Sympathy Pain

I looked up the term…It generally applies to unwed folks bring up a child together. My ex and I are technically co-parenting Jack. Not married…having input in the rearing of the child.

I have started noticing, however, that there is a huge lack of co-parenting within a married home. I think Sarah and I do pretty well. Last week really brought that into focus. Sarah was in Tech week for her show, Merry Wives of Windsor, and I was alone in the evenings with the Binja. He has a nighttime routine. Eat, play, eat, play some more, splasha splash, lotion, brush teeth, to bed. Not hard..Unless he poops in the tube, then eww…

Side note: our dishwasher has a sanitize setting and his bath toys fit nicely into the top rack.

Although we missed the momma, he was happily asleep when she got home.

I am just amazed at how the old school gender roles are still alive today. By alive I mean like a rotting zombie…or Jon and Kate’s marriage… And it’s not really a generational thing. A co-worker’s daughter, who is not old enough to drink, has a little one. The husband really has that stoneage opinion that the woman should do what the woman is built to do…whatever the hell that means. She can’t even go to sork and trust that hubby is going to pick up the little one from grammy’s. And what is he doing while she works? “Stuff”

Stuff…really? I do stuff all the time…with my children. My wife can rely on me. If she couldn’t, my “stuff” would get put up on the shelf and not used until she could rely on me. (Sex reference)

Anyway. I just think we need to re-evaluate gender roles in the parenting world. Men, learn to do everything child related. She’s going to find something better anyway, and leave you homeless with a kid, trying to get an internship with Dean Witter…I watched “Pursuit of Happiness” this weekend.

moar funny pictures

The boys and I had an all guy night. Jack was dropped of at work, and I picked Tony up about 5:30. We went to Target then on to Chik-fil-a. Why chik-fil-a? Well, other than their delicious chicken sandwiches, they have a play fort. One of Jack’s favorite things in the world.

Jack finished his dinner, and tried to pretend that he didn’t want to hit the playfort. He’s 9 now, you know. but the primal instict was to great.
After seeing his brother getting crazy on the play for, Tony had to try…Can you tell he has bowing of the tibia? He can’t.

I placed him in his car seat. That was my job. He had that stupid pink and blue cap on his head, the one that some one decided every hospital should use…and the blanket. He did have multiple reasons for the cap though. Firstly, it kept his head warm…on a day that was 90 degrees in the shade. Secondly, he had a bell jar shaped skull. His head was so big, the doctor had used a toilet plunger to pull him out. That tends to leave a round indention in your soft, newly formed, skull.

He looked so little, like this car seat was made for a giant baby, not this little guy. We went downstairs, with all the gifts we could haul. I also had pilfered as many diapers, wipes, cans of formula, and blankets as I could find in the room. Hell, my insurance had paid for them all. Down to the Pathfinder I had traded my truck for, just for this occasion.

I was wearing my “New Dad” shirt my father had bought me in the hospital gift shop. It fit me well…being the right size AND announcing to the world the warning…”stupid sperm donor approaching.”

We had to get home to met the nurse that was bringing his phototherapy straight jacket. He was slightly jaundiced. His eyes had a slight yellow tint and his skin as well. Breastfeeding and tanning bed are the normal prescription. So we had to get home and receive the tanning jacket.

We get home. The cats are…curious. He’s relatively peaceful. All seems right in this new father’s world.

Then we put the jacket of searing pain on him, and he begins to explode. It immediately sounded like we had dropped him in a vat of acid. We had been warned that he “wouldn’t like it”…but after about 30 seconds of baby torture, we stopped the treatment. He was soaking wet from sweet and urine. Welcome to your new home baby.

I hadn’t thought of that day in years. I mean, really thought about everything that happen, until Jack and I stumbled upon the topic last week.

“I almost returned you and ask for my money back.” I told him after telling him the story.

“But you didn’t.”

“Almost…but what an amazing young man I would have missed out on if I had.”

Happy birthday, fathead. I love you.

“I don’t know dad. I’m just really nervous.”

“Jack, it’s just a time trail. You’re not even racing. Just swimming. Once you’re in the water, you have 2 choices…swim or drowned. So choose the right one, and don’t think about the timer.”

“But, I’m really nervous.”

“You swim all the time. You are really good. You wanted to do the swim team again this year. You did great last year. It’ll be ok.”

“What if they tell me to do the butterfly stroke? I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well, tell them…I don’t know how to do that. Don’t just jump in and try, tell them you don’t know how. Try it…’I don’t know how to do that.’”

“Okay…”

We get there 30 minutes before the swimming time trial…to warm up. The coaches’ orders. Of course, they didn’t warm up until 6:15. Jack sat with his team mates for 45 minutes getting more and more freaked out about the time trails. I could tell this was not going to end well.

His mom shows up to watch. I have Tony, who is grumpy because it’s hot, he has drunk all his juice, he can’t just run around the pool, and it’s his bed time. Awesomeness.

