Before Cub Scouts last Friday Brennan engaged in a game of pick up basketball with some of the other boys. Once sides had been formed, one boy yelled out the name he had selected for his team, "We're the Denominators!" A kid on the opposing team perked up at this point, replying, "That is interesting. So, what you are telling us, is that all of you are the bottom half of a fraction?" Guess which team won?
Brennan walked up to me last week and announced that he wants a brother. Like a pet, he sometimes lobbies for further procreation. However, this time his specificity caught me a bit off guard. "I want a brother. Who's good at soccer. Who's my age. I'd like him to be black. And his name could be CJ." Lori and I have discussed the biological prospects of granting such a request, but we both agree it might be a long shot. As a result, I've been checking Craigslist daily for a CJ.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
for now
Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge
My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?
What he doesn't know
is that when we're together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand
- Robert Hershon
I'm sure that one day I will feel like this about our children. Although if any of them have a receding hairline, it's doubtful I will want to be seen with them in public. *
For now, my leisurely reading has become splintered; only time for tidbits here and there. Poetry has provided an appealing marriage of convenience. I grew tired of seeing the same six books on my bedside stand, unread. I also sit in the poetry section at the library where I study. One day I grabbed Billy Collins during a break. Then Updike. Even Amber Tamblyn. It provides a mental shot of espresso on days so often chained to statistical models. So, for now my poetry fix does the trick. Norman Maclean can wait.
For now, all of our children hold our hands willingly when crossing the road...except for Ava. She views this gesture as an insult to her independence as a human being and her strength as a woman. Yesterday as I was drinking from a mug she walked up and asked, "Coffee?" "No," I replied, "Cafix. Want some?" "Umm, no thanks," she offered, as she exited the kitchen, purse in hand, sunglasses on, really big shoes on her feet.
Please choose wisely
I say absent-mindedly
It is not so trivial
My daughter, whose first haircut
was imposed upon her several weeks ago
at the ripe age of 29 months, says
Umm, toast, not cereal.
What she doesn't know
is that when we're together, when we get
to a lull in conversation
I sometimes want to discuss
existentialism
(or why Mormons don't drink coffee)
For now, my sentimentality as a father resides in the future, not the past.
* Just kidding, bald friends.
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge
My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?
What he doesn't know
is that when we're together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand
- Robert Hershon
I'm sure that one day I will feel like this about our children. Although if any of them have a receding hairline, it's doubtful I will want to be seen with them in public. *
For now, my leisurely reading has become splintered; only time for tidbits here and there. Poetry has provided an appealing marriage of convenience. I grew tired of seeing the same six books on my bedside stand, unread. I also sit in the poetry section at the library where I study. One day I grabbed Billy Collins during a break. Then Updike. Even Amber Tamblyn. It provides a mental shot of espresso on days so often chained to statistical models. So, for now my poetry fix does the trick. Norman Maclean can wait.
For now, all of our children hold our hands willingly when crossing the road...except for Ava. She views this gesture as an insult to her independence as a human being and her strength as a woman. Yesterday as I was drinking from a mug she walked up and asked, "Coffee?" "No," I replied, "Cafix. Want some?" "Umm, no thanks," she offered, as she exited the kitchen, purse in hand, sunglasses on, really big shoes on her feet.
Please choose wisely
I say absent-mindedly
It is not so trivial
My daughter, whose first haircut
was imposed upon her several weeks ago
at the ripe age of 29 months, says
Umm, toast, not cereal.
What she doesn't know
is that when we're together, when we get
to a lull in conversation
I sometimes want to discuss
existentialism
(or why Mormons don't drink coffee)
For now, my sentimentality as a father resides in the future, not the past.
* Just kidding, bald friends.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
faux pa
On Tuesday of this week Brennan decided that it was time for a haircut. Not just any haircut, but a fauxhawk.
Preparation
Brennan had google imaged the exact style he was going after. It was part Cristiano Ronaldo, part David Beckham, part random male model. He made me look at each picture three times, then promise him I could replicate the look on his eight year old noggin.
Trepidation
As we walked to the backyard Brennan nervously asked repeatedly whether or not I could do this (even though we had been through that in the first stage). I assured him I could. When we got to the back door he paused, looked up at me and asked, "I don't know if I'm ready for this. I'm not sure that this is a good decision." "Hair always grows back," I replied. "You're right" he sighed in relief, "thank you for saying that. Ok, I'm ready."
*haircut* (mostly buzzing and silence)
Frustration
After announcing completion of the haircut and dusting him off as best I could, he sprinted inside to assess my masterpiece. He jumped up on the couch, looked in the mirror...then dramatically flung himself down to the floor exclaiming, "I knew you couldn't do it! This looks terrible!" Controlling my urge to laugh hysterically, I calmly replied, "let's go upstairs to the bathroom."
