A Bump in the Night

It's Five o'clock in the morning.  I'm not someone that is fanatical about sleep but I don't love being up this early on a Saturday when it isn't called for either.  I was awakened by the sound of a sliding glass door opening.  I grabbed my dog, Otto, and investigated.  We searched in the obvious places, behind doors, in closets, then the less obvious ones, like showers and in the garage and then ridiculous ones, like the freezer and kitchen cabinets.  We found nothing.  The fact that I had to wake Otto up to investigate should have been a dead giveaway, but having kids has given my already overactive imagination a steroid injection.  Thanks kids.  I'll file that panic button that kids give you as "another thing your parents don't tell you about as they are begging you to have grandkids for them".  

Truth be told, if there had been a break-in it wouldn't be the first we've had here.  Back when we were the parents of  less children I was awoken by my wife whispering there was someone in the house.  Come to find out, there was two intruders in our house that night.  I was able to chase them off but not before they stole a car, some video games and my wedding ring among other things.  Something else was stolen though, something I was unaware until this morning that I even had in the first place, my peace of mind.

Without realizing it, most people have had their "fight or flight" tested over and over and mentally have a checklist of where they perform well.  For example, I know if my wife and I come up on a car accident, the victim would much rather have my wife be the first on the scene and have me go for coffee.  I don't know why, but my wife thrives in that arena, me, not so much.  I happen to know, however, there are areas where I keep a clearer head than she does.  If we have a house fire, it turns out that my wife doesn't keep nearly as level a head as she does at car accidents.  I don't know why, but the apple fell pretty far from the firefighter tree she sprouted from.  

In that, I know that there was a time when I didn't panic when someone broke into our house.  I dealt with it, talked to the police for a while and went back to sleep.  Which brings me to this morning.  Why am I sitting here writing a blog post and not back in bed?  Is it because by sense of calm was broken by the people who broke into my home a few years ago?  Is it because the stakes went up as I had more kids?  Is it because I have gotten old and need less sleep?  I think the answers are: 'yes', 'yes' and 'maybe a little'.  

Without knowing it, my children have given me many a sleepless night.  Without kids, the break in wouldn't have scared me.  Neither would the house fire, or traffic, or walking through a mall, or nail polish, or the ingredients of chicken nuggets.  What would never have bothered me before now has me writing  blog posts at 5:00 in the morning.   

The point of the story is twofold.  To my mom, I'm sorry for all of the times I did stupid shit.  There are plenty of those times, the ones you knew about and the lions share that you didn't.  I had no idea the numbers of hours of sleep it must have cost you.  I guess that explains why you didn't let me know about those sleepless nights when I had kids.  Touché, I'll consider us even.  To my daughters; Daddy panics now.  He never did before you were born.  The balding, the grey hair, it's all on you guys.  But here's the thing, I wouldn't trade a grey hair on my head to have it any different.  That being said, just know daddy panics now.  So when you are considering sneaking out, daddy panics.  When riding your bike, daddy panics.  When you're climbing trees or playing with scissors or staying at a friend's house, daddy panics.  As you and I get older I can't see it getting any better so file daddy's panic in the back of your head for decision making purposes.  So when you think to yourself, "should I get that tattoo?" or "I think I can get to the store and back before daddy notices I'm even gone" or "I bet I can (fill in the blank)" remember your old man, and his receding hair line, and have mercy on the poor guy. 

Macy the Zombie and Avery the Soccer Player

Last week Macy ran her first 5k.  It was a "Zombie Run" where each runner wears three flags and try to run from zombies trying to steal their flags and making the runner into a zombie themselves.  At five years old she was the youngest competitor and for her age she did fantastic.  While Macy was awesome, the point of this post has more to do with her sister Avery than Zombie Macy. 

