Announcing My New Baby, Hillary

 There are certain red flags that immediately identify hippie-freaks. 

“Oh, we don’t own a TV.”
“Waitress, are these ice cubes in my Diet Coke organic and locally sourced?” 
And finally...
“We’ve just loved homebirthing our eight children.” 

I had to ask myself some hard questions this weekend. 

If you are unfamiliar with the culture of the Craig family, let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up. 

We use a midwife. 
We home birth. 

Apparently we are hippie-freaks. (Though we admittedly enjoy TV and the only thing we care about our ice is that it's pebble-ice.)

Not everyone wants to or should use a midwife. You may have health risks that prevent this opportunity - or bottom-line, it may not be what you’re comfortable with. And that’s fine. It is not everyone’s choice; but we are grateful that it can be ours. We have loved the experiences. 

This experience was different - in a few ways. 

1. I got The Call. Until this birth, I had never gotten that awesome call at work. “I’m in labor! Come home!” Wherein I then hastily throw out any papers on my desk, slam the computer, and flee the office while yelling to the front desk, “Hold my calls! My wife is in labor!” I finally got to do that! Though, just like all other media-versions of birth, that’s not exactly how it happened. But I’ll take it!

2. We had a new midwife. We’ve used the same midwife, in Las Vegas, for our last six children. It was not fun to realize she would not be here for this one. We found a new midwife here in Utah. Katie loved her because she is old, experienced, and holds the wisdom of an old, experienced midwife. I wasn’t so sure, but then, during Katie’s labor, when I was sitting behind Katie, holding her, and the two of us naturally had our hands on Katie’s tummy...and the midwife said, “Somebody please take a photo of those hands, I want it on the cover of my website. That is the photo of the century.” Well, when she said that, I thought, “You know, this midwife has something.  A certain eye for beauty and awesomeness. She really IS so very, very wise.” 

3. This baby was way overdue. We may never know how accurately overdue. You know they base the 40 week pregnancy cycle on the date of your last period. But since Katie has either been pregnant or nursing since 1997, she’s had, like, two periods. (My apologies to any men who... no. You know what? I don’t apologize. If you can’t talk about women’s periods, then you are no man. There I said, it. Now good day, sir.)

4. Ok, actually, I wasn’t done with my last point. I got going on my soapbox and forgot where I was. That’s right, Katie’s monthly menstrual periods. Anyway, so we really had no idea when her last period was, so we guessed. Well, we knew it was on the day we had used a gift-card to this bbq place in Orem, but there was no credit card record to confirm the date. And I think we guessed wrong. Because this baby was late, though not record-breaking late. 

5. We called the midwife early. We have traditionally called the midwife to come for the delivery at either the perfect time (baby born 15 min to an hour after the midwife arrives) or too late (Roxanna and Rebecca, who arrived before the midwife). This time...too early! I couldn’t believe it. That’s a rookie mistake, and this was our 8th baby. But Katie was tired and wanted to know how far along she was.  Midwife came at midnight on Friday, left at 2 a.m. and came back at 6:30 a.m. (Saturday morning), when we and the baby had stopped messing around. 

Katie’s contractions never got super-close together, but they got harder.  They got even worse whenever she got up to do something. So I had the brilliant/marriage-ending idea that Katie should just be up, moving around. I said it out loud. The midwife agreed (she is so, so wise, you guys). And Katie told us we were both fired.  

But that kicked things into high gear. Soon she was sitting on this awesome birth-chair that the midwife brought, and making these deep, bass-sounding noises that meant she was getting ready to push. More than the timing of contractions, more than any instruments, I know Katie’s status by the labor noises she makes. It’s more visceral, but it’s the best gauge I know. 

This is Katie, about 45 second before pushing out a head. I sat at her feet watching her. With all apologies to the women I know, plus my daughters and future daughter-in-laws, plus Pink (who I imagine to be pretty tough) - I told my children that their mom was the strongest woman they would ever know. 

