An Easter with a Happy Ending

Okay, so the title is a bit provocative and technically there was no “happy ending” but here’s how it all went down.

We decided to do a fun family Easter all day.  Start at 9AM with me driving Connor over to Abuelita’s (Grandmother in Spanish) house in the golf cart.  I dropped Connor off and raced back home to hide eggs, hang the piñata, and make a note for the Easter bunny to give C.  Nita followed with Josephine in her cute little Easter dress.  We all had a nice discussion and a good breakfast.  I then drove Connor around the neighborhood while Nita and the moms got in position.  Connor saw the bunny, picked up the note and we read it to him.  He then got his basket headed outside and started hunting.

Last year with the Italians, Connor had his first egg hunt.  He didn’t understand the concept of hoarding yet.  He found one egg, opened it and lo and behold, raisins!!  So he sat down, opened the box and happily ate his new find.  Meanwhile the other kids were collecting eggs and making sure no one got more than they did.  Some of the moms forced the kids to give Connor a few more eggs, much to their chagrin.  Anyway, Connor has a similar stance on egg hunting.  He didn’t put all the eggs in the basket and then find out later what he got, he opened each egg one by one holding up the new booty to show us and dropping it on the ground if he didn’t approve. 

Now it was piñata time.  He was so excited and I gave him the stick to start beating the cardboard and paper mache car for its contents.  He gave it a few whacks and as I took the stick to demonstrate proper beating technique when I realized we were never going to puncture the beast.  Ever! So I ripped it open and Connor basically crawled inside and started pulling out toys and candy.  It reminded me of the scene in Parenthood when Steve Martin eventually had to open it with a chainsaw.  Anyway, Connor ran around and had a great time.  The moms drank mimosas.  Josie drank from the tap and we all had a fun time on a nice day. 

After naps it was time to go to grandmother’s house for Easter dinner.  Now Nita’s mom sprang quite a surprise.  She normally gives gifts that have something to do with the arts or museums…. Today she pulled out three boxes of tracks and Five Thomas Train engines with four trucks to pull!  Connor went nuts.  It gave us plenty of time to get dinner ready and again enjoy the time.  After a delicious meal, Mary Helen pulled out the last surprise.  This Easter was also our seventh wedding anniversary.  So in honor of our big day, she pulls out a quadruple chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, icing, filling, shavings, and I think the spoons were chocolate.  Again, Connor went NUTS!  Connor loves sugar like his momma likes sugar.  And he had way more than he should have and way too late in the day.  We tried to let him run it off a little after dinner, but it was time to pack up, go home, read stories, and get him in bed.

On the way home we saw a really long train on Mopac (the actual Missouri Pacific line, not the road) and that’s all Connor could talk about.  We get home and he’s still telling us about engines, trucks, and cabooses (please God let the sugar wear off soon).  Finally we get him in bed. 

Currently we are in the process of getting Josie to sleep upstairs in her room.  We are very close to our bed being a two-seater again. It has been a three-seater for about five months.  So as Nita went to go put Josie down, that’s when the discovery was made.  Connor had taken off his pajama pants and his diaper, was jumping up and down in the crib, and was, we’ll say kind of trying to put his diaper back on.  The video monitor we have in his room didn’t do it justice I’m told.  Nita said she couldn’t stop laughing and we weren’t exactly sure what he was trying to accomplish, we’re guessing he’s a bit young for the happy ending, and there was no wet or poop.  In any case, we got him dressed again, and he told us of the train with the cars and trucks again.  Finally he drifted off to sleep about an hour after his normal bed time.  Miraculously Josie slept upstairs by herself until 5:30AM.  I wonder if the chocolate milk through the tap of course might have had the opposite effect on her.  We can only guess. 

New rule.  No chocolate or sugar for Connor after 6PM. 

