As I dropped my youngest off at daycare this morning, the teachers’ in the 18 month old ro… more
Posts Tagged ‘ri-ri’
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Happy Campers and a Lucky Dad
By Daddy Clay Tuesday, June 16th, 2009
My wife and I live and die by summer camps. This realization dawned on me as a prepared to drop our five-year-old off for his first day of daycamp. The building where the camp was to be held was somewhat familiar to Coop — the elementary school that his older siblings attend — but it still had to be pretty imposing to a kid who just turned five.
We stood in line for registration and he suddenly seemed so tiny, dwarfed by his backpack. I’m musing over the fact that he’s really only been outside home to a couple different places — the daycare that we helped to found near our home, and his pre-k for the past year — as we edge toward the enthusiastic lady with the clip board and the big cowboy hat.
It strikes me that I am at a moment of significant risk.
If this little boy (understandably) freaks out at the prospect of being dropped off at a semi-strange place populated by decidedly strange (looking) adults, then I am utterly screwed. Like most two-career families, ours depends completely on all the kids attending summer camp all summer for us to preserve anything remotely resembling a work schedule.
That’s why when little Coop summons his courage and walks off in the company of his new “counselor” that as wave of gratitude washes over me. It’s a little act of bravery that I’m really thankful for. I sort of hope that he is unaware of what is at stake. I hope he goes because he thinks there’s something fun going on at this camp deal. Certainly over the next few days, we are overwhelmed with stories of his various triumphs at camp, at it seems like al is well.
Our older two are also off at camp — sleepover camp, no less. This is a big step for Ri-ri, who is only 7 despite having finished the 2nd grade. Yet again she’ll be the youngest kid in the place. I unloaded her trunk in the mall parking lot where we meet the camp bus, and look over to see her struggling with her laundry bag filled with pillows and blankets. On the bus she looks so tiny sitting by herself in an otherwise empty row, that I try the awkwardest parenting trick in the book: “Anybody else here going to be in the Wren cabin? Because that’s where Ri-ri here is going to be!”
A few girls glance back, but nobody moves. Ri-ri, thankfully, is not mortified, but rather sweet. We say a sort of goodbye, and I get the hell out of the way. It becomes clear that this is a correct course of action within ten seconds. I see through the window that she is chatting with the girl in the row in front of her. Within a minute she’s moved up to sit next to her new friend.
I don’t even get to say goodbye to Bubba. He’s off like a shot. No hugs or kisses. He’s just out.
Now each morning at about eleven, I have a ritual, madly searching the hundred or so photos of campers that the camp posts daily (an amazing feature) for signs of the kids. There’s R-ri eating a ‘Smore, jumping on a trampoline, chatting with an older girl and generally looking happy.
But where’s Bubba? Finally, today, there he is having his daily check-in conversation with his counselor. He’s wearing his cool guy shades and looks happy but WHAT THE HELL IS THAT CRAWLING UP HIS LEG? Is it some huge patch of muddy gunk? Oh for the love of…is that a gigantic scab?!? It covers most of his lower body? What on earth has the child done to himself? Well, at least it looks more or less healed over.
There he is again bouncing on the “blob,” hamming it up with his cabin mates, and generally looking like he was made for the place, or vice versa.
They’re all three pretty happy campers, which makes me one lucky dad.
What the Bristle-bot Taught Me
By Daddy Clay Friday, May 15th, 2009
Though he was tiny, limited, fragile and hastily constructed, the little bristle-bot had much to teach me.
A bristle-bot isn’t really a robot, but a cool, tiny, simple machine that’s easy to make, and its skittering motion, is so cool and organic-looking, that it really delights everybody that sees the little Frankenstein. To make one to make one requires a trip to Radio Shack, where you’ll need to buy two things — a “vibrating motor” and a 3v lithium watch battery. The motor is a tiny thing, the kind that make a cell phone vibrate — it spins a small unbalanced weight to create buzz.
To make the bot, cut the handle off of a toothbrush (the bigger the “head” the better). Trim the wires coming off of the motor to about an inch or two in length, then using athletic tape secure the motor to one end of the brush head. Make a tiny tape loop (or double sided), and secure the black wire to the negative side of the battery, then tape the battery to the brush head. Tape the red wire to the positive side of the battery, set the bot on a table and watch it dash around like a beetle.