I couldn’t believe we were finally at this point. I had had impressions this baby girl was coming a year ago, before Katie was ever pregnant. I’d had feelings she was a girl from the very beginning. I had been anxious to meet her. When I finally caught her, I felt gratitude beyond measure. She was here. She was healthy. Katie was healthy. The world stopped and for moments...it was perfect. What us hippies call “zen-tastic.” 

It is a unique challenge to write about miracles. Often, you can chronicle the framework of the occurrence. You can describe the specific circumstances. You might be able to articulate how it changes you. But there is some portion that eludes you. You can’t put words to it. It is sacred and otherworldly. And those divine moments generally involve people you love, with a power that cannot be manipulated. And you are simply grateful you got to be there. 

Hillary Craig
November 23, 2013
9 lbs 20.5” long

A Sentimental Season

We are on the springboard for my favorite time of year. And by “time of year” I mean “October through December.” Each month and holiday its own, but knitted together in this cornucopia of tastes, tints, and textures. 

We threw up our Halloween decorations on Saturday. Too early, you say? Well, I just checked with myself, and guess what we decided - we don't care! We ate candy corn, ready spooky stories to each other, and hung up a substantial amount of Halloween and autumn decor. 

Not our actual house. Or decorations. 

The practice of holiday decorations is something I brought to our marriage, but something Katie perfected. It started in October 1995, when we'd been married less than two months and were still in college. Realizing we had nothing hanging up in our one-room basement apartment, I made photocopies at work of crappy cut-outs of traditional Halloween characters, laminated them, brought them home, and hung them up all over our little abode. 

Kind of like this, but even less so. 

When Katie asked why I was crap-ifying our apartment, I explained. 

My mom, who raised 7 kids, was all about the holidays. Her selflessness was boundless to begin with; but the way she celebrated this time of year was unparalleled. And she had an abundance of holiday decorations. She was also all about the food - pumpkin flavored things, breads, soups, baked goods, candy, etc. But I always loved coming home from school and feeling the seasons and holidays all over the walls and tables and surfaces of our home. And I wanted to continue that. 

And Katie was happy to participate. Her first act, as Producer of Holiday Decor, was to remove the sad, desperate attempt to call laminated paper a "decoration." Over the lats 18 years we have purchased or handmade or received some pretty cool autumn decorations. I love that Katie embraced something that was significant to me. I love that my kids get kiddy when we pull out holiday decorations and the day is filled with laughter, a Halloween iPod mix our family made together, and the kids start every other sentence with, "Remember that one Halloween when...." 

I love that I associate these things with my mom. I think I always will. She just had a birthday (Happy 69th, Mom!), and I think when this time of year rolls around, she's at her youngest. 

How To Host a Winning Family Reunion

Step One:  Have your cousin Tiffany do it.
She's a great host and has a huge lovely home with three pools and trees as far as the eye can see.  Let her do the heavy lifting like, organizing, coordinating, and financing the event then you show up and sing a mildly offensive song about reindeer.

Step Two: Attend.
This is really such an important step.  I mean you sit on the fence for just long enough that people are genuinely surprised to see you when you show up, but you do show up.  I mean, afterall, Tiffany went to all that trouble.

Step Three: Reconnect.
There was a time in your life when these strangers were the most anticipated event of your summer.  There was no lag time before you ran screaming into the sugar beet fields not to see your parents for the next 12 hours.

Step Four: See Things for What They Really Were.
Hold on, you didn't see your parents for twelve hours?!  Now that you are older it's time you knew the truth...that was the point.  All that time spent depriving your parents of the opportunity to fulfil your every whim, was the reason they shoved you and your four brothers into a Buick and drove 4 hours. They didn't want to see you...for twelve hours.  Though, it was the 80's so they did let you sleep on the dashboard while they drove...that might have had subcontext as well.

Step Five: Scheme.
You're older now, and those old fools who once dropped you off in Rupert seem to genuinely like to spend time with those vagabonds you are raising; Plan a week to hang out at your parents and let the kids run wild for twelve hours a day.

