Three.

Posted on May 4, 2022 by Chris

To My Bold and Daring Eldest Daughter,

Today you are three years old!! It hardly seems like it’s been that long since you crashed into our life like a wrecking ball in the best way possible, but here we are. Despite the circumstances around us you’ve had one hell of a year. It’s been nothing short of awe-inspiring to see you grow in so many ways, everything from your vocabulary to your emotions to your fearlessness to your infectious energy when you experience joy. You proclaim loudly to the world “I’m here and I matter!” I absolutely burst with pride when I see you succeed knowing how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve fought, how immensely driven you are to make your place in the world.

At the same time I am so humbled as your father. I’ve had to learn and grow so much to see you, to connect with you, to ride the enormous waves of emotion and help steer the boat in which we are traveling safely to shore. I see so much of my inner child in you that as I’m learning how to parent you I’m also learning how to nurture myself. You have given me the rarest of gifts in the opportunity to become someone I didn’t know I could, and I shall cherish it forever.

Today will be a day for cake, for singing songs, for being with family, and for unrestrained joy. Basically some of the things you enjoy most in life. Let us celebrate in the best of ways and continue to bring a wrecking ball to a world that desperately needs more of what you have to offer.

I love you.

Eight.

Posted on November 15, 2021 by Chris

To My Darling Son,

You’re eight years old today. It’s really happened in the blink of an eye but when I sit long enough and think, it’s truly been an amazing time. Because you are an amazing human. This last year I’ve seen your heart grow immensely as you’ve become a big brother yet again, and the love and care you show for both of your sisters is so touching and amazing. You’ve weathered another year of this pandemic, doing the hard things because you know they’re the right things to do to keep you, us, and everyone else safe. It’s way more than any kid should need to handle and yet you do because you care. You’ve become an incredible pianist. I’m spellbound by your uncanny ability to write songs and play fearlessly with such an open heart.

As I reflect not only on the last year but the last 8 years I’m seeing one common thread, one force that seems to be driving you: your heart. It’s so carefree, full of love, hope, ambition, caring, grace, forgiveness, happiness, and joy. That you can find the silver lining in nearly everything isn’t an accident; it’s who you are. And I want you to remember that no one – absolutely no one – can take that away from you. You are the amazing, wonderful, beautiful manifestation of every tender emotion of humanity. And everyone is better after experiencing the joy of you. Don’t ever change.

I love you.

One By Two

Posted on May 4, 2020 by Chris

To My Beautiful Baby Daughter,

You are officially One Year Old today. And if there is anyone who deserves the absolute happiest of first birthdays it is you. The most underrated statement I will ever utter is that your first year of existence has been ONE. HELL. OF. A. YEAR. A year that has defined you, or more accurately a year in which you have defined yourself to us and to the world. Your personality is so unique, so vibrant, so incredibly full of fire. You are first and foremost a fighter, starting from as early as in the womb. You have proven time and time again that this world bends to your will, not the other way around. You rise up, wide-eyed and full of wonder, staring knowingly into the chaos before you and boldly proclaim “I AM HERE!!!!” with the fire, energy, and vitality of the brightest star in the universe. And that energy, that light, leads the way through the chaos as long as we are willing to listen. All is right, all is well, all will become one with the universe with you leading the way.

Let’s have one hell of a celebration today, jubilation to blind out the chaos and uncertainty surrounding us. I have no doubt this day will be glorious. You’ve earned it, that’s for damn sure. On this day we celebrate!

Happy Birthday.

I love you.

Fog, Smoke, Ash, and Light.

Posted on June 23, 2019 by Chris

Hi. It’s been awhile. Mostly because my life has been a goddamned shit show for the last 9 months, so finding the motivation (let alone the time) to write has been impossible. Not that I need to justify it to anyone, but here’s a quick rundown of what’s happened:

-I changed jobs. Not because I wanted to, but because I got demoted and my pay was slashed for a very unjustified reason. I won’t get into it here, but needless to say I’m still extremely bitter towards the company I used to work for because this was the catalyst for the upheaval of our entire lives for literally no good reason. Has some good come of it? Absolutely. I now work in a job I love for a company that really cares for its employees. Truly. I feel great knowing my company’s values align with mine and they back it up with actions. But holy hell I got career-slapped to the point that the only good way through it was to push the eject button. On everything.

