Christmas is *sigh* over

With all the buildup, planning, shopping, wrapping, traveling, anticipation, excitement, stress, exhaustion, and joy, Christmas is *snap* over just like that.

It was nice waking up in my childhood home and coming down to this first thing Christmas morning:


It was a good scene to see after 3,000 miles on the road and more energy devoted to that and all the other details of our move than to Christmas.

Now, in the post-holiday lull, I'm trying to figure out how to slow time down and savor every moment I can with my family.

I'll probably see ya'all in the new year.

Dadalogue on the Road: Day 5

Thankfully, this was an easy day.  The night, once again, not so much.

We all slept in (including Timothy!), had a leisurely morning at the hotel, and got on the road by 11. We were in Cincinnati before dinner. Originally we had planned to make it all the way from Nashville to Grandma's house outside of Cleveland, but after several long days in the car another 12 hours in the car would have made us go completely nuts.

So with the extra day, it's only a four-hour drive before my grandma will get to see her great grandkids. She hasn't seen Grace since she was 6 months old, and she's never met Timothy, so I'm looking forward to that.

So about last night. It must be hotel rooms and the fact we are all in the same space that has made Grace a terror at night recently. It's late. We all want to sleep. We start our quiet time night routine, and she decides to freak out. It's a good thing this hotel was practically deserted because if anyone else heard her crying and screaming it probably would've warranted a visit from the cops - or worse - child protective services.

However, the only crime committed was Daddy was reading and singing to her, not Mommy. All she wanted was Mommy. Until Mommy held her. Then all she wanted was Daddy. We couldn't win, but we did eventually get her somewhat consoled, so we put her in her pack and play.

Bad idea. The screaming came back with a vengeance. Since there really was no one else around we decided to let her cry it out. Another bad idea. She has more endurance than we do plus it woke Timothy up. Twenty minutes later, into our bed she came. Finally, completely exhausted, she passed out between us.

As parents, we've talked a lot about how we'd handle tantrums and fussiness. We wouldn't be like other parents and give in to our child's demands. No way our child was getting what she wanted acting like that. Talk is cheap though. We've never had those hypothetical discussions at 11 o'clock at night with a screaming child, and all we want is sleep. That child could have a flying pony if she asked for it.

Don't get me wrong. Neither of us want to tolerate bad behavior or encourage bad habits, but there is a certain amount of compromise you have to make in unusual situations - like 4 people and a dog in a tiny hotel room. Sure kid, if it'll make you happy, snuggle in bed with Mommy and Daddy.

Where this all gets difficult is in public. Like I said, we don't want to encourage or allow tantrums. And when our child acts out, we want to stop it. However, both of us are so nervous to do anything other than talk calmly to Grace in those situations. This doesn't work because reasoning with a two-year-old, for those of you without a two-year-old, is impossible.

I'm not saying we want to spank. I'm saying we want to use a voice above a conversational volume with words that show displeasure with the behavior. But where's the line? Where's the balance? You don't want to overdo it and draw attention to your parenting. Having to defend your own behavior as a parent is not something I want to do. There are a lot of overly sensitive people out there and I may cross a line in their mind before I ever get close to my own. It's a whole new layer to parenting that's been added in the last generation or so.

But, we'll figure it out. And I'm sure our kids will turn out just fine, even as proud owners of flying ponies.

Well, these "On the Road" posts were supposed to be a travel log of sorts, and it seems that I've gone and detoured way off the highway. I'll be back in a couple days with a wrap up of days 5 and 6.

Dadalogue on the Road: Day 4

Two impressions about Arkansas:

It has nice roads and a weird fashion sense.

The highways were the quietest and smoothest I've seen on this trip. Road quality, especially after logging 2,000 miles in four days, is a big deal to me.

As for the fashion, I've never been somewhere where hunting camouflage is worn as a normal, daily article of clothing. Uggs and Realtree don't mix. Unless you live in Arkansas. I saw a lot of people in camouflage and not a lot of gun racks. Make fun of my polo shirts all you want, but suiting up like your going duck hunting and going anywhere else instead is just plain weird.

The kids did great today. After yesterday's outbursts and lack of sleep they were too tired to be bad. This worked out for me; I got a good hundred and fifty miles in before they started to stir. But even when both kids were awake, they seemed happy. It could be that they've resigned themselves to the reality that they're not going anywhere. The minivan is now their home, so they believe.

Actually, that's probably not too far from the truth. Besides overnights, we've been living out of it. It's our kitchen, living room, and changing station on wheels. Today certainly proved that to me. Like when I took Grace out of her car seat and noticed that she had amassed more varieties of food than a Chinese lunch buffet. I pulled out Cheerios, veggie sticks, mashed fruits, a tator tot, and the remnants of one of those veggie pouches just to name a few. We've eaten a lot of meals on the road.

With all this eating means our fair share of diaper changes. And when one doesn't exist at one of our rest stops, the driver seat has doubled as the changing station. Today I had the honor and privilege of cleaning up one of Timothy's trademark diaper blowouts. This one required about 50 wipes and a full wardrobe change. That's difficult enough as is, but as I'm trying to undress and clean him he's grabbing a hold of the steering wheel and pulling himself up. Poop was everywhere and all he wanted to do was drive.

I finally did get him cleaned up and was finishing putting him in new clothes when it suddenly started to rain. Hard. I'm standing outside the van, he's still squirming on the seat. I quickly jumped in, butt towards the steering wheel, hunched over him trying to get his onesie on. This didn't work out too well for me. But instead of helping, the Wife was laughing hysterically.

Yeah. Real funny.

That was the highlight of her day.

My highlight was our lunch stop in Memphis. We stopped at Tom's BBQ which was featured on Food Network a couple of times. I was really impressed. The food was amazing, as I expected it to be, but the service was what made it really special to me. 

When we showed up, Tom was coming in too. He held the door and thanked us for coming as we struggled with the kids and their dining accessories (portable highchair, diaper bag, Grace's blanket). Then, as I was paying, the cashier asked if this was our first time at Tom's. It was, so she told us she'd send out a special treat to our table. The special treat was a good-sized portion of their dry-rubbed ribs. Then, as we were leaving, we saw Tom outside again. I rolled down my window to tell him how much we enjoyed the meal. He asked us where we were headed, and told us the best way to get back to I-40. But the topper was that he then walked out into the middle of the very busy street to block oncoming traffic so we could get to the other side of the road. A pit master, gentleman, and traffic cop. I can't wait to go back.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, except for more rain. We're in Nashville now, which I'm pretty excited about. Tomorrow's drive is pretty short, so maybe we'll have a chance to do a little exploring. Or maybe I'll just sleep in.