Elation
4 ounces of hair gel and 15 seconds of hairspray later and the fauxhawk was spiky perfection. His furrowed brow broke, and a smile emerged. "I love it. It's perfect." He watched its reflection like it was a newborn; endless adoration and amazement for a completely unresponsive inanimate object.
xxxxxxxx
Preparation
Last year I purchased a pair of Levis that were a perfect fit everywhere but the inseam. Shocker, I know. I took them to my alteration specialist (?!), Kim, and told her that I needed the jeans shorter, but I wanted to keep the original hem. Also, I wanted the hem reconnected with red thread. She smiled and reluctantly accepted the odd request.
Trepidation
I smiled, and nervously left the Levis with her, knowing she may destroy what could be a perfect pair of jeans (either by getting the length wrong, or using some thread other than red).
*sewing* (I'm assuming a lot of humming and Christian rock on the radio)
Frustration
Three days later when I went to pick them up, I pulled them out of the plastic only to find that she had reconstructed my Levis with navy thread. I'm a reasonable guy. I don't like to make a fuss when I'm a customer. Especially not with Kim, my alteration specialist. But it had to be red. I reminded her of my original request, which she immediately remembered. She said she'd redo it. Then added, with annoyance oozing through her Cambodian accent, "You be silly boy."
Elation
Maybe so, but I be silly boy rocking some red thread on my hem...and to this day, they are my favorite pair of jeans. Sometimes I watch their reflection in the mirror. But they are animate. Because I'm dancing in them.
xxxxxxxxx
Style decisions may be based on modeling (copy cat), rebellion, or simply some idea that has no basis for being cool, but cannot be altered. And must be executed. Soon.
Brennan, if you read this when you are 15, it might be kind of embarrassing for you. Not because I made my observations of you public, but because you will still be doing this stuff in 7 years. And at 31. Trust your pa on this one.
Preparation
Brennan had google imaged the exact style he was going after. It was part Cristiano Ronaldo, part David Beckham, part random male model. He made me look at each picture three times, then promise him I could replicate the look on his eight year old noggin.
Trepidation
As we walked to the backyard Brennan nervously asked repeatedly whether or not I could do this (even though we had been through that in the first stage). I assured him I could. When we got to the back door he paused, looked up at me and asked, "I don't know if I'm ready for this. I'm not sure that this is a good decision." "Hair always grows back," I replied. "You're right" he sighed in relief, "thank you for saying that. Ok, I'm ready."
*haircut* (mostly buzzing and silence)
Frustration
After announcing completion of the haircut and dusting him off as best I could, he sprinted inside to assess my masterpiece. He jumped up on the couch, looked in the mirror...then dramatically flung himself down to the floor exclaiming, "I knew you couldn't do it! This looks terrible!" Controlling my urge to laugh hysterically, I calmly replied, "let's go upstairs to the bathroom."
Elation
4 ounces of hair gel and 15 seconds of hairspray later and the fauxhawk was spiky perfection. His furrowed brow broke, and a smile emerged. "I love it. It's perfect." He watched its reflection like it was a newborn; endless adoration and amazement for a completely unresponsive inanimate object.
xxxxxxxx
Preparation
Last year I purchased a pair of Levis that were a perfect fit everywhere but the inseam. Shocker, I know. I took them to my alteration specialist (?!), Kim, and told her that I needed the jeans shorter, but I wanted to keep the original hem. Also, I wanted the hem reconnected with red thread. She smiled and reluctantly accepted the odd request.
Trepidation
I smiled, and nervously left the Levis with her, knowing she may destroy what could be a perfect pair of jeans (either by getting the length wrong, or using some thread other than red).
*sewing* (I'm assuming a lot of humming and Christian rock on the radio)
Frustration
Three days later when I went to pick them up, I pulled them out of the plastic only to find that she had reconstructed my Levis with navy thread. I'm a reasonable guy. I don't like to make a fuss when I'm a customer. Especially not with Kim, my alteration specialist. But it had to be red. I reminded her of my original request, which she immediately remembered. She said she'd redo it. Then added, with annoyance oozing through her Cambodian accent, "You be silly boy."
Elation
Maybe so, but I be silly boy rocking some red thread on my hem...and to this day, they are my favorite pair of jeans. Sometimes I watch their reflection in the mirror. But they are animate. Because I'm dancing in them.
xxxxxxxxx
Style decisions may be based on modeling (copy cat), rebellion, or simply some idea that has no basis for being cool, but cannot be altered. And must be executed. Soon.