Step Six:  Eat.
You look around and the realization sits on your chest.  You are old.  The way you used to look at your Aunts and Uncles, like they were old people who hadn't figured it out yet...that's you now, and your cousins kids can't figure out why you keep asking them if they are "Super Stoked" to be there.  They give you that look you used to dole out which means, "Poor, Poor, Cousin Uncle, you have no idea." And also, you don't have any idea, but you do know one thing that those brats can't take that away from you, this chicken in a box is amazing!

Step Seven: Have a Memory Lane.
This is where Tiffany has outdone herself, not only are there jars of candy on each folding table with guessing folders next to each jar, where you guess the amount of candy in each jar, using the guessing folder and the best guess gets said jar of candy, but there is also a memory lane.  This is where she has collected old photographs and hand made dresses and uniforms from the originating family and hung them all on a meandering close line (not unlike the one in front of Gramma's little green house, next to the weeping willow with the monkey swings (another touch Cousin Tiffany has not overlooked)) with old wooden clothes pins allowing the walker to be reminded that there was a time when his parents thought they were young and optimistic and hot.  Thankfully Cousin Tiffany omitted the full length mirror with the plaque that reads "You are now looking at what happens between these pictures and those old people sneaking candy out of the guessing jars and sneaking back in the wrappers so the count won't be off."  That was a classy edit.

Step Eight: Sing Your Mildly Offensive Song About a Reindeer Despite Your Grandmothers Request for a Hymn.
Afterall, you said you would, and luckily Uncle Jeff has a magic show following your song, so it will be quickly swept under the rug.

Step Nine: Begin to Regret:
Things are winding down and you realize you have squandered your time adding post-it note quips to the photos in 'Memory Lane' and now you won't see these people for another 30 years.

Step Ten: The Love Scramble:
You begin your scramble to have loving, thoughtful connections with 47 different relatives, which only leaves you about 30 seconds for each.  You wonder if you did it wrong and if you should have just spent all your time with one long lost cousin, but then Aunt Susan reminds you that these kinds of check in's are needed too. And even if you can't name all your second cousins step kids, at least you had this day, under these trees, in these pools, with these people, who are forever part of who you are. And you load up your own kids, who now run the world, and you drive away down that long wooded driveway feeling filled and grateful for the new snapshots of faces of the people who were some of the first faces your memory ever snapped shots of.  And you think to yourself, "Thank Heavens, for Cousin Tiffany, she has got some major cleaning up to get to!" 

A Remembering of The Haynes Family Reunion 2013             

My Own Private Legacy

When we speak of the Mormon Pioneers, we can’t help but speak reverently of their legacy of sacrifice and devotion. I, myself, am I descendant of John Tanner. John was an entrepreneurial kind of a guy. He owned several farms and orchards, as well as a hotel in upstate New York. He received an impression that he was needed in Kirtland, Ohio - so he sold those farms and orchards and that hotel, and packed up his family Christmas morning to head 500 miles east to Kirtland. When he got there he found the mortgage on the temple site was due. He loaned money to the temple committee and to the Prophet Joseph Smith, personally. He then donated liberally to the cause. When he left Kirtland he had $7.50 to his name. Years later, in Nauvoo, he was called at the age of 66 to serve a mission. Leaving his wife and 14 children he was on his way out of town when he passed the prophet. Joseph said, "John, what of the $2,000 I owe you." John responded, "It's yours. You owe me nothing." The prophet put his hand on John's shoulder and said, "Bless you, Brother Tanner. Your posterity will never beg for bread."  

Many times in my life I have been the recipient of that promised blessing. As a child, as a husband, and as a father. And inevitably, I reflectively ask myself what I will be known for by my posterity. 

I mean, you have to wonder what kind of legacy you are leaving for your children when they make astute observations like, “I can’t wait to be a dad – you get to stay up every night eating ice cream and watching TV!” Apparently I have painted quite a picture of fatherhood for my three sons. “Yep, that’s all there is to it, my boys! You put in your time as a youth spending grueling hours making forts out of the couch and playing Wipeout on the Wii; and then in a few short years, you’ll be living the high life with Haagen-Dazs and Seinfeld reruns. Life just gets simpler and simpler, I tell you.”

