we’re into the “after” now), and I get to relearn how to take care of my wife so that I can be a good Dad and a good husband to make a happy family.  Uh-oh.

The truth is, I’m still not sure what makes a good or great dad, or if I’ll ever find a way to be one as our kiddo goes from baby to toddler to teen and into adulthood.  Have my thoughts of, “I want kids someday” translated into, “I am glad we have a kid today”?  Absolutely.  I may be on a never-ending road of trial and error, of joys and sorrows, and be scared to death about being a parent, but through it all I love being called “Dad”.

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