Cincinnati bound ...

Dadalogue on the Road: Day 3

The kids finally snapped. I was hoping we'd have perfect little angels the whole way, but keeping them cooped up in car seats has finally done them in. Grace showed her ugly side - throwing a tantrum in McDonald's for lunch and a mini tantrum at the restaurant we ate at for dinner. We were that family today.

I know it's probably not as big of a deal as I'm making it out to be. As my level-headed wife points out, we'll never see those people again, our kids are weary from traveling, and they were nice enough to take a credit card to pay for all the damages.

Okay, I'm kidding on that last part. There were no damages, except for maybe my pride. I just want my two-year-old to instinctively understand how to behave in public. Pshaw to actually teaching her these things. My lack of tolerance for her behavior probably mostly stems from my exhaustion of being on the road and not so much on her actual actions.

In the minivan, things weren't much better than they were in the restaurants. Sure, the two little ones were restrained, but their crying in stereo was the perfect accompaniment to the rain from downpour I drove through the entire day. All 560 miles was done with my wipers whipping. The Wife, amazing as usual, sat in the cramped micro-seat between the two little ones - holding a teether for Timothy with one hand while reading a book to Grace with the other. She handled the situation and got me a few hours of quiet so I could concentrate on the road.

The only bright side of the day was that at least the rain wasn't the blizzard I was trying to out-drive. We left at 6:30 this morning so we wouldn't get stuck in this. We got several calls of concern wondering if we were some of those stranded motorists.

No. We're fine. I don't even think I could fathom what being stranded with Jekyll and Hyde would be like.

But, after a long day on the road, we're safely in a comfortable hotel room. Timothy is finally sleeping. He seems to be recovering well from the day's travels. For Grace, however, the night is young. She's free from her restraints. It may be 10 o'clock, but like a college freshman, that's when the night begins. It's time to party!

Pray for patience for the parents.

Dadalogue on the Road: Day 2

So here we are in ... Tucumcari, New Mexico.

I never heard of it either. The signs advertising this place would have you believe it's more than the Day's Inn, Pizza Hut and Shell station. Don't believe the hype.

Actually, that's all I've seen all day - hype. There are thousands of billboards all along I-40 hyping Navajo trinkets and rest stops disguised as "world famous" attractions. We could've stayed at "a motel Bob Hope once stayed at!" or experienced "the cleanest restroom facilities on I-40!" Once you actually pass these advertised spots, most are nothing more than a boarded up, dilapidated building. There's certainly no retail boon in New Mexico.

All those billboards are a shame for another reason too: They ruin views of the amazing vistas I imagine Wile E. Coyote to be lurking around in (I half expected to see him pull up beside us on an Acme rocket trying to chase down the Roadrunner).

Once again, the kids did pretty well for being cooped up in car seats all day. It certainly makes the day easier. It makes my stories lack the adventure and near-tragedy you all want, but I'll take that over eight hours of screaming any day.

We actually only had one moment of drama, and it was at the beginning of the drive.

It was snowing when we started out, and we thought we'd be stuck in that all day. Snow started to accumulate on the road, but by 30 minutes into the drive, the skies cleared and it was smooth sailing for us.

Tomorrow, we'll pass through the top part of Texas and stay over in Oklahoma. Until then ...

Dadalogue on the Road: Day 1

So, I was just standing outside in Flagstaff, Arizona waiting for our dog to pee. There's snow on the ground here. About four inches. I didn't know it snowed in Arizona. That's why I was in flip flops.

Lesson one of traveling cross country in winter: check the weather before leaving. Or at least have a selection of footwear handy and not buried deep inside a fully packed minivan.

I also learned that in Arizona people will do the "Adopt a Highway" program, and instead of promoting their business, they'll put a personal message like "Suzie, I will love u 4ever. - Bill" Who thinks that's romantic?

"Happy anniversary baby! I got you a trash-ridden three-mile stretch of I-10. Now go clean it."

People are weird.

Anywho, we're 500 miles into our trek across America, and so far there's nothing too significant to report. Both kids did well for being cooped up in car seats for 8 hours. Grace was the hardest to handle once we got to the hotel, really. She was full of the energy she couldn't release all day. Everything, especially the phone, was a toy.  She's pulled just about every tissue out of the dispenser. She jumped on the bed. She drew on the takeout menu. Timothy just chilled, as usual.

Tomorrow we'll make it as far as New Mexico. The Wife told me the town, but I forget how she pronounced it.

One final thought: Does anyone else easily get irritated prior to traveling? I know it's something I've got to work on. It must be the stress of making sure the car is packed (it's like playing level 500 on Tetris), nothing is forgotten (something usually is), and the house is properly secured (did we close the garage?) that shortens my fuse. My wife is a patient person to put up with pre-trip Brian. If I had to deal with me, I'd be pretty ticked. Once we're on the road though, I usually calm down.

Well, I'm off to bed. We'll be barreling east down the road early in the morning.

Home

I guess you could say this Christmas we are "undecorating."

You see, today is the last day we'll be together as a family in the place we've called home for the last year and a half. Tomorrow, we start the trek back East. The Wife and kids will be staying with her parents while I'm deployed.

The reality of all this is finally sinking in.

Finding this house was a true blessing. When we first moved out here we were living in a dingy hotel room, sharing a wall with the room that housed the hotel's industrial sheet washers. We were desperate to get out of there, but nothing we looked at even remotely fit our needs. Houses were either way too small, too rundown, or too expensive to be suitable. We were about to start looking at places an hour or more away from my job when we decided to check this one last place out.

The Filipino lady who greeted us was sweet and warm. She was just as excited to show us the place as we were to look. Four bedrooms with a beautiful kitchen 20 minutes from work and right at our budget. When she found out I was a Marine she started to cry. Her husband, who died a few years ago, was a retired Marine. He had told her that if she were to ever rent the place to rent it to a Marine or a missionary.  God had answered many prayers that morning.

After looking at the place, the Wife and I exchanged nods and said we'd take it. Then, in the middle of the kitchen, our new landlord asked if we'd pray with her. That was the start of many wonderful memories here.

Even though we are close to 3,000 miles away from most of our family (except the Wife's sister and her two children), most of those memories involved our family visiting. We had Becky's aunt and uncle and their three kids around for Grace's first birthday. Her parents were here a couple times. My parents came a couple times. My sister, brother-in-law and their two kids came to stay for a bit.