It only took Bubba and I about five minutes to put this little guy together. He was beside himself, excited that it worked, but also immediately taken by it. It was instantly anthropomorphosed, named, cooed over. Ri-ri and Coop began begging for one.
It was, simply put, a moment to triumphant fathering.
Namely because Bubba and I had been working for weeks on a long-term reading project, one that required him to write over a dozen books and prepare a handful of “book reports.” These reports weren’t papers so much as presentations and demos for the class on a book’s subject. When the boy brought home some book on robots in popular culture, I knew we were going to make a bristle-bot as his report.
Daddy Troy gave me the idea. His kids loved it. I knew Bubba would go nuts over, his classmates would be wowed, and his teacher impressed. Super-dad stuff.
With three kids in activities, and finding time for family, social life — stopping by the the Radio Shack proved to be the toughest part. I put it off for days. Always seemed like I was always running just a few minutes too late leaving work to pick up Coop to have the time for an errand. Finally, I was out of time. The deadline for book reports approached. Now or never.
So even though I was a keynote speaker, and even though the nice organizers of the conference often bragged about how available all the speakers would be throughout the day, and even though I really wanted to talk with the SEO guy,and even though Daddy Troy was doing way more than his share, I ducked out early and headed to Radio Shack.
But once the thing was together it was all worth it.
We even found a perfectly shaped box to pack the bot in (along with component parts of a second — the idea being that he would fabricate one in front of the class). In the morning he packed off with it.
That afternoon I was itching to get the report, but Bubba was already off to practice and my wife and I had a sitter to we could go to the big DadLabs book party (a blog for another day).
The party was a success, and I came home glowing. Bubba heard us come in and chirped form his room (they still do that at 10). She asked how the presentation went, and he fessed up immediately. He’d been showing it to friends, and he had broken it, and lost the components to the second one in the process, so he couldn’t show it to the class.
About half way through his story, I had to step out of the room. I was fuming! Furious. I stood in the front room and swore under my breath. Didn’t he know!? Didn’t he know that I’d made work sacrifices! Didn’t he know that I was proud of that little thing?! Didn’t he know that I was planning on writing about the perfect and quintessential fathering moment on my blog?
Answer: no.
He’d just loved the damn thing to death.
So thanks, bristle-bot for making the ultimate sacrifice, and for reminding me that any good moment with your child is reward enough.
Fitfatfit Finished
By Daddy Clay Monday, April 6th, 2009
On Saturday, as the Grand Finale of my FitFatFit Dad Challenge, I participated in my first organized competitive athletic event in over 20 years. The Toughest Race in Texas is an annual fundraiser for a local school, offering 10k, 5k and 1k runs. Why the name? It’s a trail run, twisting and turning through the scrub cedar and oaks on the 400 acre campus of the school, featuring numerous near vertical climbs up limestone cliffs, treacherous creek crossings and completely impassible scree fields. Maybe even a few cougars.
The whole ordeal is the sick brainchild of none other than Daddy Brad. Who didn’t run, by the way. Presumably because he knows better.
I literally stumbled out of the gate, fiddling with my iPod, trying to get my carefully crafted playlist fired up. I left the damn thing on shuffle, so my cool down songs came where my power songs were meant to be and vice versa. Completely threw me off my finely honed race plan.
I found that on the race trail, I am very age-ist. Never worried about people looking younger than me when they blew past, and targeted gray heads for passing myself. Felt twinges of vestigial competitiveness here and there (like when I got passed twice in the final 200 meters), but generally felt pretty good just competing against myself.
I finished in the dead center of the pack — 72nd in a field of 154, 12th in my age division with a finishing time of 1:01’14”. I was pretty wrecked at the end, but glad I did it.
So that’s it for my FitFatFit 90 day program. I fell well short of my weight loss goals, but did manage to shed 10 lbs. I started a daily exercise program, that included running for the first time in 15 years. Doing about 18 miles a week now, and enjoying it, so that will continue, I guess. I finally got a full physical as part of the challenge and found out that all is in reasonably good working order.
