DadTalk

A Day Out on Goldwater Lake

On Father’s Day, I took the family up to Goldwater Lake for some hiking, kayaking and grilled burgers. The lake, which is near Prescott, Arizona, is perfect for young children and only costs a couple bucks to park.

Like last year, Lael didn’t want to stay out on the lake for more than a few minutes. Unlike last year, my wife, Anne there to take our daughter off my hands. At least Anne was able to shoot a few cute photos.

Seth and I enjoyed time together in the kayak, exploring coves and watching dragonflies skirt the water’s surface. We even saw ponies on the trail.

After eating, we walked to the far side of the small lake where Seth and Lael played in the water. After a while, we started collecting rocks for grandma, who has a penchant for such things.

The trip made for a great Father’s Day that was more about family than just dad.

Growing Up Without Dad

My dad died when I was 9. For most of my life, I would have denied that his death had any real impact on my development.

After all, I was a fiercely self-sufficient young boy with a strong sense of awareness at a very young age. On the day my dad died, I mentally took on the role of “oldest male” in the house and never really saw his death as a negative. I suppose that’s strange, but I’ve always been the type who rises to meet adversity.

Of course, there was a touch of silliness to it. I didn’t get a job as my grandfather did when his dad died. I didn’t take over the role of raising my brother. And in actuality, I didn’t know squat.

But, I did grow up a lot on the day my dad died from an embolism caused by a metal plate used to mend a broken leg. My sense of responsibility was immediate and immutable. In many ways, I acted as adult-like as my immature mind could muster.

It wasn’t until my kids were born that I started to realize something had been lost. Consider:

DadTalk Opens Swim School for 2

A few months after Seth was born, my wife insisted that I be the one to give him baths. Anne simply couldn’t cope with our son’s abject fear of water. I don’t mean your normal, garden variety fear, but top-of-his-lungs screaming. (Water fear runs strong in both parents’ families.)

The worst reaction usually came about when even the slightest drop of water slid down the side of his face, usually when washing his hair. My boy equally freaked out if a single H2O molecule entered an ear.

Within a few days of my taking over bathing duties, Seth calmed down enough to tolerate baths. A few weeks later, Seth kind of enjoyed baths. Within a few more weeks, Seth loved baths to the point I couldn’t get him out of the water. My boy was fine as long as the water stayed away from his face.

Wedding Anniversary

Today is my 10th wedding anniversary. Here’s what I wrote to my wife:

Where did the last 10 years go?

We sipped wine in Paris.
We traversed Provence.
We hiked in Pacific Palisades.
We worked in Los Angeles and Ontario.
We stayed at a B&B in Santa Barbara.
We bought a house in Upland.
You wrote a book.
I paginated the Los Angeles Times.
We made numerous trips to Connecticut and Chicago.
You became pregnant; I helped (heh-heh).
We drove from San Francisco to Los Angeles for fun.
Seth was born.
I redesigned the Los Angeles Times.
We visited Big Bear.
You taught Seth how to walk.
We celebrated our 40th with tea in Victoria.
We read to Seth.
You reviewed kids books.
Lael was born.
We had fun in Pismo Beach.
You started Cybils.
I quit the Times.
We moved to Chicago.
I tried my hand as a businessman.
You found a great school for Seth.
We found an apartment with an amazing view.
Seth and Lael grew immeasurably under your care.
We moved to Scottsdale.
You found a job you enjoy.
Seth and Lael thrived.
I work from home and spend quality time with the kids.
You make beautiful jewelry.
We’re about to visit LaJolla.

The years have gone by quickly, which attests to a rich marriage. May the next 10 years be as adventure packed and exciting.

Healing After a Burn

Part I

During the drive home from the Burn Center at Maricopa Medical Center, Seth is awake and talkative despite the morphine floating around his system.

Considering it is hours past bed time, I marvel that my boy is still awake. Anne greets us as I carry Seth, who is now wearing green hospital pajamas, into the house.

After hugs, Seth and I prowl for food. After all, this adventure started after my boy spilled scalding soup on his chest, arm, fingers and lap. The only food we had while at the hospital were some graham crackers and potato chips.

As Seth eats, my wife and I discuss next day plans, which include Seth’s expected school musical solo. Seth indicates a desire to perform.

The Danger of Hot Soup

As the aroma of soup wafts up from the kitchen, I walk down the stairs for dinner. Lael, sick with a come-and-go fever, sleeps upstairs.

