Nights and Weekends

Sometimes I feel like an absentee dad. I sleep in the same home with my wife and kids, but I don't see them very much. In the mornings, there's the bustling about of everyone getting ready for school so my quality time with my family is reduced to frantic conversations regarding lost shoes. "Well, where did you leave them?" "I don't know." "Just hurry up and find them. Time is of the essence." We like that phrase because it rhymes with bioluminescence, the big word that the kids and I love that we know. Thirty minutes of getting ready and they're in the van and off to school and I'm back to bed for part two of my nightly sleep.

Sometimes I get a Saturday or a Sunday off, but those are rare. The hospitality industry needs industrious me the most on the weekends. Happy to be employed and grateful for the health insurance, I obligingly clock in promptly for each and every shift, missing my family but conscious that my time in uniform and nametag is all for them, for us. Still, it smacks hard when I'm aware that my own case of arrested development, doing a job best suited for college kids and retired persons, continues to earn a paltry sum toward this family's modest budget. I appreciate that I've got it better than many, but my kids just know that they miss their dad.

Forgive me. I'm just ruminating tonight that I've got to figure out how to become the man I want to be. My wife and kids would like to see me more often. For them, I'd like to find a job that pays more and has me home at nights and on weekends. This has always been my desire, of course, but it was made especially clear that my absence is having its effects when my five-year-old daughter made a passing comment to me the other evening on a rare evening off. "Daddy," she asked. "Do you sometimes wish you didn't work nights so that your kids wouldn't miss you and be sad?" Oh, the power of a simply asked question. Oh, the guilt. I shared what she said with my Twitter friends and learned that even the 9-5ers have endured similar guilt-inducing moments with their kiddos. We do what we must and we know it's for the greater good. If only it was a tad easier for the kids to understand.

The 50th State Is Where I'll Be

I'm staying up late and studying up on Hawaii for an upcoming trip I have planned. It's a strange event to consider given my near constant hermit status, but it's a very generous all-expenses paid gift from my mom and I'm grateful for the opportunity. The plan was originally for she and my brother to go, but she recently had hip surgery and won't be able to make it. At first, I considered declining her offer, overwhelmed at the prospect of going to Hawaii while struggling financially here at home. I was gently nudged into saying yes by several friends and loved ones who threatened to kick my butt if I said no.

So here I am downloading surfing podcasts and reading trip reports online. I even have the bus schedule printed out. My brother and I will be staying at a nice resort in Honolulu called the Hilton Hawaiian Village Beach Resort & Spa. For some reason, it's been awhile since I've enjoyed taking pictures. With this trip in mind, I'm feeling motivated to learn how to get good shots again. Lately it's just been lazy iPhone pics of whatever while the Nikon sits lonely on its shelf.

Thanks to my mom for giving me her ticket. As always, I'm humbled by her generosity. She's recovering nicely from her surgery and I'm sure that she'll be able to make the trip herself next time around.

Ninjas On The Side

I'm admittedly a purposely understated kind of guy, but I think I'd love to have something like this on the side of my Cube. Instead of ninjas, however, something involving Star Wars would be what I would want.

Speaking of Star Wars, I just learned that the 501st Legion's Midsouth Garrison group will be at Clarksville's Governor's Square Mall today from 1:00 to 5:00. Support Make-A-Wish and get your picture taken with a stormtrooper.

Family Resemblance

My daughter at age five looks just like I did at age five.

Here's me at age forty. Let's hope she starts to take after her mom at some point between now and the year 2045.

I'll find it after I pay up.

I don't often lose track of the library books I borrow, but I sure do lose the ones that cost thirty bucks or more to replace. Charles Bukowski's Open All Night is the one that got away this time.

Beach

Watching Trains

Beach

Her big sister calls her Panda Butt

While pondering whether or not to blog anymore...

My daughter poked at my belly this morning and asked, "Daddy, are you sure there's not a baby in there?"

That's a good blog post right there.

Princess Ari

"Some babies do that."

My Sammie has this thing that she does. When she gets mad, she has a tendency to lose her breath. There's this silence instead of a cry and the cry doesn't come. Instead, she simply reaches and reaches for the cry, but fails and then passes out. I've witnessed it twice and I think that Paige has, too. Sammie's pediatrician assures us that we shouldn't worry and that "some babies do that." After she passes out, she'll start to breathe again and everything will be fine.

My second and most intense experience with this was last night. I put her into her swing so that I could have my hands free to tend to something routine and insignificant. She started to fuss and instead of picking her up immediately, I thought I'd give her a minute to adjust and maybe I could get done whatever it was I was trying to deal with. Instead of the cry, however, there was just that pained silence from my little girl. I saw her struggle and I lifted her from her swing. No sound. She was losing color in her face and I felt that conflict between panic and remembering what the doctor said. Remembering tips and tricks I'd heard before, I blew in her face to startle her back to consciousness. It didn't work though and she went blue in the face and limp in my arms. I continued to desperately blow in her face and call her name and she finally came back around but probably no thanks to my efforts. My Sammie was still a bit dazed and it wasn't until a minute or so later when she started crying that I was no longer worried. Just like her doctor said. Some babies do that.

My question to anyone reading: Have you ever experienced this? Sammie is my fourth baby. I've never seen this before and, of course, there's nothing scarier as a parent than to deal with this scenario. "Some babies do that" isn't a phrase that makes it much easier either. Since blowing in her face to startle her didn't seem to work, are there other tips for helping her catch her breath before she passes out again? Making sure she's never, ever unhappy again will be one solution, but probably not something I can count on.

Listening to Brett Rosenberg

I got a new favorite bunch of songs that I'm listening to this morning. Brett Rosenberg, recommended by The Joiners on their site, is exactly perfect for the new music I needed to find. Listen to his muxtape recordings in full here. Here's hoping you dig it. Have a nice day.

The Musical Saw

A melancholy mood snuck up on me tonight. Lucky for me, I can complement that mood with appropriate music played with the perfect instrument: the musical saw. It's used yearningly and woefully on The Black Rider's "November" by Tom Waits. It's also the instrument of choice by the man billed simply as "Tried To Escape" in 1991's wildly eclectic and imaginative Delicatessen, featured below.

Words by Ari

Arianna's not settling down to sleep as she should so I go in and lie down next to her, silently reading The New Yorker on my iPhone and hoping she'll finally close her eyes and go to sleep.

"Are you reading inside your brain?"

I look at her and nod, saying nothing.

She then asks, "Is it too much for your mouth to talk?"

I love that kid and her way with words.