A lot has happened in 39 years

While dancing with a little girl in his preschool class, Connor had a little mishap.  Apparently after the dance, she gave him a hug and he being almost a head taller leaned forward and they both tumbled over backwards.  She hit her head on the floor and he (being a head taller) hit the bookcase behind her.  And his eyebrow split open.  The school called Nita to notify that he “might need stitches.”  He did.  So Nita rushed over with Josie in tow, and then called me to meet her at Dell Children’s hospital. 

39 years ago, a youngster named Marco was standing in line at a little preschool and was pushed by an older kid from behind.  I went flying….okay more like stumbling forward into the leg of a table.  My forehead split open and it was time for stitches.  I’m told my parents called our pediatrician and they put me in immediately.  However, here is the change.  The doctor and my parents decided to stitch me up with no anesthetic. The rationale was it would take more sticks with the needle to deaden the area than the six pokes of the three stitches.   So they called in the orderly with the papoose, dad held me down and mom went outside because she couldn’t watch.  So they stitched me up while I screamed bloody murder. Pro- I was seen immediately. Con – everything else, and I didn’t even get the lollypop I was promised.

Connor got to Dell children’s ER at 12:45 and was told to sit in the waiting room.  When Nita asked about how long the triage nurse said, the longest wait is about an hour.  At 1:30 I went to the triage nurse and said, “How are we doing?” She said some other folks came in but we should be next.  2PM I was called …. To check in! I’m told to go to the waiting room we’ve already been in.  Apparently you need a wrist band for this one and we didn’t have a band.  Luckily the bouncer saw the stamp on his hand from school and assumed he already paid the cover.  2:30 I said, “Uh, how are we doing?” By now, Connor had run the entire complex, had a diaper change, named all 17 fish in the fish tanks, read all of the books, played trains, elephant, danced, and pet a stuffed wolf.  2:45PM, they call us.  Nita is changing Josie, so I go with him to triage.  Connor is weighed, measured, BP, temp (and really a children’s hospital with an under the tongue thermometer?  No forehead rub?  We even have one of those at home, I digress.  So we finally get his temperature and then they put a gel on a clear bandage and place it over his eyebrow to deaden the area (where were you 39 years ago gel)!!  Meanwhile, we’ve blown through nap time, he never got to eat lunch and we’re told “no food or drink.”

While all this is going on I’m watching the surroundings of the waiting room.  Um, without sounding like I’m going to sound… Really?  Was I in a free clinic for the uninsured and less educated?   The reason Connor didn’t get in sooner was because the walk-in uninsured have learned the secret code.  If you tell the triage nurse that “they don’t know what’s wrong, but he/she is really hurt” you move to the front of the line just in case it is serious.  In fairness, they may have been really hurt, but it seemed a bit more than coincidence that this was the standard line at the desk.  

Back to Connor.  3:15, we are called to a room.  The Doctor and Nurse come in and they inspect C.  After checking the wound he recommends one of two options.  IV and let him go blissfully into a nap, or a nasal injection which is intended to relax him a bit.  (I wish they’d have offered me either of those options).  We chose the nasal relaxation spray, which Connor did not like.  Connor is now a little bored with his hospital experience and is dying to go home.  Josie is again being fed… from the tap of course.  Doctor comes back in at 3:45.  He asks if we need a papoose.  I (see a few paragraphs above) say absolutely not.  Three big guys and two nurses come in.  One very sweet girl asks if Connor prefers Dora, or Nemo.  Of course we choose Nemo.  So she starts playing the move and Connor is mesmerized. (Where was this 39 years ago)?  I hold his hands, an orderly holds his shoulders and the Doctor starts stitching.  Connor is not happy, but holds still and is answering the questions we’re asking.  Doc finishes the final suture and Connor and I make a break for it.  Seriously, we leave and Nita stays behind to pay and do the paperwork.  They were a little surprised and I think they wanted one more set of vitals, but they had their chance, it was nap time. The Doctor says, “Come back Friday to get these removed.”  Nita says, “No offense doc, but God willing we’re never coming back.”  Luckily we got home just in time for our AC to go out.  At least it was only the downstairs main zone.  Connor’s room was just fine. Recap: Pro- deadening gel, Nemo, aquariums, no papoose, and nasal relaxing spray.  Con - the wait. My oh my, 39 years.  Services improve while service declines. Isn’t it funny that the more technology makes things better/more convenient, the worse service seems to get?