Earlier, I had taken the covers off the living room couch because our daughter had peed in her sleep. I put a white sheet on the couch to protect the now bare mattress.

Anne is talking to me as she ladles out soup for our dinners. Seth is already at the table with his food.

Suddenly, there is a blood-curdling scream. The type of scream that says your son is facing mortal harm.

Knowing exactly what happened, I rush into the dining room and quickly take in the situation. Seth, screaming, soup bowl on the floor, clutches the library book that probably knocked the bowl onto his chest and into his lap.

I immediately strip off Seth’s jersey and shorts. Ironically, the red, white and black top represents the only nylon clothing – a gift – that my son owns. Nylon passes the hot food straight to his skin.

I carefully pick Seth up and put him on the white sheet on the couch while my wife brings over ice packs. Seth’s chest, right arm, underarm, fingers, stomach and pelvis are all boiled red. I note that burns streak around toward his back.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Our celebration will be somewhat subdued this year. My wife’s schedule makes it hard to make breakfast in bed – she gets up around noon. Or 1 p.m. Or 10 a.m. We never really know on the weekends. And of course our finances are tight this year.

Making the day kind of weird, two of Lael’s playmates inexplicably scheduled a birthday party for the afternoon. I had planned to skip it, but Anne told the parents we’d be there. (I suspect my wife wasn’t aware it was on Mother’s Day.)

In the evening, I’m taking the whole family, including my mom, out for dinner. Besides flowers, the only other present this year are movie tickets.

Hope you all have a wonderful Mothers Day!

I Knew This Was Coming: Lael Cuts Her Own Hair

As I race my anti-gravity car around a bend, my wife sits next to me as we discuss work, the news and money. The kids, for once, are playing quietly downstairs. I speed around a bend, passing three ships at once.

Lael walks into the room and chirps in her happiest voice, “Mommy, I cut my hair!” She is clearly very proud of her accomplishment.

I immediately realize that Lael had used the little pair of scissors that Seth uses for projects. Even though I put the scissors out of Lael’s reach, she managed to get at them anyway. (Seth used the scissors to cut out a pattern out of construction paper he then shaped into a cube; the kid memorized the pattern in class!)

What to do? Well, I need to make up lost time because my anti-gravity ship was just blasted from behind. Unfortunately, Anne is unsure as to what Lael had done to her hair. Reluctantly, I pause the game.

The Little Girl Who Bounced

I wake up to a bird flinging itself at our upstairs window. It repeatedly hurls its little body into the glass. Clank. Clank. Clank.

With everyone else still in bed, I drive over to the homeowner’s association office to pick up a blue balloon. I tie it to a junk-laden table placed at the front of our driveway.

You see, our neighborhood only allows garage sales twice a year. While being at the HOA’s mercy might be annoying to some, homeowners benefit from citywide advertising that guarantees a fantastic turnout for the 100+ families that choose to get rid of unneeded junk.

My goal was not to make money. My goal was to de-clutter. Besides the usual pile of toys and outgrown children’s clothing, we’ve lived in three states in as many years. In fact, for two years our stuff was spread across three coasts: Connecticut, California and Chicago. The need to move quickly while working while parenting while coping with a dying relative has taken a toll on our ability to keep up. We also have a surfeit of books from my wife’s reviewing days.

I could donate a lot of the stuff. In fact, that’s what we usually do. But the garage sale is so convenient. Drag your stuff from the garage to the driveway and people give you money.

The Sweet Poison Shuffle

Sugar is dead. Long live sugar!

It seems that American food makers are finally getting a little nervous about high fructose corn syrup and are switching back to sugar, reports The New York Times.

While nutrition experts – and likely most dentists – consider the switch nutritionally meaningless, at least one person besides myself in this world will be happy with the switcheroo: my wife, Anne.

That’s because she is allergic to something in corn syrup. Perhaps it is the corn. Perhaps it’s the caustic soda and traces of mercury. Whatever the case, sugar is better for my wife than corn syrup.

As I mentioned, the experts are having none of it, writes the Times:

Though research is still under way, many nutrition and obesity experts say sugar and high-fructose corn syrup are equally bad in excess.

And later:

Although researchers are looking into the effects of fructose on liver function, insulin production and other possible contributors to excess weight gain, no major studies have made a definitive link between high-fructose corn syrup and poor health. The American Medical Association says that when it comes to obesity, there is no difference between the syrup and sugar.

Well, I disagree. Look, sugar is bad; dental problems in this country surged along with the growing consumption of sugary foods and drinks. The stuff isn’t so good for blood sugar levels.