What kind of legacy would I like to leave my children? Oh, I suppose I’d like them to say …

My dad was the wisest person I ever knew.
My dad could solve any problem.

He never said a bad word about anyone.

He was the most patient man in the entire world.

I remember when he made his first $1M at age 43. (Next year!)

My mom always commented on how great he looked in a medium t-shirt.

However, my flaws and selfish indulgences are incessantly on parade at my house. It’s difficult to hide them when there are seven pairs of eyes watching. Somebody is always seeing something. So if you were to ask my children this afternoon how they would remember him…for better or for worse, it might realistically sound more like this:

My dad was do-it-yourself-home-repair-challenged and he hyphenated words far too often.

He knew a little too much about a lot of 80s and 90s pop-culture.

He couldn’t tell you the name of a single player of any professional sport.

He was his most impatient when we were whiny, which he always said was an expression of ingratitude.

My dad valued friendship. Especially mine.

He loved telling stories.

He could not dance or sing, but he loved dancing and singing with me.

I knew how to make more meals than my dad.

My dad was honest.

I felt emotionally and physically safe with him.

Though imperfectly, he tried all his life to be a better follower of the Savior. 

More than anything else, my dad loved my mom.

Here's where I am today

I'm now sitting in a motel in Moab, UT with my wife and daughter who have been here since Tuesday. I composed this using the Blogger app for iPad and cant figure out how to schdule it for Friday morning so, here you are. Better to be early I guess?

Driving 3 hours by myself today reminded me of my single-ness when I would just leave town on my own for the weekend with a CD case full of my favorite driving music, a sleeping bag, and just drive. I always had to have some combination of the following CDs:

Tom Petty - Wildflower

Wilco - Summerteeth or Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

Son Volt - Trace or Wide Swing Tremolo

Paul Simon - Graceland

U2 - Joshua Tree

Sinead O'Connor - I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got

Van Morrison - Tupelo Honey

Bruce Springsteen - The Rising or Tunnel of Love

Weezer - The Green Album or Maladroit

Neutral Milk Hotel - In an Aeroplane Over the Sea

Ryan Adams - Gold

Whiskeytown - Pneumonia

The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow

The Sundays - Static and Silence

Jethro Tull - This Was or Stand Up

Led Zeppelin - II or Houses of the Holy

The Beatles - Abbey Road

There are others that are great but these were my Go To selections.

Sometimes I had friends to see at the end of my travels, sometimes I didn't have a plan at all. I miss things about that but I have to admit that seeing my wife and daughter at the end of this little road trip made me very happy. 

We've made it a goal, now that the kids are a little older, to be more adventurous because, at our core, that's who we are and we've been neglecting that part for too long. Feels good to get away and reset. Besides, my CDs are collecting dust.

How about you? Ay road trippers out there? What's the best road trip music?

Fortysomething

Me and my dad in Los Angeles ,1971; the year I was born and he turned 28. 

Yesterday was my birthday. (Thank you, and yes, I got your gift. It was just what I wanted! But I got two of them. So I’m going to return one and use the money to buy some new shoes. But I’m totally keeping the one you gave me. I’m returning the other guy’s gift.)

I am now 42 years old. Not a huge milestone birthday; however I can confidently report there is no midlife crisis on the horizon. (I check every six months; so I’m cleared until September.)

I’m actually quite fine being in my 40s. The thing that really stands out to me is being able to so clearly remember when my dad was 42. It was 1985. I was 14. My son, Garren, will be 14 this year; so the age gap is about the same.

I think about that decade for my dad and me. Ten years of milestones or rites of passage for me, all while my dad was in his 40s.

In 1983 I started junior high school, became a deacon, and received the Aaronic Priesthood. I think I also started officially using deodorant and loved watching The Outsiders. And my dad turned 40.

In 1985 I started high school, began attending early-morning seminary, went on week-long Scouting high adventures, played on the high-school water polo team...and my dad was in his 40s.