Final note, the school said that since we didn’t want to file against the school… we may or may not get a call from child protective services.  I’ll let you know how that goes if it happens.

Thinking about dad lately

The first post might make it seem like I have some unresolved father issues.  I don't.  I think he was brilliant and I'm a better person for ever having the pleasure to know him and honored to have been his son.  As some of you know, he passed away March 11, 1994 and I wish he could have seen his grand kids and my wife, etc.  However, now that I'm parenting I feel I'm channelling him quite a bit lately.  I'd like to give a couple of funny examples.

On Friday, Rush Limbaugh had his annual Leukemia Lymphoma Cure-a-thon.  As I was making my donation I started laughing.  I remembered an incident a few decades back and called my mom who confirmed every last detail.  Here's how it went down.  Back in the day there were four channels, no remotes, and no VCRs.  Computers were for business not home use and on Labor day you had three choices, play outside, read, or watch the Jerry Lewis telethon.  I chose the latter one year around the time I was six or seven.  I was so compelled by the stars and the stories of the poor children afflicted by this disease that I felt I had to do something.  Just like Jerry said, it was easy, just call the toll free number and make your pledge.  Credit cards weren't really the thing back then, so they just sent you an invoice.  Low and behold a week or so later my father calls my mother into the den.  "Bertha, did you pledge five dollars to the Muscular Dystrophy telethon?"  "No, why?" was her response.  "I don't understand how this...wait, MARCO!!!!" 
I enter the room. "Yes sir," I said meekly wondering which of my yet undiscovered mischiefs they had uncovered. 
"Did you pledge five dollars to the Jerry Lewis telethon?" 
Ha, this was easy, I was doing a good thing. 
"Yes sir I did, I wanted to make a difference." 
"Son, that is really great.  I'm proud of you.  Go get five dollars," he said.
"Why dad? What do you mean? I kind of figured you would pay it."
Dad said, "I know, but today you learn that being charitable with someone else's money is not a virtue.  Any fool can give away someone else's money.  So your choices are: go get five dollars (which he knew I didn't have) or I'll back out the truck and you get to wash it, for which I'll pay you five dollars and then collect from you to send to Jerry's kids."

I laughed and laughed about this today. I wonder when my Connor or Josie charity moment will arrive.

The second involves commitment.  When I was in the 9-10 year old baseball league I was the best player on our team. One day, and I'm certain I deserved it, my father punished me for something I had done at school.  And add in the fact that he was the coach of our team and was always trying to help me get better with "constructive criticism" I decided to fight back.  He came home from work and started getting ready for practice.  I sat coolly in the living room, waiting to spring my trap.
"Son, let's go, you're not dressed yet."
"I've decided I'm not going to play baseball any longer.  I'm not having fun and you don't appreciate me."  Ha, I nailed him.  Now he'd have to quit too and the whole team would be out the best player and a coach.  I'd gotten back at possibly the entire world. At worst, he'd apologize, rescind my punishment and beg me to come back if only to save face.

"Okay son, if that's your decision I'll respect it.  But I wish you'd have given more attention to the commitment you made.  I'll see you after practice."
Whoa!!!  What just happened?  "Dad?  Where are you going?"  I asked.
"To coach the team.  Just because you quit doesn't mean that I'm not going to quit.  I'm going to honor the commitment I made to the team."  And he left.