Initially, Avery was signed up to do the Zombie Run but she was unable to run it.  She had trained for her run as much as an eight year old would and was geared up and ready to go.  She had considered costumes and elected for practical running gear and a tutu, less for flag protection and more for flair.  She was trained, she was styled and she was ready to go, unfortunately , much like they do on my college football watching, the soccer gods frowned on her preparedness. 

Avery had been signed up for the race before the seasons soccer schedule had come out.  As luck would have it, her first game fell on the same date...at the same time as the Zombie run.  Both my wife and I were torn on what she should do, Avery was less torn and more destroyed by the conundrum.  In a fantastic parental cop-out we elected to let Avery decide, not without guidance, but it was up to her. 

We discussed it over dinner with her and through her tears she decided that she wanted to do the run and that we would call her coach and let him know.  My wife leaned towards her playing soccer, I leaned towards the run but we both decided that it was her choice and accepted it.  That night, Avery went to bed crying and upset that she would miss her game, and an opportunistic Macy was crying because she wouldn't get to fill in for Avery at the race.   

When I woke up the next morning, I would get a lesson from my eldest child.  Here is where I would usually give the lesson for my daughters grab onto.  Today, it is a lesson I was given by Avery.  That morning, over Eggo's, Avery let me know that she had changed her mind.  Her explanation was simple, "if I miss the run I'll be letting myself down, if I miss the game, I'll let my whole team down".  From the mouths of babes.  She was willing to give up the race she had trained for to play one of ten soccer games she would play this fall.  The lesson is this, to my wife it was more important for her to play soccer, but what was probably for the wrong reason.  She was worried about what it would say to the coach if she missed the first game. To me, she had earned the run and missing one game wasn't a big deal.  Congratulations Avery, today you are the grown up.  Both mommy and I are impressed with your decision and your reason.  P.S. you are signed up for the Hot Chocolate run the week after your soccer season ends so get running little girl. 

Is Raider Nation the Hill You Want to Die On?

The Oakland Raiders play again this weekend and I can only imagine it being another weekend of them being drubbed out of their own building.  Being  a Raider fan in the greater Denver area is uncomfortable business and something I wouldn't wish on anyone.  In that "anyone" I include my daughter Macy.  

Macy has recently come out as a fan of the downtrodden organization and while a small part of me secretly cheers her decision, most of me would urge her to go a different direction.  During every week of football season my little girl faithfully asks me "Did the Raiders win today?" and almost every week I let her know that they came in second.  I imagine that her little head calculates that the Raiders are the silver medalist of the NFL.  While I envy the world her naiveté allows her I can't help but think that being a Lions fan, a Steelers fan or even, gulp, a Broncos fan might make her precious life a little easier.  

Kowtowing to the masses isn't generally the stance I take, but my mother always told me to ask the question "is that the hill you want to die on?".   In my life I didn't ask that question enough.  I didn't ask the question when I wore a haircut that would make the Flock of Seagulls blush, I didn't ask it when deciding on getting an English degree and I certainly didn't ask it as I was growing into a Raiders fan.  

Girls, the moral of the story is this, it's okay to be different, in fact, it's fantastic.  As you grow up you can dye your hair, get a nose ring and study the philosophy of pottery making if that is what makes you happy.  But as someone who never did, I would recommend that you pick your battles a little more intelligently than I did.  It's fine to have neon purple hair because that's what you want, but it's also okay to join the tennis team because that's what all of the other kids are doing.  

This applies especially to you, Macy.  You are an adorable girl, one who loves Bob Marley and the Beastie Boys.  You have a wonderful sense of style and who knows,  rain boots, jeans and a tutu may one day be all the rage.  You are a unique and magical girl but what makes you awesome also makes you a little different.  Perhaps the addition of wearing the "kick me" flag that being a Raider fan brings may not be for you. 

As a dad I want the world for you and in that world I want you to be yourself but fit in as well, to be able to let your freak flag fly but to do it with your feet firmly on the ground.  Just know that no matter what you do and who you become, your Daddy will always love and support you, even as a green haired, philosophy studying Bronco fan.