We welcomed our second child into the world here. Well, we welcomed at the hospital technically, but we brought him back here. I'll always remember watching the Wife do Wii yoga in the living room at nine months pregnant trying to start labor. That didn't work, but I'll also always remember the friends who came here to help us out at 3 in the morning when it was go time.

I'll always remember this year's Thanksgiving and what a blessing and a blast it was.

I'll always remember how much fun it was to splash in the pool with Grace and our niece and nephew. Until we moved here, I'd never seen two kids spend nearly eight straight hours in a pool.

I'll always remember cool nights in a hot tub.

I'll always remember snuggling with my wife and both of us talking in amazement how blessed we are.

I'll always remember my nightly bedtime routine with Grace.

I'll always remember finally feeling grown up because we no longer lived in an apartment. I jumped for joy at the sight of a garage. The Wife jumped for joy at a - no kidding - full-sized washer and dryer.

I'll always remember my first (and so far only) attempt at being handy. I built a set of shelves to go in our living room. They took me four weeks to make.

I'll always remember running up the Marine Corps and American flags up our flagpole. That may seem minor to some people, but that made me feel proud on so many levels.

I'll always remember Grace taking her first steps here.

I'll always remember rocking Timothy to sleep in his room.

I'll always remember rolling around on the floor with Grace while the Wife and Timothy looked on - all of us laughing.

Yes, a lot has happened here in the last year and a half. It's all those things - and so many more - that make me sentimental about not living here anymore.

Moving has to be the most difficult part of being in the military. I long for the day that we can call a place home and mean it. Where our roots can grow deep, the memories would fill volumes, and the door is always open to those we love.

But that's not our reality yet, and I'm okay with that. I also realize that a house is just wood and drywall. A home is so much more.

It's wherever me, my wife, and children are together.  

What, me worry?

One of my favorite guilty pleasures as a child was probably MAD magazine. The magazine probably was a little too old for me, and I'm not entirely sure my parents knew I read it, but I laughed at the goofy artwork and the dark humor of strips like Spy vs. Spy. I also remember the weird looking kid that always appeared in the magazine, usually on the cover - Alfred E. Neuman and his signature phrase, "What, me worry?"

Yes.

I worry. I worry a lot. Probably more than is healthy. And this pending deployment and all that it involves has pegged my worry meter. I worry about everything from the cross-country trip we're about to make to move my wife and kids back East for the year to finances to the stresses that work has placed on me.

It's funny how God intercedes though. He doesn't just *poof* make all the worry go away, but He certainly has a way of reminding me who's really boss. The title of yesterday's sermon - truly at a moment I felt completely overwhelmed - was "Time to Let Go of Worry." (You'll be able to listen to it here once it's posted.)

Pastor Chico delivered this sermon at just the right time, and it was exactly what I needed to here.

"Do not worry about anything, but pray and ask God for everything you need, always giving thanks." - Philippians 4:6

Easier said than done, especially for a pathological worrier like me. By worrying I am essentially telling God I don't trust His promises. Ouch. For little ol' me to tell the Creator I don't trust him is pretty bold.


Pastor Chico then laid out the reasons why we shouldn't worry:
- It's unnatural (We don't worry about the right things anyway)
- It's unhelpful (Nothing happens when you worry)
- It's unnecessary (God has already promised to supply all our needs)
- It's unchristian (According to one commentator the pastor quoted, "Worry is practical atheism")

Instead, our pastor suggested we put God first before all else (Matt. 6:33), don't live in the past or future (Matt. 6:34), and take all worries to God (Matt. 6:30).

I have precious few days left with my family before I depart. I could fill them with worry and stress and a sour attitude about everything that's going on. That would be unfortunate - I'd be ruining time that I could be making wonderful memories with my wife and children.

Thank you God for that message at church yesterday.

My worries are Yours.

Say cheese!

I thought my wife's idea of getting a family portrait done was great. She'd have something to frame, and I'd have something to carry with me in my pocket in Afghanistan. HeartsApart.org, a non-profit that connects servicemembers with photographers, would do this for free for us too. Very cool.

The concept of getting our family picture taken seemed easy too: Dress up, pose, smile, click, and done. Five minutes. Beautiful photo, home for football.

The deceiving thing about a photo, however, is that is shows you, at most, 1/60 of a second of time. You really have no idea what's going on between those split seconds. Smiles - or what looks like smiles - could really be the reaction from you kid kicking you in the crotch.

It seemed that neither one of the kids wanted a happy family moment to happen for us. Our perfect little angles must have been possessed for the hour and a half we were at Lauren's house. Grace would not sit still, Timothy cried. If we got one to cooperate for a moment, the other would blow up. I have never bribed one child as much as I did during this shoot. I think I may have even promised a pony in exchange for three seconds of calmness.

Every chance she got, Grace would tear away from me or the wife and run into another room. I'd get up and have to go chase her down. She was mule kicking me the whole way back to the set. I was getting hot from repeating this exercise a dozen times. I hope you can Photoshop out sweat.

If Grace wasn't running into other rooms, she was up in Lauren's face begging to see the camera. Actually grabbing for it too. I know cameras and I was praying she didn't break this one. I don't know how I'd feel if this free photo shoot would have set me back a couple grand.

Timothy just was not happy in any position. All he probably wanted to do was sleep, and we were bouncing him, pulling his hands out of his mouth, swaying, and tickling to get him to smile - everything but leaving him alone. Poor kid.

Lauren was an absolute saint through all this. She is a young military wife and professional photographer who volunteered to work with HeartsApart. Her and her husband don't have any kids yet, but she was perfect with them. Much more patient than me or my wife when Grace went exploring around the electronics array near their TV, or Timothy was wailing instead of smiling. And she had just enough tricks up her sleeve to get smiles from both kids.

When all of us adults reached complete exhaustion we threw in the towel. What was on that camera card was all Lauren was going to have to work with. However, she showed us a few frames that she captured, and they made my heart smile.

I really do have a beautiful family - even when our kids' attitudes aren't the best I feel so blessed to be their dad. And now I'll have a picture to remind me every day that I'm gone of how wonderful they are.

Mini-traditions

I think one of my favorite things about being a dad is being able to create and do special mini-traditions and routines with the kids.

For instance my daughter can't go to bed without "show." That's where I swing her back and forth and then into her crib while saying "One for the money. Two for the show. Three to get ready. And four to go!" My dad did it do me as a kid, but beyond that, I don't know any one else who does.