From 1987 to 1988 I became a priest, started driving, started dating, had my first kiss, got my first and second speeding tickets, went to my first U2 concert, went on a week-long surfing trip to Ensenada, Mexico, moved to Hawaii with my family, went skydiving…and my dad was in his 40s.

1989 to 1990 I had graduated high school, started college at BYU, received the Melchizedek Priesthood, and left on a mission to Portugal…and my dad was in his 40s.

In 1992 I came home from my mission and started back up at college…and my dad was in his 40s.

I am sure my dad experienced new things and had his own life alterations during his 40s, but for an egocentric teenager, it seemed like my world changed a thousand times over, and all while my dad was in his 40s. My dad will be 70 this year; but somewhere in my mind, he will always be in his 40s. And that’s the decade I am in now. And for some reason, that is what kind of blows my mind.

The Slump

Five months ago I moved my family from Las Vegas, Nevada to Orem, Utah. (There we are, in Utah.) There were several reasons we did this. Some of those reasons were super clear to me, and some were not. Some were public, and some were personal. Some I’m still not sure of yet. But the path was illuminated and we felt an internal nudge to walk that path. So we did.  

This move included the process of finding a new job. And...everybody relax...I finally found The One. In fact, I start today, and I am really, really excited!

If you've never been out of work for longer than two weeks, please allow me to share just a few personal observations:

1.  It is the easiest thing in the world to “feel busy.” You will sometimes wonder how you ever found time to have a full-time career and do everything else. Your wife will ask you to go to the grocery store, and your response will be, “WHAT? That’s, like, my entire afternoon!” And then when she asks you what you’re so busy with…the only thing you’ll be able to think of is that all five seasons of Alias are now on Netflix, and those episodes aren't going to watch themselves!

2. Up to now, you have been unable to fully fathom both the glory and hazard that is Netflix Streaming.

3. There will come a day when you are standing in front of the bathroom mirror, and you have the razor in your hand, and the thought will come to you, “Who am I shaving for? Seriously, WHO cares if I’m clean shaven?” And with a smirk on your face, you’ll put the razor away. Then you’ll be surprised to notice that you’re wearing jeans…the same pair of jeans you've been wearing for four days. And they do nothing for your figure. And you’ll be disgusted with yourself. So you’ll throw those jeans in a dirty clothes pile, and you’ll go the entire morning pants-less. There will be whispered concerns between family members, but nobody will actually confront you; because clearly, you have only one marble left rolling around in that noggin of yours.

4. There will be moments where you absolutely do not feel like talking to anyone. Because even when they are genuinely concerned about your well being, you have to give them a lame update. And you start to feel that, in addition to being a disappointment to yourself, now you’re letting them down as well.  

5. You will appreciate the vulnerability of others like never before. 

6. You'll develop a deepened repugnance for Know-It-Alls. 

7. You will have conversations with your spouse that goes a little something like this:

Or something like this:

You: I’m sorry.

Spouse: For what?

You: For failing.

Spouse: Failing at what?

You: You name it.

Or maybe even something like this:

You: “The problem is I’m not qualified to do anything.”

Spouse: “You are qualified to do everything!”

You: “I've never done anything great.”

Spouse: “Everything you do is great!”

You: “Just saying the opposite of what I’m saying doesn't build confidence in me.”

Spouse: “So you want me to stop?”

You: “…Not really.”

8. You will watch clips like this, and you’ll wish that in all this "down time" you could have dinner with Elder Holland.

9.  People will ask you if you are enjoying some “down time” to do whatever it is you have always wanted to do. Write, sculpt, paint, lose weight, master the art of kung fu, create an app, become a stunt driver, start your midwifery practice…whatever. (They mean well, so don’t punch them in the throat.)  You have to remember that when you’re in the World of the Employed, having “free time” seems like the ultimate gift. But when you are in the World of the Unemployed, that “free time” and "energy to be creative" and "desire to develop new passions" and "need to wear pants" is completely choked out by the daily anxiety that despite no money coming through your door, it continues to fly out your windows.

10.  If you are blessed to be married to Katie then you will take profound comfort in her unparalleled level of confidence that all things will work together for your good, that you will be blessed to come off the conqueror and that somehow you have the abilities to provide for your family. And that she will be crazy about you, come what may.