In terms of the parenting part of the challenge, I didn’t really change the amount of time I spent playing sports with my kids, so I don’t really score points there. I suppose I’m setting a better example now, and I’m slightly less likely to injure myself when I do play with them. Bubba and Ri-ri did follow my example and ran the 1K. So I guess I get points for that.
Overall, I can’t say that I feel miraculously better, or have tons more energy — the kind of stuff they put on the fitness brochure. This may have something to do with the fact that my exercise program comes directly at the expense of sleep. (Wonder if there is any net health benefit to going -1 hour sleep for +1 hour exercise on a daily basis.) I also know that if I want to keep running (and I’d like to even up the mileage) I need to lose more weight. So…
Let the challenge being again! Another 90 days, another 10 lbs. This challenge to culminate in the Dennis Road Race on Cape Cod in July. Daddy Brad, you may have trounced me in this round, but it’s all part of my strategery. Tortoise and the hare! See you on the Cape, fat boy.
Bubba and friends at the Toughest Race starting gate
The Key To Parenting Broke Off In The Lock
By Daddy Clay Monday, March 9th, 2009
I’m throwing a tantrum in front of my son. A doozy. I’ve chucked my keys on the floor. I’m cursing and referring to the DadLabs World HQ in decidedly unflattering terms. I’m storming around.
What would cause an otherwise reasonable person, especially one concerned with good parenting practices to act like such a moron in front of his kid?
I blame it on materialism.
When my Phillips SoundBar home theater crapped out on Friday, the plan was clear. Work hard around the house, clean everything, drive everywhere, try hard to gain Brownie Points, and plot a bender at Costco. See, in addition to the sound system (which we pretty well never used at anything near its capacity), there was also the KitchenAid mixer that hadn’t made it out of the box since it was under the Christmas Tree, and my Costco American Express reward check as well.
All told, in exchanges and refunds, I might have enough to maybe pick up that Canon Rebel XSi I’ve had my eye on for some time now — without laying out any additional cash — and with enough left over to give the wife a gift card making up for the mixer debacle.
But first I had to earn the kitchen pass. So I picked up, I did dishes, I even cleaned the hamster cage (with Ri-ri’s help). I offered the Costco trip, ostensibly to help provision for our beach trip to Port A next week. Got the nod. I scooped up Bubba, and away we went.
We had to make up a quick pit stop at DLWHQ to pick up the jumbo sized box for the Phillips system. I somehow thought that packing the thing up in the original box might influence the Costco gatekeepers to give me my money back. I was fuzzy on the purchase date — less than a year, I was sure. But would they really give me my cash back? I hoped so because the system had not been a good purchase. When was I really going to use surround sound? After the kids went to bed? The speakers on the TV are weak, but I’ve come to think of that as a feature and not a flaw.
I was more confident about the mixer. It had been just over 90 days since the purchase and there was a still a shred of Christmas paper left taped to the box. It seemed unlikely that they would take both back, so I knew I would need Bubba with me to help in the cute/credible department.
We’re on the way out of DadLabs, and I can’t quite get the lock to turn over. I try again. No go. I dash around the offices looking for a little WD40. No, but AHA! I return to the door with a paperclip and a capsule. Fish oil. I pop that bad boy and squish it into the lock. Smells bad but looks very lubricated. Bubba is impressed with my improvisational skills. I give it another twist. It’s moving!
Snap.
Then the general cussing. Then the keys slamming down. More cussing, this time more specifically about what a dump we work in. Huffing. Then, eventually, the of calling the locksmith. Then the paying of the money to the locksmith. Then the calling of Daddy Troy to disrupt his Sunday to get him to lock the place up.
The trip to Costco happened, but it was a rather dispiriting affair. There was some anticipation, but the Costco folks were so nice and accommodating — they just hauled all my gear back in and issued me a gift card. We moved efficiently up and down the aisles. Just the provisions, no discretionary spending.
Bubba made a nice lunch out of the available snacks, but I was blue — embarrassed by my outburst, a little pissy that I didn’t get to buy myself something. But by the time we got back in the car, I was actually feeling pretty good. Hadn’t parenting taught me anything? What’s the surest way to make sure you kids come down with something? Make a dinner reservation and hire a babysitter.
Wanting stuff leads to broken keys and cussing. That is all.