And that's what I love about it. It's unique, it's personal, and it's a moment that guarantees a smile from both of us - no matter how the rest of day went. I also think that moments like "show" are a part of shaping our kid's personalities. We like to have fun around here, and anywhere we can interject an element of fun, we do!

Timothy likes when I lift him up over my head and say hi to him. He laughs and smiles at "Pat-a-Cake" every time. Each round of "Ring around the Rosie" always ends with tickling on the floor. Fist bumps follow high-fives. When football comes on TV, we all throw are hands up in the air and yell "Touchdown!" But my favorite routine, and it's fairly new, is prayers before bed time.

Grace will sit in my lap and fold her little hands and bow her head while we pray. I say the prayer (for now) but she always ends with the "Amen." It's so cute it melts my heart every time.

Free legal advice

I'm no lawyer, but I promise that if you're a parent of young children this is legal advice you should heed:

1) Never, I repeat, NEVER take tired children to your lawyer's office when you go to sign your will. They will disrupt the entire legal system and drive you to the edge of crazy.

2) Bribing a toddler with "be quite and sit down or else your brother gets everything" doesn't work. They don't understand wills. However, giving your toddler a cell phone to play with solves all problems.

My toddler is a teenager

My daughter is already showing signs of teenageritis - and she's not even two.

Her shoe shopping expedition was cute. That's not what I'm talking about. This problem is getting ugly. She LOVES phones.

Sure, it started out cute. In fact, Grace learned to crawl by placing a cell phone just out of her reach. The love grew from there. With her imagination, everything became a phone: her hand, shoes, crayons, sweet potatoes. She hold them up to her ear and carry on a conversation with who I assume was Mickey Mouse.  When she started walking, she would pace with a phone (or sweet potatoes) to her ear, waving her free hand from time to time to emphasize the REALLY important gibberish point she was making. She would pause to hear the other end of the conversation, laugh, and then continue her gibberish. Like I said, cute.

Now, like her father, she has become picky about technology. Her Leap Frog cell phone is too baby for her. Her deactivated adult cell phone doesn't hold a charge. She wants - nay - must have the real thing. She even knows how to unlock an iPhone to get to the good stuff. If the Wife or I accidentally leave one of our phones on the coffee table (for 2 nanoseconds) Grace will get a hold of it and is in heaven. Until we take it away. Then the flood gates open. Not much phases this little girl, but take a real cell phone away from her, and it's like you told a 5-year-old that Santa isn't real.

Anymore we practically have to leave the room if one of us adults wants to make a phone call without her asking to "Talk GiGi. Talk Bop Bop." Over and over again.


Yesterday, we gave in. The Wife was talking to her mother (GiGi to the kids), and Grace wanted to say hello. So, the Wife handed her the phone, and off she went on a nonstop gibberish conversation about who knows what. She may have recounted our entire Thanksgiving weekend, or relayed the latest gossip from the church nursery. She was ecstatic to have someone on the other end of the phone. Cute. But like a teenage girl talking to a boy, when we told her it was time to hang up, she got upset and drug the goodbyes out for at least another three minutes.

"Vuv oohh. Buh-bye ... Hi Gigi. Howyoudoingt'day? Vuv oohh. Buh-bye ... Hi GiGi!"


Maybe I shouldn't be so worried now. Yes, she may be displaying signs of being a teenager, but thank God, she isn't actually one yet. The conversations are harmless, they're with people we love, and we're right there.

I should probably save my worrying when she's 15 and "Biff" calls.

The turkey's revenge

I was almost murdered on Thanksgiving. By a turkey.

It was a near-tragic end to an otherwise perfect day.

It was perfect because our house was buzzing with activity. Last year, Thanksgiving was just the Wife, Grace, and me. But I absolutely love when we FILL our home with people. There were nine of us this year: the four of us plus the Sis-in-law, her two kids, and two of our good friends.

I love the chaos. I love the conversations. I love sitting back and watching the kids run around and play with each other. I love being able to cook for everyone. When our house is full, I get to see so many moments I will cherish and remember forever. To me full houses have an energy about them that just says "fun."

For the meal, the centerpiece was a 20-pound turkey. Sixteen hours in a brine and then baked with apple, onion, and cinnamon aromatics.

All of our vegetables were casseroled because, well,  they're more delicious that way. We had sweet potato casserole, Gruyere broccoli casserole, and green been casserole. There were also smashed red potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, and four pies. Just about everything that called for butter had heart attack-inducing amounts of it; we must've gone through three pounds of it on Thursday (Paula Dean and Julia Child would've been proud).

Oh yeah, so about that murder attempt.

After the meal, while everyone was in a food coma, Sis-in-law and I were working on a soup stock from the leftover carcass of what was turkey perfection. The stock was starting to bubble over in the pot, and we were trying to figure out what to do. Like anyone whose been through a traumatic event, the details are a little fuzzy, but I think I was trying to remove the strainer that had all the turkey parts and veggies in it from the pot. As I started to pull it out to move it to the sink, the turkey skeleton - in a last-ditch effort to exact revenge for what I did to it earlier that day - thrust itself back towards the pot. The strainer slipped from my hands and splashed boiling hot stock over me, Sis-in-law, and the stove.

It could've been much worse, but ninja-like reflexes on both our parts prevented a trip to the ER. We escaped with only minor burns on our arms. The stove suffered the most damage - the digital display shorted out and none of the burners would light. It kept beeping sporadically until I unplugged it. Fortunately,  everything on the stove dried out by the next morning, saving me at least a couple hundred bucks in repair bills.

Yes, all-in-all it was a memorable Thanksgiving. We were surrounded by people we love, laughed a lot, ate delicious food, and even had a near-death experience to top it all off.

Dinner out with kids

To me, going out to eat is one of life's greatest pleasures. Few things beat a delicious meal, good drinks, and spending time with people you love. I even like the build up of picking the place to go - reading the reviews, hemming and hawing over which cuisine to settle on, and thinking about the meal I'm going to have on the drive over.

Yes, my idea of entertainment is a good meal out.

Enter kids.

They change everything. Not always in a bad way, mind you, but since we've had children, going out to eat is a different experience and a different form of entertainment (both for us and the people around us).

Take last night for example. My grandmother has been in town for a few days and wanted to treat us to a meal. We chose P.F. Chang's because it's delicious yet kid friendly. As soon as we sit down, Grace attacks the kiddie menu with a crayon. Two seconds later, she's done and ready to get up. Of course we haven't even see our server yet, so this child is gonna hafta wait a couple hours.