Brennan, if you read this when you are 15, it might be kind of embarrassing for you. Not because I made my observations of you public, but because you will still be doing this stuff in 7 years. And at 31. Trust your pa on this one.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
ten (i still love your mom)
10.
let's do it again.
10 more years.
3 more kids.
5 more moves.
4 more cars.
money. and then none.
let's not listen to reason,
just our hearts.
follow with abandon.
let's be young.
boldly. blindly. unabashedly.
laughing at the world,
as it recklessly spins by.
let's assume we have it down,
then be surprised by surprises.
Then again, let's just shoot for another ten.
Come what may.
Eyes wide open.
Hearts abiding, unbroken.
We can be young occasionally.
Force our naivete.
Smile at the world,
as we too spin recklessly.
Expect the surprises.
Expectations low.
Let's continue to grow.
Old together, or whatever.
To wherever.
Knowing I love you. And.
You love me.
let's do it again.
10 more years.
3 more kids.
5 more moves.
4 more cars.
money. and then none.
let's not listen to reason,
just our hearts.
follow with abandon.
let's be young.
boldly. blindly. unabashedly.
laughing at the world,
as it recklessly spins by.
let's assume we have it down,
then be surprised by surprises.
Then again, let's just shoot for another ten.
Come what may.
Eyes wide open.
Hearts abiding, unbroken.
We can be young occasionally.
Force our naivete.
Smile at the world,
as we too spin recklessly.
Expect the surprises.
Expectations low.
Let's continue to grow.
Old together, or whatever.
To wherever.
Knowing I love you. And.
You love me.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
heavy petting.
The kids have recently begun lobbying for a pet. This is a reoccurring theme in our house. The cycle looks like this: Kids ask for a pet. We say no. Kids persist. We buy a hermit crab. The kids are excited for 4 days. Hermit crab (named Colin) dies. We bury him in the backyard. Time passes. Kids ask for a pet. We say no. Kids persist. We buy a cactus at IKEA. The kids are excited for 6 days (they name him Steve). Cactus begins leaning. Then dies. I throw Steve in a smoothie.
This time, since they have so successfully managed pets in the past, they are hot for a dog. Frankly, I think they are psychopaths; they are slyly moving up to creatures of more and more significance to kill. Lori and I are firm on this one. There will be no dog in this house now. And perhaps ever. But we leave the door open and this pacifies the kids (we think). However, perhaps to show their indignation at our decision they are now creating pets. Last week it was an egg. A real, non-hard-boiled egg. "Eggie" was carried around the house and cared for. He did not die. But I'm pretty sure that had less to do with their love of the egg, and more out of fear of their mother if they cracked an egg in the house. Lori is kind and loving until you do something foolish like dropping your pet egg on her area rug. Eggie is now gone. "Has anyone seen Eggie." "Nope, but this omelet is amazing."
A fish occasionally comes into play, but Lori and I quickly dismiss it. I haven't heard anything about a fish recently...until this morning. I walk into the kitchen and see a Ziploc bag on the counter filled with water. Upon closer inspection, I see that there is a single, lonely, floating rose petal in the water. Like the tragic closing scene to an over-zealous indie film, the rose petal taunts me; Nick Drake plays in the background. Perhaps the kids know what a sucker I am for cleverness. I can be fairly stubborn until someone breaks me down with witty humor and/or unquestionable intelligence (being undeniably cute usually gets me too). And in this case, the floating rose petal in the Ziploc filled with water made me want to go out and buy them a pet tiger. And an orangutan.
This time, since they have so successfully managed pets in the past, they are hot for a dog. Frankly, I think they are psychopaths; they are slyly moving up to creatures of more and more significance to kill. Lori and I are firm on this one. There will be no dog in this house now. And perhaps ever. But we leave the door open and this pacifies the kids (we think). However, perhaps to show their indignation at our decision they are now creating pets. Last week it was an egg. A real, non-hard-boiled egg. "Eggie" was carried around the house and cared for. He did not die. But I'm pretty sure that had less to do with their love of the egg, and more out of fear of their mother if they cracked an egg in the house. Lori is kind and loving until you do something foolish like dropping your pet egg on her area rug. Eggie is now gone. "Has anyone seen Eggie." "Nope, but this omelet is amazing."