They finally get to Jack’s age group. About 20 kids in just that one group. Jack let’s everyone else go first. Finally he gets on the platform to dive in. He starts…swimming like an extra in Piranha 3.

“Why is he swimming so hard…and why are his goggles on his head and not over his eyes?” his mom asked.

Tony smacks me in the nose. “Cause he’s not very smart sometimes.”

About halfway back on his first lap, he starts holding onto the rope, struggling.

“Crap” I think.

“Is he crying?” his grandmother asked.

Sure enough, he has psyched himself out. He gets out, crying and holding his stomach.

I head over, and he’s talking to another coach. She’s trying to calm him down and talk about anything else. Favorite color…favorite made up swimming stroke. Anything.

Mom comes over and starts asking a lot of “whys?” He gets spooled up again.

“I want to go home.”

“But why don’t you just stay and watch.”

“I don’t care. I want to go home.”

Well, in the water, having a panic attack is not a good place to be, so we head out.

I need advice. His mom thinks this sets a “quitter’s” attitude. Now he will feel he can get away with it at any sign of a hard task. I think swimming is not a team sport, and this is a localized reaction. I really don’t think this will set him in the “easy way out” frame of mind.

The plan is to get him to a meet and let him watch before he decides. I’m going to take him to the Y and get some swimming in for fun before that.

What do you think?

I remember forty being a lot further away.

My wife is freakin hoot.

Nose hair…what the hell? It’s like I snorted a trible.

I’m not in as bad of shape as I could be…

I still like to nap because I can, not because I have to.

Is it me, or is the sex better?

Children should not be allowed to drive…and be children I mean those how can’t remember the 80’s.

Old farts shouldn’t be able to drive…and by old I mean those who don’t know what Twitter is.

I miss being able to eat crap and not…crap for days. Now I eat anything and crap for days.

I love my kids.

I don’t understand people who don’t spend as much time with their kids as possible.

I don’t do cartwheels anymore. Might have to bring that back.

I don’t remember faces like I used to. Still bad with names, but faces are now starting to escape me.

I use to say, “It doesn’t matter where you get hungry, as long as you go home to eat.” Now, when I do get “hungry” what I have at home is all I crave.

That was about sex.

I HATE that damn McCafe ad campaign.

When the hell did I get a double chin?

I love sushi.

That wasn’t about sex.

I am a democrat.

Republicans have begun to piss me off…sorry dad.

I’d love a vacation.

I’m afraid I’ll never travel outside the country.

I’m afraid I’ll never be able to retire.

I’m afraid I won’t always satisfy my wife.

Losing your hair is not all that bad.

Losing your keys for the 1000^th time is.

It’s ok to have pop tarts for breakfast and chocolate cereal for dinner.

I have finally become comfortable in my own skin.

And the skin of others.

I remember a few months ago when my wife sheepishly announced she was going to run in a 5K race on Memorial Day. It didn’t surprise me. She ran regularly before we dated and some after. I don’t run. My knees hate it. I was diagnosed with degenerative arthritis in college and that has been my excuse ever since.

She began some course to build her up to a 5K. She went pretty religiously for weeks, and would always come home red faced and pissed off at the crowds at the gym. I was busy with work and the show, so didn’t really click in to how quickly the day was coming until about a week ago. Don’t get me wrong, I was very proud of her and could see the results…she is a hot MILF…but didn’t really realize how close she was to her big day.

Last week, she mentioned shoes. It clicked. She was less than a week from the race. She’d been running on shoes she bought before my oldest was born.

“Yes, get new shoes. You need them if you’re going to run.” She went and had a runner’s analysis and got a proper pair of shoes.

I felt I hadn’t really been helpful up until that point, but wanted to make sure I did better. This was and is very important to her. I’m extremely proud of what she has accomplished.

I dropped her off this morning at 8:30. Tony and I went and got “congratulation” cards and new ear buds that matched her running outfit for her I-Pod. We were there for her crossing the line. She did it. She set a goal, worked hard, and crossed the line in under 40 minutes.

“I’m going to run another one in October…on our anniversary…wanna run with me?”

Um…Congrats!

FirstsShare

If I tag you it means I want to know yours. Copy and paste this note into your notes, delete my answers and fill yours in. Tag me back and anyone else whose “firsts” you want to know about…

1. Who was your FIRST prom date?
Tammy Hilder…she knows…

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?
Yes

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?
Hunch Punch with citronella bug repellant in it. One of those parties.

4. What was your FIRST job?
Drill press operator at Simmons Manufacturing.

5. What was your FIRST car?
1979 Buick Limited

6. Who was the FIRST person to text you today?
Sarah Brown

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
Tony Comer

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
Mrs. Simpson

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
probably Birmingham Al

10. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk?
Matt Cardell…no he has passed away.

11. Where was your FIRST sleep over?
see above

12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today?
Sarah Brown

13. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time?
I hid in the choir loft and played a taped copy of my sister singing “The Rose”…does that count?