My job as the one sitting next to her was to distract her by any means possible. This was a challenge as I was rifling through the diaper bag looking for something to give her to play with. She was getting impatient and starting to arch her back in her high chair. She threw the crayon and menu on the floor. I now feel people's eyes on our table.

Then I discovered that P.F. Chang's has chopsticks in their silverware roll-up they give you! Drum sticks! Perfect. Child one satisfied.

Timothy, however, was not happy. He was fussing because he was hungry. However he didn't want the bottle that we brought. In his mind he was thinking that Mommy was right there, so why should he have to settle for a bottle? He could get the milk right from its source. Apparently our four-month-old has a discerning palate already. This will be good when people try to tell him Outback has good steaks but not now. Not when we're trying to pass once-frozen milk off as fresh.

He also needed a diaper change. I took him since The Wife was in the corner of the booth. The baby pass over the top of the table (and the candle flame!) was successful. Baby and diaper changing accessories in hand, I made my way through the tables towards the restrooms. As a father, this walk to the bathroom is always done with a reoccurring thought: "Will this restaurant have a baby changing station in the men's room?"

I then have flashbacks to the time that Grace was two months old and had to change her in the four-inch space between two sinks. That was the time I discovered I could change a diaper with one hand as I supported her head with the other. That was also the only time I've ever come close to accidentally dropping one of our kids.

I am happy to report P.F. Chang's is one of the few restaurants that actually recognizes fathers as having an active roll in child raising. They have a changing station, and it works. It's not marked up with graffiti. The hinges work. Someone has cleaned it recently. Timothy and I are both happy - for a few minutes any way.

Back at the table, he got fussy again. He still wouldn't take the bottle from The Wife. Another baby pass over the table (there were about 15 this night) and back to me to try. He wouldn't take the bottle from me either, but I managed to get him to stop crying.

It's amazing what a father will do in public to keep their children happy. It's also amazing that I don't really care what people think either. Rousing renditions of the ABCs and "Pat-a-cake" with both kids drew laughter and smiles from them and certainly more than a few looks from people who would rather talk politics and sports rather than listen to my off-key singing. I should also mention I am a pro at the "bounce and shush." I spent a good portion of the meal standing and bouncing, rocking and swaying Timothy while humming and shushing in his ear to keep him quiet.

I should mention a couple things in closing. First, both of our kids are generally wonderful, obedient, and calm at restaurants. I know this because other diners have come up to tell us this. Secondly, Grace wound up settling in to her high chair captivity and even enjoyed her low mein noodles (she actually used chopsticks too!).

And it's watching moments like that that still make going out to eat one of life's great pleasures for me.

Sick and tired

*Cough, Cough* *Snnnifffff*

Dang. Now, I've got it too. *Achoooo*

It being whatever Grace had, gave to Timothy, who gave it to The Wife, who then gave it to me. This bug's been floating around the house for the last few weeks, and we can't quite seem to shake it.  Our household has been overrun by bulb syringes, tissues, vapor rub, saline spray, and humidifiers.

Hopefully I'm the last one.

I hate being sick, and I certainly don't handle it well. I think most guys are that way - we get sick and then shut down, becoming incapable lugs. P.K. (Pre Kids), I would be able to lounge on the couch with a blanket, remote, and a box of tissues. The Wife would bring soup and sympathy.

But with kids, I'm realizing the world doesn't stop revolving when I don't feel well. The little ones still need attention and food, and I'm pretty sure The Wife wants me to help out with that.

As far as sick kids go, we've been pretty lucky.  This is only the second time I can remember Grace getting sick since she was born, and Timothy has handled feeling under the weather pretty well.

I'm just ready for this to all be over. Healthy kids and parents sleep better, and we're almost out of tissues.

The Secret to Successful Parenting

I think one of the secrets to successful parenting is having a strong church family.

Since we've been married my wife and I have made it a priority in our lives to be a part of a church and to get involved. Connecting with a small group has introduced us to others that share a love of Jesus Christ in an intimate environment, and we've both grown in our faith because of this.

Hearing the pastor preach on Sunday mornings is important, but often that message only goes one way. In our small group our faith becomes a discussion. Steel sharpens steel, and there is no better example of this to me than the conversations we have in our small group.

We've seen the positive impacts of being in a church small group grow since having children. As a military family far away from our parents, we've been able to have a support system close to us where ever we've been stationed. Being able to interact and share stories with other like-minded parents and adults has been a blessing.

Another blessing has been the generosity of our church family. The clothes, toys and other baby needs given to us after having both kids has been overwhelming. These are major expenses that we've been able to avoid, and we are truly grateful. We hope to be able to do the same for others in the future.

I also believe our involvement with a small group will become more important as our children grow and they begin to understand who Jesus is. Faith, to them, will not just be inside a bubble in our house. It will be something they see their parents live out in other environments. They'll also be able to play with other children being raised in Christian households. When our children begin to develop their own sense of what religion is, I believe all these interactions will have a positive influence on their decisions. As Christian parents who's prayers are for their children to someday follow our footsteps in faith, these interactions and relationships are so critical.

We love all the people we've met and gotten to know in our small groups as the military has moved us around. Because of them the burdens of parenting have been lighter and the joys have been greater. I thank God for them all.

Sleepless in Southern California

My wife and I are blessed, and we know it. We have two absolutely wonderful children that bring so much joy into our lives. They don't get sick too often, they don't cry too much, and they don't embarrass us in public. Yes, we have it pretty good. Until about 9:30 at night.

It's a recent phenomenon, but our four-month-old son will not sleep. He'll fall asleep on my wife, she'll put him in his crib, and 20 minutes later he's crying. She'll go back in to his room, rock him back to sleep, put him in his crib, and 20 minutes later he's crying. Repeat. All. Night. Long.

Occasionally, usually around 3 a.m., it's my turn to try, but I've had worse luck. He'll just cry on me. Apparently I'm not as comfortable as my wife. I also don't come bearing food, which may have a lot to do with it.

This is the point in this post were I need to thank my wife and shower her with diamonds, Oreo cookies, and pedicures. As you can see, she has taken most (99%) of this burden on herself. I have not asked her to, but she's the one that gets up with our son. Part of it may be because I could sleep through a freight train barreling through our house (side effect of sleeping next to a very active military flight line while deployed) and I just don't hear him. But the reason is more likely because my wife is a saint. She wants me to be able to go to work refreshed.

This sacrifice on her part wasn't too bad when Timothy would sleep for long stretches (we were close to all night a couple of times), but now it's taking a toll. Getting two hours of sleep a night is not good for anyone. We may have to go to bottles at night or something because I want my wife to be able to get the sleep she needs. I really feel bad, and I want to take on some of this burden.

