We All Need Counseling

Meet Sarah

This is the beautiful, somewhat crazy, lady I convinced to marry me. Although the better half of our relationship, she at least bears half of the blame for the three little heathens we have set loose on the world.

I owe most of the good in my life to her. This might sound a bit like a romantic move on my part to enter her better graces, (and it is) but I realize that without her, I would probably be someone’s itinerant visitor who occasionally sleeps on the couch and eats the left-overs no one else wants. (Who am I kidding? I don’t eat leftovers.) That or I would probably be a permanent resident in someone’s basement bunking with some millennial trying to upgrade my armor in World of Warcraft. My successes, if they can be counted as such come from her vision of my better self. I’ve got it made…

Who am I kidding? She needs counseling just as much as I do. She married me for heaven’s sake.

Meet Jesse: My Young Padawan… Squirrel!

Jesse at the Museum of Clean for a book signing

See this child! Yes, this child. We are lucky to have him, still. Because he is so friendly, he just might walk off with the next person who comes along: retail clerks, scary clowns, mob bosses, the neighborhood pedophile to name a few.  If the world needed a hug, (it probably does but I don’t want my kids near it) Jesse would be the first in line to give it. That sounds like high praise, and it is, but Jesse also has the attention span of a goldfish and has a tendency to wander off of his own accord. Our fears are justified: we’ve lost him more than once, and we have trained him to hold onto our hands when we are in large crowds. For that reason, which might become awkward when it comes time for him to go on his mission, off to college, or through high school, we might have to ween him from the practice before he goes on his first date.

ADD adds a challenge to parenting that Sarah and I could not foresee nor reject. Jesse does not react well to medication; he has a natural disinclination for caffeine, and me telling him to focus is like trying to get stones to move with the Force. (I’m no Jedi.) We knew there was a problem when he had to repeat the first grade. Jesse is constantly hyper-focused on what he wants instead of what he needs to do. (My fault) I probably have ADD for adults.

Sarah did what Sarah does best when there is something wrong with one of our children, she researched. I usually just stop functioning and curl up in the fetal position when something I don’t understand happens. Not Sarah. She gets to work. She found a neurofeedback therapist and now Jesse plays EXPENSIVE video games with his mind once a week. (He is a Jedi.) Gamers all over the world have been arguing for the benefits of video games since the Atari, now I’m beginning to side with them.  Jesse has learned to ride a bike, to swim, and to tie his shoes all in one week; although, he still doesn’t know right from left and mixes up which shoes go where. (Sarah’s fault. She can’t tell right from left either).

Today, I was charged with having the boys take a shower. I stood at the back door and said, “Jesse…..Jesse…..Jesse…..Jesse”

He looks up. “You need to come in and take a shower”

He continues to push his brother on the hammock.

“Jesse…..Jesse.” He walks toward me. “What did I ask you?”

He squats down and holds his knees to his chest and then explodes up while saying, “to come into the shower.” He then walks in the opposite direction and picks up a toy car on the patio and walks away with it already invested in some new adventure. It’s moments like these that cause me to pull my hair out or explode in frustration. Gratefully, I laughed.

Jesse is already in counseling.

Meet Griffin … AKA The Ginger Snap

Griffin at an attraction at Yellowstone National Park

“How much do you love me?”

“I only love mom”

This is a standard response from my 5-year-old, red-haired, little boy. This picture captures one of the rare moments where Griffin is smiling for the camera. While Jesse would give the world a hug, Griffin would headbutt it. Mostly the only head he’s butting is mine. We have been antagonistic from the beginning. Sarah thinks that this is because we are so similar. He is a tough little minion with tender feelings, a quirky sense of humor, and a sweet-tooth.  The first thing that Griffin says to me every day after work is, “Dad, can I have one of your candies?” “No Griffin, not right now, you still have to eat dinner.” “Okay, but can I have one of your candies?”

 I have a rule that only I like to uphold (you know what I mean, the rule made by the parent who is gone all day at work, therefore adherence to that rule is only strictly observed when that parent is at home). No kids on the counter! I admit that the rule is only based on the annoyance I feel when children climb on stuff, instead of my shallow argument of “it’s for their safety.”

Griffin’s desire for sweets is insatiable. I was secretly eating a few Oreos one day while the kids were downstairs. I tried to hide the evidence of my vice, but Griffin came up stairs and saw the Oreo going into my mouth. The damage was done. All I could do was lament the loss of a just-opened package of Oreos. My lament faded when I heard his sweet little voice ask, “Dad, can I have one of your Oreos?”

In mental turmoil, I thought “no,” I have a hard time sharing. While at the same time the words “Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?” flashed in my mind. I argued on the relevancy of the situation. Oreos aren’t bread! aren’t they? What would Jesus do?

I gave him one, put the package on the top of the cupboard and went downstairs.

My mistake.

When I came back upstairs, Griffin was playing in his room nicely but with a different face. Around his mouth were a fine dusting and a few smears of Oreo chocolate. I immediately checked the package of Oreo’s and found it wanting. The WHOLE package with the exception of two lonely cookies was gone. 16 or 17 Oreo cookies fell into the vacuous immensity of my 5-year-old’s stomach.

I asked him “Did you eat all of the Oreos?”

“No.”

It wasn’t a lie. “How did you get them? Did you climb on the counter?”

“Nope, I stacked up buckets,” he said with a semi-proud grin.

Clever little minion.

He’ll probably go into counseling.

Meet Her Motht Illuthtrious Majethty, Princeth, Sarahmay

I won’t keep the lisp up in this blog but you must understand that Sarahmay has a unique way of saying everything. This is probably because she is constantly sucking on her middle and ring fingers. She has evolved ways of communication around those perpetually moist digits.

Sarahmay has an overdeveloped sense of entitled opinion for a 3-year-old. As we were coming home from Jesse’s school party, I entered the driver’s seat and heard her yell from the back of the minivan. (Yes, I own a minivan. It’s just a stage I’m going through.) “Daddy, can’t drive!  No! Daddy, don’t drive. Nooooo!”

I asked her why I could not drive and she said, “Daddy, don’t drive because you will crash into buildings and the car will blow up.” (What has my wife been saying about my driving? or better yet, what has my little girl been watching? 007, Jason Bourne, Jack Reacher?)

She’s going to need counseling.

Meet the Paterfamilias…Me

 

Griffin and I taking selfies. Who needs a booth?

 

My ego is saying write “I saved the best for last” but I know that is not true. If you are even still reading this lengthy blog post you might just want to stop here and move onto something more entertaining, like the election, or funny videos of cats. Between my crazy 400-year-old bromance with Shakespeare, my addiction to running and fast food (I always thought they went together), and my hobby-of-the-month personality, I need counseling.

I’m a father, I’m a husband, I’m a teacher, I’m a grad student, I’m a calligrapher, (apparently, I’m a bad driver), I’m an aspiring middle-aged, balding, man with a spare tire, I’m a Mormon.

Yeah,  We’re all going to need counseling.