A fish occasionally comes into play, but Lori and I quickly dismiss it. I haven't heard anything about a fish recently...until this morning. I walk into the kitchen and see a Ziploc bag on the counter filled with water. Upon closer inspection, I see that there is a single, lonely, floating rose petal in the water. Like the tragic closing scene to an over-zealous indie film, the rose petal taunts me; Nick Drake plays in the background. Perhaps the kids know what a sucker I am for cleverness. I can be fairly stubborn until someone breaks me down with witty humor and/or unquestionable intelligence (being undeniably cute usually gets me too). And in this case, the floating rose petal in the Ziploc filled with water made me want to go out and buy them a pet tiger. And an orangutan.
Monday, January 17, 2011
say YES! to halitonic
This past Saturday morning as I was brushing Zoe's hair, her facial expressions suggested that she was experiencing some discomfort. This discomfort slowly turned into disgust, and then downright despair. She finally put her hands over her mouth and nose and exclaimed (hesitantly, but confidently), "I can't take it any more! Your breath smells terrible!" I laughed, acknowledging that I was quite sure she was 100% correct, then told her (face pointing away from her, mouth barely open) that it was a bit rude to tell someone they have terrible breath. She quickly responded, "I can't lie, can I?" Dagger. As I have discussed previously, we have worked with Zoe quite a bit to overcome her predisposition to lying. She has done really well...so well in fact, that she now has a keen sense of honesty and dishonesty, and will call us on it regularly ("Daddy, that joke was kind of a lie."). But, does this quest for honesty quell the necessity to "bear it courteously" all the time? Experience tells me...yes.
Many people are liars, and Lori and I are no exception. Zoe gets it honestly, because we both occasionally (all the time?) lie to spare others' feelings, or get out of things gracefully. We end up breathing peoples' breath as the situation becomes more uncomfortable for everyone involved--particularly when that same person walks away with the same hot stinking breath, ready to invade the nasal cavity of his next victim (thereby passing the discomfort along for them to "deal with it" or causing them to lie if they are indeed prone to the same pansiness). A simple, honest response is neglected in favor of overly-complicated commentary which is both rambling and ridiculous (and needless to say, disingenuous). Additionally, these fibs can also backfire with the people who are closest to us. Knowing that we have this tendency, they either catch us in our lies, or mistakenly presume we are lying when really, this time, we are telling the truth. Truthfully. Telling someone their breath smells with a wink and a smile is way less tedious and damaging in the long run, since the hurt feelings (if there are any) are on the front end, and quickly resolve as opposed to the delayed and prolonged resentment which are the always-in-season fruit of dishonesty for both the liar and the lied to.
Human behavior is way more complex than halitosis, but surely honesty--when kindly and sincerely framed--is more than a cover-up mint, it is preventative medicine. Although, (and I don't say this to validate my own behavior) we all know people who say everything they think (who by some definitions are very honest), and are completely unpleasant to be around (maybe because they lack the "kind and sincere" framing I mention above?). So, I'm not quite ready to embrace radical honesty, but I would consider it a huge victory if we can somehow teach this precarious and delicate dance of polite probity to our children. An ideal worth striving for.
As a result of Zoe's honesty, I've begun brushing my teeth with regularity and am extraordinarily careful when breathing around her. And Lori started kissing me again. Now if that doesn't get me to believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent and in doing good to all men, I don't know what will.
_______________________________________________________
*for a hysterical (and mildly profane) article on one man's experiment living by the code of radical honesty, check this out. By the very funny author of "The Know it All" and "A Year of Living Biblically."
Many people are liars, and Lori and I are no exception. Zoe gets it honestly, because we both occasionally (all the time?) lie to spare others' feelings, or get out of things gracefully. We end up breathing peoples' breath as the situation becomes more uncomfortable for everyone involved--particularly when that same person walks away with the same hot stinking breath, ready to invade the nasal cavity of his next victim (thereby passing the discomfort along for them to "deal with it" or causing them to lie if they are indeed prone to the same pansiness). A simple, honest response is neglected in favor of overly-complicated commentary which is both rambling and ridiculous (and needless to say, disingenuous). Additionally, these fibs can also backfire with the people who are closest to us. Knowing that we have this tendency, they either catch us in our lies, or mistakenly presume we are lying when really, this time, we are telling the truth. Truthfully. Telling someone their breath smells with a wink and a smile is way less tedious and damaging in the long run, since the hurt feelings (if there are any) are on the front end, and quickly resolve as opposed to the delayed and prolonged resentment which are the always-in-season fruit of dishonesty for both the liar and the lied to.
Human behavior is way more complex than halitosis, but surely honesty--when kindly and sincerely framed--is more than a cover-up mint, it is preventative medicine. Although, (and I don't say this to validate my own behavior) we all know people who say everything they think (who by some definitions are very honest), and are completely unpleasant to be around (maybe because they lack the "kind and sincere" framing I mention above?). So, I'm not quite ready to embrace radical honesty, but I would consider it a huge victory if we can somehow teach this precarious and delicate dance of polite probity to our children. An ideal worth striving for.