I'll wrap this post up with a few theories as to why he doesn't sleep any more:

• A growth spurt
• He's afraid of the dark
• He wants to stay up for Letterman
• His stinky feet keep him awake (more on this in a future post)
• Separation anxiety
• Poor nursery feng shui is throwing him off
• Bad gas
• He's four months old

I'm open to any theories you all have. You can leave them in the comments below. And if you could say a prayer for my saint of a wife, I would appreciate that even more.

Babies and balloons

I couldn't stop laughing. Grace and I were playing with a balloon when she figured this one out all on her own:

Saying Goodbye

The family we had in town for the last couple weeks leaves today.

While our house will be back to "normal," I'm sad to have to say goodbye. I know that Grace enjoyed having her two cousins around. She finally had pint-sized playmates besides the dog almost 24/7. Timothy had more than enough people to hold and rock him, and The Wife and I had other adults to talk to (simple things, really).

There's more to this goodbye for me though. What kept me from falling back asleep this morning - besides Timothy wriggling in  my arms fighting off his own sleep - was the realization that this goodbye means I'm closer to the one I've been dreading for a while now.

In the not-to-distant future I'll be separated from my family for a year.

A whole year.

Those words are like a punch in the gut every time I think about them.

I've deployed before. My wife and I were barely six months into our first year of marriage when I went to Afghanistan. Half of our first "honeymoon" year was through bad phone connections, e-mail, and grainy video chats.

While that deployment was certainly difficult at times, this is going to be even tougher. I'm going for twice as long and now there's two kids who grow and change every day. That's 365 days of change I'll miss.

I know that my wife and kids will be well taken care of while I'm gone, and I'm going to be busy most of the time, but I'm sad knowing I'll miss Timothy's first steps, Grace's ever-expanding vocabulary grow into full sentences, and the fact that The Wife has to balance everything on her own. She didn't ask to be a single mother, and yet my service is forcing that for a while.

Don't get me wrong though. I'm proud of what I do, and my wife supports and helped make the decision that I should stay in the Marines. It was a decision made with lots of prayer, and we believe this is where God wants me right now. We'll make it through, just like we did at the beginning of our marriage.

But goodbyes suck.

Whether it's goodbye after two weeks with your sister and her amazing family, or it's goodbye to the people that complete your life.

Goodbyes suck.

Fueling the Disney obsession

We indulged our daughter's obsession yesterday.

First off, I didn't know people under two could even have obsessions. But, since before she could walk, Grace has been captivated by The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on TV. I think it started as an innocent way for The Wife to get both hands free for two seconds to get dressed or to do some other necessary chore. That has turned to endless pleas for "Mickey, Mickey ... Miiiiccckkkeeey."

Like me with my morning coffee, my daughter has to watch Mickey Mouse. I'd love to tell you we were better parents and don't let our child watch TV so the coffee we do get to enjoy is hot. I'd love to tell you we are more creative than that. I'd love to tell you Grace's obsession hasn't gone too far.

But I don't like lying.

And yet, we went to Disneyland yesterday. The West Coast mecca of Mickey.

I love going to Disney parks. But this was my favorite trip, by far. To watch a child, even as young as Grace, wide-eyed, taking in the sites and sounds of the "happiest place on Earth" was special. I loved the fact we could let her run around Mickey's house and other areas and get into anything she wanted. I loved her interactions with the other toddlers. And I especially loved watching the moment she got to meet the animated character she's seen on TV for months.

Yes, we didn't do Grace any favors yesterday by taking her to Disneyland. I'm sure we've fueled her obsession until she's 90, but we sure had a lot of fun.

Editor's note: Yes, we do have a son too. Yes, he was there yesterday. He slept the whole time.

Halloween and confidence

It's amazing what parents will put themselves through to ensure their child has fun. However - speaking as a subject matter expert - kids under two rarely cooperate.

We have family in town this week, and since last night was Halloween we thought it would be fun to get everyone dressed up and go trick or treating at our church's annual "Trunk or Treat." More on that in a minute. The whole event really started when we first put everyone in costumes.

Timothy, being four months old, was pretty indifferent to the whole thing. The visiting cousins, especially the oldest, were pretty excited about dressing up. And I figured Grace would be too. She had happily picked out her costume at the store (a cow) and mooed at it when she saw me take it off the hanger to get her ready. I thought she'd be equally as thrilled to wear it. Not so much.

Her first words when she looked at herself in the mirror?

"All done. All done."

But of course, we parents weren't done. We had to mark this special occasion with photos. Here's the best shot I could get:

"Trunk or Treat" was really cool. Tons of costumes, tons of candy, and a 30-foot inflatable slide. Each of the 50 or so cars that kids could walk up to were decorated to a theme. There was a pirate ship, more than a few luaus, and an homage to Charlie Brown's Great Pumpkin.

Grace may not have been excited before, but I thought for sure she'd turn when she saw all of this going on. Not so much.

There were probably about 500 people when we showed up. The crowd, the noise, and a bunch of weird costumes equaled this reaction:

She immediately wanted to be held. Every trunk we went to, she'd bury her face in my shoulder. Our daughter usually will go to any outstretched arms, but she clung on to me for dear life. Timothy, still indifferent, passed out in the stroller.

Grace eventually let go of me and went with The Wife to go up to trunks. She, with much more patience than me, was able to convince our daughter to let go and start walking up to people to get candy. So as the evening progressed, our little cow got a little bit more confidence and even started to enjoy herself.

I really enjoyed myself too. I was proud watching her waddle up to a trunk in her overstuffed costume, looking up at the person holding all the candy, and sticking out her treat bag. Her overcoming fears and gaining confidence had me beaming.

So, even though Halloween for us started a bit hectic, and we may have forced costumes and picture time on our children, I think the effort was worth it in the end. Through the strange tradition of dressing up and approaching strangers to get candy, our daughter grew.

What to wear ...

Grace went shoe shopping in The Wife's side of the closet. Like many women, she's practicing being indecisive about her outfit.

Van Love

I have a confession.

I love my minivan.

Weird, right?

I mean, what self-respecting man would ever say such a thing? Minivans are for soccer moms. Minivans aren't for Marines.

These were all thoughts that went through my head when The Wife and I started talking about a new vehicle. Our crossover wasn't going to cut it. As comfortable as it was for the three of us, there was no way to get two rear-facing car seats in it. "Knees in chest" is not my preferred driving style. We needed a baby hauler, a third row for any future additions, and space for the dog when he tags along. A minivan seemed to be the answer. But ... ick.