By the time he got home, I thought for sure the team would have taken my side and I was eagerly awaiting the apology.  It never came.
"How did practice go," I asked.
"Fine, but don't worry about it." He answered.
My plan didn't work and of course I loved baseball.  So the next practice day came and I was waiting at the door, practice uniform on, bat, glove, cleats and hat at the ready and raring to go.
Dad said, "where are you going?"
"To practice I answered, I've decided to rejoin the team."
"It doesn't work that way, buddy.  See you tonight." And he left without me.
By the time he got home I was bawling.  In between sobs I begged him to let me back on the team.  He said, "Son, I will always love and forgive you.  No matter what you do.  But you have to earn the respect of your teammates no matter how good you are or think you are.  If you want to get back on the team, you have to ask their forgiveness for letting them down and permission to rejoin the team.  All people make mistakes, but it takes a man to admit them, accept the blame and consequences, and ask forgiveness.  They may or may not want you back, but you have to be willing to let them decide.  Can you do that?"
"Yes sir."
"That's all I can ask of you son."
The next practice, he called the team together and said I had something to say. (I found out later he never told them I quit).  I looked down at my feet and apologized for missing practice and for being selfish, and I asked if I could still be part of the team.  They all said yes and I felt about 10 feet tall.  My dad hugged me and said he was proud of me, that he recognized that it wasn't an easy thing to do.

Dad, I'm proud of you too.  I hope Connor and Josie have the same fond stories of me someday.

So this is Parenting

This is my first blog (sort of) so please bear with me.  First of all I have a wife named Nita and we've been married for seven years.  As of today's posting, we have a two-year old boy (almost two and a half) named Connor and a five-month old girl named Josephine. Nita and Connor both have flaming red hair.  And I have brown curly hair like my baby Josie. Now you understand the URL: two reds, two browns.  As time goes on, if you stick with me, you'll get to enjoy more of the dynamic of two red heads in a house, one of whom is three generations off the boat Italian.  You'll learn about my quick wit and how it gets me in to trouble, my Mexican mother, and my German-Irish Mother-in-law. But that is for another time. 

I went to lunch today with some of my colleagues.  Invariably I will interject a funny story about Connor, Josephine, or Nita.  Today we started talking about a meeting in which a co-worker was treated without regard to his/her feelings.  The message was spot on, but delivery was not.  We then went on to identifying talent and being a perfectionist, being able to separate the message from the delivery.

For those who knew me in my youth and who knew my father, you know I was in year round sports.  And my father was almost always a coach on those teams.  I was a pretty good athlete and dad always pushed me to be better.  In fact he was almost maniacal about it.  I remember loving to play the game but hating the car ride home after. Here is how the conversation usually went:
"Son, you played a good game today."
"Thanks dad."
"But, you are still (fill in the lesson or skill I didn't do correctly that game)"
"I know."
"Then why did you do it"
"I don't know.  But I struck out 9 batters dad!"
"Yes, but you walked two and weren't working both sides of the plate. You also missed an 0-2 fastball which means you are still guessing at the plate."
"But we won. (really upset now)"
"Son, you'll be able to get by on talent alone early, but now is the time to develop your work ethic and overcome sloppy play.  This is when you make your good habits or become a slave to the bad ones."

The lesson is right on...but was delivered poorly.  And to be honest I struggled with constructive criticism for years. In my father's defense, I did go on to play sports in College and he did know what was best. 

Now we fast forward to lunch.  We were talking about our children and coordination.  I mention that I notice Connor's running style is a little sloppy and I'd like to see his knees come up a little higher and maybe have his arms move a little differently.  I then said, "But I also see that he's having a ball and of course he's two and I don't want to change any of that.  I want him to enjoy the activities and not think about 'technique' while he's having fun and being a little boy." 

Part of me wonders if I will have the strength to let him just discover things or gently nudge him into better techniques down the road when he starts competing...or if I'll just blurt out, "Son, you're doing it wrong!"  I already do that with my wife who forgives my delivery most of the time.  Oh dad, I miss you and I love you....But you were doing it wrong.