As a result of Zoe's honesty, I've begun brushing my teeth with regularity and am extraordinarily careful when breathing around her. And Lori started kissing me again. Now if that doesn't get me to believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent and in doing good to all men, I don't know what will.
_______________________________________________________
*for a hysterical (and mildly profane) article on one man's experiment living by the code of radical honesty, check this out. By the very funny author of "The Know it All" and "A Year of Living Biblically."
Sunday, January 2, 2011
D! see?
Dear Brennan,
Some day in the future, one of your little sisters will undertake a life transition/adventure which will provide an opportunity for you to assist her. Your presence will calm her, your jokes will buoy her, and your strength will sustain her. Your assistance will be lauded by your mom and me, and while you'll be tempted to let this occur quietly, your need to publicly proclaim your goodness will drive you to share what you have done with the rest of the cyber-world. You are a great brother, and I'm glad you will do this (the service part, not the self-involved proclamation part).
On an unrelated note, last week I drove your Aunt Maggie out to Washington D.C. where she is beginning the next chapter of her life. I carried her suitcase, drove her car, set her up on a date...and in general provided a calming presence, told buoying jokes, and granted sustaining strength *. Here are the mathematics of the trip:
$100 for food
+
Dad's homemade rolls
+
the one-way Mexi-nazi
+
my materialistic fast (ummmm?)
+
Tortilla Flat
+
West Virginia snow storm (not a euphemistic Deliverance reference)
+
Frenchables
+
Comfy bed (me)
+
Sofa (Maggie)
+
Holden
+
Green Juice
+
True Grit
+
Hair * Tights * Men's Bathroom (me being mistaken for a woman)
+
Normal Rockwell
+
sorry, the Ford's Theater is closed (but we're from IL!)
+
Lincoln (we're from IL!)
+
Don Draper
+
The Teen Witch
____________
= Bye, Maggie. Hope you find your husband (in my best Narwhalian voice).
If you need help interpreting any of the obscure references above, drop Maggie an email at maggieafranz@gmail.com. She has some free time in the nation's capital between feeding the dog and protecting the Escalade from bored teenagers. Or, you can just wait for her to blog my praises for selfless and silent service.
* in reality, there was nothing "service" about this trip. I got to hang out with one of my best friends...my sister Maggie. I enjoyed every second of the trip, and I'm lucky to have such smart, cute, and funny sisters. She had to endure me...and that endurance continues as I satirize our cross-country adventure. Love you, Mags.
Some day in the future, one of your little sisters will undertake a life transition/adventure which will provide an opportunity for you to assist her. Your presence will calm her, your jokes will buoy her, and your strength will sustain her. Your assistance will be lauded by your mom and me, and while you'll be tempted to let this occur quietly, your need to publicly proclaim your goodness will drive you to share what you have done with the rest of the cyber-world. You are a great brother, and I'm glad you will do this (the service part, not the self-involved proclamation part).
On an unrelated note, last week I drove your Aunt Maggie out to Washington D.C. where she is beginning the next chapter of her life. I carried her suitcase, drove her car, set her up on a date...and in general provided a calming presence, told buoying jokes, and granted sustaining strength *. Here are the mathematics of the trip:
$100 for food
+
Dad's homemade rolls
+
the one-way Mexi-nazi
+
my materialistic fast (ummmm?)
+
Tortilla Flat
+
West Virginia snow storm (not a euphemistic Deliverance reference)
+
Frenchables
+
Comfy bed (me)
+
Sofa (Maggie)
+
Holden
+
Green Juice
+
True Grit
+
Hair * Tights * Men's Bathroom (me being mistaken for a woman)
+
Normal Rockwell
+
sorry, the Ford's Theater is closed (but we're from IL!)
+
Lincoln (we're from IL!)
+
Don Draper
+
The Teen Witch
____________
= Bye, Maggie. Hope you find your husband (in my best Narwhalian voice).
If you need help interpreting any of the obscure references above, drop Maggie an email at maggieafranz@gmail.com. She has some free time in the nation's capital between feeding the dog and protecting the Escalade from bored teenagers. Or, you can just wait for her to blog my praises for selfless and silent service.
* in reality, there was nothing "service" about this trip. I got to hang out with one of my best friends...my sister Maggie. I enjoyed every second of the trip, and I'm lucky to have such smart, cute, and funny sisters. She had to endure me...and that endurance continues as I satirize our cross-country adventure. Love you, Mags.
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