For years the minivan was a neglected vehicle class by automakers. It was on their lots for those who wanted function and didn't care about sexy. But today's car buyer wants sexy. Sex sells.

It took until 2011 for automakers to finally realized this. A few clever re-designs and funny ads later I - like many cool dads - was hooked. A minivan was the answer.

The salesman was a little surprised when I didn't want to take it out for a test drive, but really, who buys a minivan for its stellar handling? It's a minivan, not a Porsche.

The offer I did take him up on was the half-hour class about how to operate the features. What we wound up purchasing was a computer with four wheels. After learning about Bluetooth, touchscreens, back-up cameras, climate zones, and steering wheel controls I thought I was ready.

That is until I got home and started flipping through the owner's manual. I am not exaggerating when I say that 50 pages are dedicated to how to open, close, lock and unlock the doors. I'm only exaggerating a little when I say there's a trillion different ways to do all this. Each way relies on technology. Power sliding this, and abracadabra that. I don't even need to pull out a key to unlock the door. I just grab the handle and the van knows it's me. It cheerfully beeps and unlocks. Quite fancy. I'm not looking forward to the day after the warranty runs out. I'm not positive, but I'm guessing if that feature breaks it's gonna cost me a lot. I think if anything breaks, it's gonna cost me.

But in the meantime, I'm going to continue to love the comfortable ride, the space, and all the convenient features of my well-designed minivan. We dads no longer have to hang our heads in shame when we drive around.

We can drive with our dignity restored!

We can finally be proud! 

We can give each other little waves when we pass each other, like Jeep owners and motorcycle riders!

That might be going a bit too far.

But I love my minivan, and I'm not afraid to admit it.

Sleepy time

If I had to rank which dad jobs are my favorite, near the top of my list would be nighttime reader/tucker-inner.

As Timothy gets older, I'm sure he'll be a part of my nightly routine, but right now it's a wonderful bonding time with my daughter. She loves her sleep, but she also loves the build up to when she gets to close her eyes.

Once she's in her pajamas we sit in the chair in her room. After snuggling in with me, she clutches on to her favorite blanket with one hand, grabs an end with another, and sticks her thumb in her mouth. (And, yes, I know thumb sucking is bad, it'll make her teeth crooked, blah, blah, blah. We all have our vices, we go easy on her on this one.) I ask her what book she wants to read, which begins the process of deciphering what she wants. There's a code:

"Mooooon" - Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown
"Aaa Bee Cee's" - Max's ABC's by Rosemary Wells
"Much" - Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney
"Manger" - An illustrated board book of Away in the Manger
"Pookie" - Night, Night Little Pookie by Sandra Boynton
"Time" - Pajama Time! by Sandra Boynton
"Mickey" - On the Go with Mickey Mouse by Disney
"Boom" - Mr. Brown's Book of Wonderful Noises by Dr. Seuss

Thankfully, I've mastered the code. It took me awhile, but after trial and error and her improving speech, I can tell what she wants. Heaven forbid you pull the wrong book out of the basket. There's no fooling Grace. If she says "Much" and I pull out "Moon," she will shove the garbage that is "Moon" away and repeat "Much, much, much, much, much" until she gets to hear the tale of Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare.  Once I'm finished, she'll say "one mooore," while holding up a finger. That one usually is "Moon." How quickly she forgets.

But we don't just read two books, Daddy's nighttime routine includes THREE classic tales. Recently, number three has been "Mickey."

But no matter the book, the cutest thing about reading to her is that she knows the stories by heart. If I leave the last word off a sentence, she'll finish it. Doesn't matter what book or what sentence. She'll make all the noises along with Dr. Seuss's Mr. Brown. It's fun to watch.

After books, comes night-night kisses where she insists on pointing out, naming, and kissing my nose, eyes, hair, ears, mouth, and mole (I know that last one is weird, and I'm not sure why she picked up on it). Then it's "one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go!" as I swing her into her crib. I hand her her stuffed bear, and cover her with her blanket. I give her one final peck on the forehead and say "Night nights Grace. Sleep tight. I love you."

As I walk away, turn out the light and start closing the door, I'll usually hear back "Night nights Daddy. Vuvv ooh." And that makes my day.

Adult Conversations

I am one of those parents. It's not that I planned on it, wanted to, or can change. But I have become one of them. When talking with other adults, including my wife, I can only talk about my kids, parenting techniques, and the finer points of baby bodily functions.

I simply do not possess the capability to hold a conversation for any length of time about anything else. Take, for example, sports. We watch them in this household on a regular basis. We root for the home team. We even catch the occasional SportsCenter. I should know enough to hold a five-minute conversation about last night's game. However it goes more like this:

Coworker: Did you catch the ball game last night?

Me: Sure did. Great game.

Coworker: How about that homerun in the seventh!

Me: Oh yeah, it was awesome. As soon as it happened Grace did the cutest thing! She heard the crowed cheering on TV and started to clap and cheer herself. We love that she enjoys sports so much. We're such cool parents!

Coworker:

Me: We even had Timothy in a baseball-themed onesie. That is, until he soaked it so much with drool we had to change him.

Coworker:

Me:

And that's about how the conversation ends for me. Awkward silence. Fortunately for the coworker, someone else usually overhears the attempted conversation and jumps in to rescue him with batting average stats, the amazing performance by the relief pitcher, and the lousy ump.

Talking with fellow parents isn't so bad. It seems we're all stuck in the same conversation rut. However my wife and I still have friends who don't have kids yet. Thankfully, they're nice enough to still call us to get together, but I can't imagine how boring we sound.

If you think I'm complaining about all this, I'm really not. I love talking about my kids. Besides my faith, I'm finally passionate about something to the point I can talk about it all the time and not get bored. Good for me. Maybe not so much for you.

"Trunk or Treat" - the Halloween alternative

Ahh ... a quiet moment.

For the next couple weeks we have family in town, which is great, but it also means there will be four kids under four demanding attention. The house is certainly buzzing with activity - meals, crafts, running around (with the occasional slip, fall and tears), story time, snack time - and they just got in last night! The Wife and I say we want 5 kids, and this is sort of like saying, "Are you sure?"

Actually, I like the noise and the activity. Toddlers are fun to watch, and when you get a bunch of them together they wear themselves out. As long as they aren't beating each other or the dog up, the parent becomes more of a supervisor than a participant - so it's break of sorts. The endless games of "Ring Around the Rosie" are delegated to someone else!