11. You will read scriptures and your Patriarchal Blessing and remember other priesthood blessings and counsel you've received and you will be reassured and have fresh hope and courage fill your soul. Then it will be after lunch that same day, and your surroundings aren't any different than they've been for days. And you will conclude, “I know that if I am worthy of these blessings then the Lord will make good on all His promises. So…since the Lord cannot lie, and these blessings are eluding me…I must not be worthy of them. What am I doing wrong?” And so you’ll take it to the Lord over and over, and ask Him what you’re doing wrong. And the only clear answer will be, “We’re not working on your timetable. Have faith. Carry on.” And you’re kind of comforted by that, even though things are not working out when you think they should.

12. There are generous people everywhere; and sometimes even the smallest gestures of love or kindness will make you weep. It can truly be overwhelming. Whether you receive of somebody’s money or time or words of confidence, you feel known. And you wish you could adequately express your love and gratitude to these individuals, who have fast become your favorite people ever.

13. When you least expect it, you will receive clarity. For example, maybe you’re in the temple. And maybe there’s a man in front of you who has cerebral palsy and it takes his every painstaking effort to move ever so slowly, with the help of a walker. And you notice the grimace in his face, and the slowness of his breath. And it surprises you to see he’s younger than you. And a temple worker looks to you, wondering if you have come with this man to the temple today in order to assist him. And you haven’t, but you find yourself placing your hand on this stranger’s back and asking if he needs any help. And his grimace turns into a wide and warm smile, and he chuckles and responds, “Oh…I need every kind of help.” And as you are drawn into his disarming laughter, you marvel at his disposition and his faith and optimism. And you are embarrassed at how whiny you've been about your own temporary struggles. And you feel a voice patiently whispering to you, gently reminding you, “Your trial is a moment. Endure it well.”

A Good Old Fashioned Throw Down

What you see above is not a multi-generational photo. No, this is simply Katie’s family – the one she grew up with. The Fillmores. You have her parents there, front and center, and then all the siblings (minus one, Robyn, who passed away when she was 8 and Katie was 14).

Yes, you’ve counted that correctly. 10 children. Nine daughters. In a row. I’m just going to let that gel in your mind for a moment.

Though it’s contrary to social standards as well as most movie stereotypes and dated stand-up comic jokes, I quite enjoy my in-laws. And I’m always intrigued by how diverse they are. I mean, nine young ladies baked in the same oven and raised in pretty much the same environment…but their approaches to life as well as their passions, interests, techniques and leg-shaving habits are as varied as their hairstyles.

However, one thing they do have in common is their universal subscription to the frugal mantra “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” None of these exceptional women have the attitude of “I am entitled to Such-and-Such,” or “I deserve Thus-and-So.” These are prudent, parsimonious girls.

And while I admire that trait, I will freely admit that what I love most about it is that these cost-conscious attitudes occasionally produce what the Fillmores affectionately refer to as a “Throw-down.”

According to tournament rules, a Throw-down may occur when three or more of the sisters know they will be together for an evening. It involves the preliminary steps of going through your closets and drawers and bagging up whatever clothes you are feeling “done” with. You then lug these clothing items to the Throw-down location (usually in somebody’s living room), and when all are safely gathered in…you hock your wares.

Please note, you are not actually selling your clothing to the highest bidder. Your goal is just to get rid of your clothes, and hopefully head home with armfuls of clothing that your sisters – for whatever reason – are no longer interested in. It is essentially a “clothing exchange” party, wherein you are throwing down your old clothes and picking up used clothes that are now new to you.

Simple enough, right? But where the hilarity ensues is here, in the trading of the clothing. See, one of the other traits that the Fillmore Girls all share is honesty. OR, you might also call it “dismal salesmanship.” They wait their turn, then stand before the crowd and present their clothing, like an auctioneer. An auctioneer who, despite his honesty and disdain for the clothing items in his arms, manages to get other people to snatch them up. I have to think that it’s because each girl is so enthusiastic and upbeat with their sales pitch, you can’t help but want to give it a try! And then try it on immediately in the “changing area,” otherwise known as “behind the couch.”