14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
put my glasses on

15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?
Oak Ridge Boys

16. FIRST tattoo?
not yet
17. FIRST piercing?
my ears

18. FIRST foreign country you’ve went to?
Mississippi

19. FIRST movie you remember seeing?

Song of the South

20. When was your FIRST detention?
when I tried to put a a kid’s head down a toilet for calling my dad fat.

22. Who was your FIRST roommate?
Christopher Gerbert

23. If you had one wish?
Finicial Soundness

24. What is something you would learn if you had the chance?

To play guitar

25. Did you marry the FIRST person to ask for your hand in marriage?
no.

26. What was the first sport that you were involved in?
Football

27. What were the first lessons you ever took?
voice…i think

28. What is the first thing you do when you get home?
get a hug from Tony

29. Who do you think will be the next person to post this?
Sarah

I was getting ready to leave to strike the wiz…no, that’s not a euphemism…Saturday night. We got the show off and defeated the evil swine flu. Now it was time to begin the strike process. This is usually the 2 hours after the last show. Taking set pieces down, getting rented items ready to return, and discovering what damage the show has done to the space. Fun stuff. You also have to deal with the actors and techs celebrating the last show. There are pictures to be taken, small props and costumes to be stolen for souvenirs, so on.

So it’s Saturday night. Jack is playing Madden 08 on the Wii. I’m getting the energy up to go to the theatre.

“All right, Jack, I have to go to strike. See you in the morning.”

“Can I go with you?”

I was not ready for the question. He wanted to go to work with me. I was taken aback.

“Um…sure…but you have to listen. There’s going to be a lot going on, and it would be really easy to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I will”

So off we go. We caught the last ¾ of the show. He loved it. The kids did a great job. It really was a good show for them to be proud of.

Strike began. He pulled up tape off the floor and helped coil power cable. He also helped direct dome of the teenagers as to where things were and needed to go. He learned that teen agers speak in…colorful metaphors. He also listened very well and was never where he shouldn’t be, which is more than I can say for most of the students.

We had a blast. We did have a talk about the cursing. He really enjoyed the evening. I, of course, was very proud.

God…Please don’t let him go into theatre. I need him to take care of me when I’m old.

So, I decided I’m a lazy person. I know, this shouldn’t be some huge revelation, but I had an epiphany today. It was somewhere between my job, my part time gig building a set for “The Wiz”, text messaging another theatre’s marketing guy about getting show posters done, getting and e-mail about costumes for yet another show I’m producing, and trying to figure out if Jack has a game AND swim practice this weekend…I decided I’m lazy by nature. I am fighting against that nature to do all these things. Why? I could totally be that guy, watching baseball on the couch, eating chips, and flipping channels just because I’m bored. I could just hang out with the family (I’d have to catch my wife between her 70 different things) and do nothing. But no. I have to stretch myself out. Be everywhere at once. Multi task king.

Belch.

“I love you Comer…You saved our show!” one of the students says as I am running through the theatre.

That’s why…or atleast some of it. These kids deserve a good show. Something they can be proud of. Something that is like nothing they have ever done. They deserve someone who will take some extra time out of a packed day to swing by and make it a little better than it was before. It’s not about the accolades…though they are nice and welcome. It’s about a job well done and showing work ethic that might be a positive effect on the kids.

I’ll be lazy…one day…just not today.

Charlie killed another rabbit. This time Sarah was at home and called me to do her dirty work.

I had to change the characters from the last movie…cause they wanted me to pay to upgrade. These were free…
I also thought when Sarah called she was just trying to get me home for a nooner…I was mistaken

I was in a co-workers office today. She has Neal Bortz…I think… running in the background all the time. This is her right. I have no problem with to what or who she listens. But this morning, the conversation struck me as odd and wrong.

“If my house is burning down, who do I save?” he ask a woman who I assume is a co host…or his wife.

“Well, I…” She begins.

“I save you. Not the kids. We can make more kids. I love you. I’ve married you. I need you. The kids can’t come in here and do what you do. They don’t have the skills to put on this show. They can’t run this program.”

Listen…Hear that…it’s the WTF alarm going off.

Yes, I love my wife. I would give up my life for her…or at least fake it so she could get some insurance money…but I would not just leave my children behind with the “we can make more” attitude. I would hope Sarah could find the door in an emergency, Jack probably, but he would be freaked out, and tony sleeps in a cage.

While we are at it, I’m pro-choice. I’ve heard arguments hurled at me about what I believe over the years, and one that always sticks with me is when someone, with that smug, know it all, sarcastic attitude says “Yeah, just abort ‘em, you can always make more.” Well, conservative radio host, um, yeah.

Now, I didn’t hear the conversation before or after. This may have been some strange tongue in cheek conversation. But even then…

And who says that to a mother? “I know you married me to be the father of your children and protect them, but if there’s a fire…it’s you and me baby…and you better not be slow.I can make more babies with somebody else.”