What I really wanted to write about are our upcoming Halloween plans. I've never been a big fan of the holiday, honestly (Except the year I dressed up like a scarecrow. I sat motionless on the porch with a bowl of candy sitting near me. Every time someone would come up and grab for the candy, I'd grab them. Good times. Highly recommended.). So this year we're doing something a little different: Trunk or Treat.

This Trunk or Treat is at our church. Volunteers decorate their cars and minivans and the kids go to each trunk for candy. Many families also have some sort of game or activity (bean bag toss, mini basketball hoop, etc.) set up. I'm told last year over 1,500 kids came. It's a great idea because everyone can still dress in costume, get TONS of candy, and it's safer than going door to door.

I'll be sure to post pictures of our little cow and monkey. I won't post pictures of me stealing all of their peanut butter cups.

How we raise them

Every day I pray for my children. I thank God for the opportunity to raise and teach them, and for the blessing they are in our lives. With this blessing, as many of you with children already know, comes a huge responsibility.

Because of that responsibility, I pray for God's wisdom concerning decisions my wife and I make in raising them. I'm very aware that we are laying a foundation now that we will build on for years to come. The strength of that foundation will determine their ability to navigate through life and remain standing.

Part of building their foundations is simple stuff like watching our language and speaking politely to each other. But some things are a little harder - the impulsive reactions we have. Like how I react sometimes when a driver cuts me off or if I yell at the dog for barking at the cats that like to cut through our yard.

I don't always think about it in the heat of the moment, but our kids see our reactions and they remember. Grace is a mimicker now, and she'll copy just about anything we do - good and bad.

As Christian parents we've made a commitment to raising Christian children, and while actions alone don't mean salvation, they certainly leave impressions with other people about how you live. Right or wrong, I know I've made my own determination about people who claim they are Christians and do things like use profanity like it's punctuation. I'm sure I've done things in my life (and probably recently) that leave people questioning my heart. As a parent I feel I need to be even more careful about how I handle things - with my children around me or not.

All this came to mind as I read my morning devotional, My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers. October 21st's entry is titled "Impulsiveness or Dicipleship?" Here's a quick excerpt:

"There was nothing of the nature of impulsive or thoughtless action about our Lord, but only a calm strength that never got into a panic. Most of us develop our Christianity along the lines of our own nature, not along the lines of God's nature. Impulsiveness is a trait of the natural life, and our Lord always ignores it, because it hinders the development of the life of a disciple."

There are may ways that can be interpreted and applied, but read through the lens of a parent, I must constantly check myself to make sure I'm reacting to situations or making decisions the way God wants me to.

After all, these really aren't our children. Their God's children. He's just letting us hold on to them for a little while, but it's up to us to make sure He gets them back.

Milestones

I love milestones.

Love may be an understatement. I'm the guy who celebrates every time my truck's odometer shows a number with a bunch of zeros after it. Needless to say, 50,000 miles was a big day for me and my Ford. But as I've become a softie I've realized there are milestones that bring me much more joy.

My son rolled over for the first time tonight, and The Wife and I were there to witness it. Well, technically we missed the first time. He was in his crib taking a nap and woke himself up by rolling over. Wanting to see if it was just a fluke, we promptly picked him up, placed him on his belly time mat, and waited. It didn't take long before he was on his back again. So we saw the SECOND time he's ever rolled over. Still very cool.

Non-parent readers are probably less than impressed with our child's accomplishment and wondering why I'm even mentioning a feat 99% of humans can do. That's fine. I understand. My wife rolls her eyes every time I point out a mileage milestone. She thinks they're ridiculous.

To me, milestones like Timothy's, or Grace starting to count to 10 on her own are a big deal. Our kids are learning and growing, and it's fun to watch. As a Marine who has to deploy the only thing I don't love is knowing it's likely I am going to miss some of these moments.

I am going to cherish each one.

What I've learned

After being at this dad gig for exactly 20 months, I'm amazed at how I've changed as a person and what I've learned about myself and life everyday.

• I can change a diaper one-handed (while balancing the child between two sinks in a restaurant men's room, cursing the fact that they only installed a changing station in the women's restroom, praying to God I don't drop her).
• Girl diapers are easier to change than boy diapers.
• I can talk about poo with a straight face now. 
• I can get poo on my hands and not freak out.
• Kids are the ultimate cure. Seeing them smile makes even the worst day not so bad.
• I have a sixth sense that allows me to dodge toys on the floor in the middle of the night.
• I'm a softie.
• I have the ability to read the same book 400 times with the same enthusiasm and inflection I did the first time I read it.
• My child's reactions make reading the same book 400 times tolerable.
• My heart grows to accommodate the love I have.
• I am not the most important person.
• Leaving for work in the morning is tougher, coming home is sweeter.
• I better understand God's unconditional love for His children.
• There is nothing sweeter than an infant's coo or a toddler saying the words "vuv oo Daddi."
• A child sleeping on your chest is a great feeling.
• A tiny hand wrapped around your finger is also a great feeling.
• I will sacrifice my dignity for my children's amusement.

The list goes on, but you get the idea.

Honestly, when I first found out The Wife was pregnant with our first child I wasn't sure if I was ready to be a dad. I was recently back from my deployment to Afghanistan. We had only been married a little over a year, and I was gone for half that time. I was selfish and wanted her all to myself. I knew her getting pregnant was a possibility, it just became a reality much quicker than we expected. Plus, how would I be as a dad? Was I up to filling one of the most important roles I'll ever fill?

That's probably the biggest lesson I've learned so far: That God sometimes puts us way out of our comfort zone so we can grow. He felt I was ready, and that had to be good enough for me.

Twenty months in, and God was right. I was ready, and I've grown a lot. I've realized most of my anxiety came from the fear of the unknown. Instinct kicks in more often than not, and if I'm really stuck, The Wife has the answer.

Beginnings

I had higher expectations for my first post.

I wanted it to grab your attention, set the tone, and leave you with a warm and fuzzy first impression. Instead, my creativity was stunted by the need to suction the snot out of my three-month-old son's nose. And the longer I sit here, the more my daughter's desire to mash the computer keys grows. I've got to make this quick.

This blog is the product of a need for a creative outlet. I'm plenty busy, so the decision to add another commitment wasn't made lightly. My only expectation is that I want this be a place for me to write down the thoughts in my head as I learn how to balance being a husband, father, and Marine. It's also an archive for my children to read someday to answer burning questions like where they got their weird senses of humor (me), lack of rhythm (me), and insanely good looks (their mother).

Here we go ...