Recently all the sisters were together – plus the new addition of Mark’s wife – for the first time in many years. The excitement and energy were almost tangible. I could barely contain my giddiness in anticipation of the singular sales pitches! And it did not disappoint. And for you, I present here some of my favorite quotes, overheard at a Fillmore Throw Down. (And said with much enthusiasm and gusto!)

Katie, holding up a straight, red dress: “This dress is super cute, but you can’t wear it if you are pregnant…or nursing…or if you’ve ever had a baby.  Or if you are bloated.”

“This is cuter than it looks.” (And it wasn’t.)

“This blouse is nice, but I have a hard time moving my arms in it.”

“These pants say ‘dry clean only’…but they’re not anymore!”

“These pants might fit you…the elastic just isn’t good for keeping them on.”

Rachel, walking into the room and then observing Stephanie holding up an item of clothing, “Hey! Wait, what’d I miss?...YUCK!”

“These are so cute, but they’re size 8, so I only wear them when I’m pregnant or just had a baby.”

“This is completely out of date. I should have gotten rid of it when it was still in style.”

“You could make this jumper into a nice tote bag.”

“Here’s a good ‘wash-the-kitchen-floor’ shirt!”

“These pants come with spit-up on them.”

“I like that shirt!” “Well, it’s got weird sleeves.” “Ok, great!”

“This jacket is kind of ratty on the ends.”

“When I wore this, people told me I looked like a bell.”

“This is so cute…I actually might keep it.”

“These pits are a little sour on this one…I’m not even sure why I held on to it.”

“This sweater makes you look like a bee…or that you’re from Hufflepuff.”

“Here’s some running shorts. They’re Speedo. They kind of feel like a diaper. But they wick away the moisture!”

“Here’s a shirt. It’s actually a little boys’ shirt. But I like the fabric.”

“This one just has a couple of holes in it. And the pits have seen better days. But it’s a cute shirt, and I wore it a lot.”

“This is a shirt Rachel gave me … but I feel like a pumpkin every time I wear it.”

“This skirt is nice and long, but you can’t walk in it.”

“This one is so old that Eve wore it out of the Garden…and in high school.”

Dads, Are You an Expert or a Pro?

I always thought the words "expert" and "professional" meant essentially the same thing. This week, I was corrected. We were having a family discussion and my daughter Bella had some questions when the subject of performing arts came up. We discuss this topic from time to time since my wife Amelia works in film, I often work as an actor, and both the kids have shown some interest in it.

The discussion went something like this:

Bella what it meant to be a professional. Amelia said that being a professional means doing something you get paid to do. I confirmed. Aidan said that it means you do something for your job. Bella said something like "Oh, so you're a professional stylist?" to Amelia which she confirmed and then Bella said," So, Dad's a professional actor?" and we said that basically yes I am a professional actor because I frequently get paid to act in commercials, films, and plays. Aidan then replied, "Being an expert is not the same as being a professional." I could see his point because there are many actors, for example, who don't get paid to act but who are very good at what they do. So, I said,"Yes, I have been acting and studying acting a long time and even though acting isn't my day job, I am considered an expert at it." Aidan looked at me. Then he sort of laughed. Then he said,"I mean, you're pretty good, no offense."

According to my 12 year-old, I'm a pro actor but not an expert. He was right about one thing. (Maybe everything?) There is a difference between being a professional and an expert:

Professional - A person engaged or qualified in a profession.

Expert - A person who has a comprehensive and authoritative knowledge of or skill in a particular area.

I don't see a huge difference but it's there. The interesting thing to me is that, while Aidan seems to think so, I don't see a very wide gap between the two. I don't really see one as being "better" than the other, just different.

So, as I was thinking about Father's Day, I asked myself if I was a pro or an expert dad. I can see a pro dad showing up for their family, learning how to be better, providing for them, and engaging on every level he needs to. Pretty great right? I think you can decide to be a pro dad the day you get married or have a child. 

The expert dad would maybe be someone who has had the time to discover the nuances of being a father. Like what it takes to get the kids to go cheerfully to bed, or when a child needs him or their mother. Maybe the expert is someone who knows every difference between their kids and knows how to make each one feel like a special individual. He knows how to run the family in equal partnership with his spouse. He is humble about all the time he has spent as a dad and rather than proving he knows a lot, he just shows it by how much love he gives to his family. Often we don't notice that the expert dad was even an expert until we become fathers or mothers ourselves. "I mean, I'm pretty good but ..."

Highs & Lows

A dinner ritual for our family is that we go around the table taking turns recounting our “highs and lows” for the day. You know, the best and worst things that took place that day. Our hope was that it might spur some lively conversation and provide some insight into how each child feels about their stage of life, current events, and of course, have the opportunity to rat out their siblings’ bad behavior and/or tell weird stories about their friends. 

You might expect to hear something along the lines of, “Well, my ‘highs’ for the day included riding my bike, playing with Jo-Jo Marie – who told me that her dad passes gas when he’s watching TV – and having a dance party with Abbie. My ‘lows’ were cleaning my room and also…when Tanner wouldn’t let me play with his lightsaber!”

There have been some eyebrow raising discussions, of course, but for the most part, I’m beginning to see a pattern develop.

Becca, who is 3 years old, generally starts the discussion by reminding us about it. “Mom! Dad! Highsandlows! Highsandlows!” (Most anything Becca says includes exclamation points.) Then Becca will begin to give us not so much the stories of her “highs and lows,” but an itinerary of what she’s done that day. “Uhm, my highsandlows was, I eat breakfast…then I look at books…and my highandlows was, I played games with Connor…I made poops in the potty…and that’s Lucy, and I kiss Lucy, and that’s all!”

Next is Tanner, age 6, who rather indignantly states, “Don’t ask me what my highs and lows are. I’ve told you; don’t ask me. Every day is just fine. I like all my days. I don’t have ‘highs and lows.’” Then Katie will try to jump start it. “Well, what about when you played soccer in the backyard with Connor?” Then, with great conviction, “Yes. That was awesome. That was my high. But don’t ask me anything else.” So Katie strategically mentions all the things he’s done that day, item by item, and only then will Tanner admit that he had “highs and lows.”

Then it’s Roxanna’s turn. She’s 8. And as anticipated, Roxanna (possibly our pickiest eater) will look down at her plate and say, “Well my low is having to have two asparaguses…and kind of this salad, too…(then, moving her fork like a laser-pointer in a marketing presentation)…and my high is this chicken.”

Connor, age 10. Connor is a little more diverse, except that his list invariably includes Star Wars or Legos.  But if he has watched a movie that day, it will always be listed as a ‘high.’ No matter how poor the movie. “My ‘high’ today was watching The Berenstein Bears and the Messy Room.” Me: “No, it wasn’t.” “Yes, it was.” “That could not have been your ‘high.’ Do we even own that movie?” “Yeah…I don’t know where we got it. It’s pretty lame. But that was my ‘high!’”

Garren, age 12. Garren is at a magical age where he still thinks that doing anything with his dad is cool. Whatever we’ve done together that day, Garren will list it as one of his ‘highs.’ “My ‘high’ was picking weeds with dad in the front yard. Then a gang of bikers came by – you should have seen them – they got off their bikes and waved knives in our faces – they stole our minivan out of the driveway – they graffiti’d the house – they threw beer bottles at us – one of the bottles hit me in the head. And Dad and I were like, “Whoa!” Those were my ‘highs’.”

Abbie, age 14. Abbie will genuinely share her “highs and lows.” Her dreams, her disappointments. Her hopes, her fears. But not her crushes. Some things are just not for public display.

What are my highs and lows? My high is that my children will openly share their lives with me. My low is the thought that at someone else’s dinner table, their child is sharing that “Tanner’s dad says the word 'crap' a LOT.”

This is Lucy. Recently 1 year old. Currently has no lows. 

How about YOU? What are YOUR Highs & Lows?