-The job change required us to move because the commute from where we were living was 2 hours minimum each way. Sometimes over 3. Not sustainable at all. So after working insanely hard over the last 4 years to establish roots we had to rip most of them up and start over again. Has some good come of it? Absolutely. We made a small fortune on the sale of our house and my new company paid for nearly every aspect of our move. So we used some of the profit to pay off all our consumer debt and start a real family savings, which has allowed us to breathe easier and stop living paycheck to paycheck. Kind of like real adulting. And we now live in a really rad city that’s still a day trip from our old friends, so it’s not like we’re starting from scratch again. And we’re establishing new friends, with 2 other families on our street with kids roughly the same age as T.

-The house had some major unforeseen issues. It was a complete flip and the flippers did a decent job. Mostly. They added a bathroom on their own upstairs and did such a shit job that we had water leaking in the walls from the sink, shower, and toilet drains for 10 straight days after we moved in. So we spent 36 days in hotels and Airbnbs while undertaking a $30,000 construction project. My insurance company paid for most of it but it was the last thing we needed at the worst possible time. And right in the middle of it:

-Our beautiful baby daughter was born. We’ll call her J on this blog. J was born 4 weeks early on her own accord with a birth story that’s as chaotic as it is magnificent. You’ll hear more on that later, but she’s 8 weeks old now and sleeping on me in the Boba Wrap as I type. My new company gave me 6 straight weeks of fully-paid paternity leave so I got to spend way more time than I ever thought I would with her in the first critical weeks of her life. She’s a goddamned jewel and a shining light through this very heavy fog.

All of these things happened in the span of 9 months. And right now my emotional and physical states are a fucking wreck. I’m typing this standing up with my laptop on my son’s dresser. He’s playing imaginary games with his favorite stuffies while J sleeps on my chest. T has been up sine 6:30am and we’re coming off a rough night with J to the point that a Starbucks Venti Cold Brew is barely propping me up. And yet I feel like I shouldn’t complain because my wife got even less sleep than I did. Plus, this is what newborns do and we definitely signed up for this with eyes wide open.

The house is a mess because we still haven’t finished unpacking, and we’re about to stay in a hotel for 2 days while some very sophisticated equipment tries to rid the house of cigarette smoke smell once and for all. This will make 38 days out of the last 60 that we’ve spent in a hotel or Airbnb for home fixes. We’ve cooked maybe 10 total meals in our new home and my blood pressure is through the roof because it’s really hard to eat fucking salad every day when you’re barely hanging on by a thread. I’m not proud of McDonald’s and Slurpees at midnight after a 19-hour day in the NICU, but goddamnit sometimes it’s the best you can do.

I’m over all of it and feel like crying as I desperately yearn for things to go back to “normal”, yet because so much has changed I have no idea what the new normal looks like. It’s absolutely true that the only way out is through and that we’re on the other side of all the shit. But it’s still really, really hard, even with the incredible support of family and friends.

OK I think I’ve vomited enough words for now. Just enough to make sure my blog didn’t get left behind in the ashes of my former life. I think there’s more coffee hiding around here somewhere…..

Ten Memorable Parenting Moments of 2017

Posted on December 31, 2017 by Chris

Let’s face it – 2017 has been a shit year. So much so that it’s been incredibly difficult to find the inspiration to write much here. But, as with most New Year’s Eves, it’s good to reflect back on some better moments before we give this year the middle finger and turn the page. So in the spirit of the season here are ten of my top parenting moments of the year, in no particular order:

1) Freedom From Diapers (Mostly). Do you hear that? It’s the angels of the heavens singing the Hallelujah Chorus!! This has been the year of real potty independence. And while we’re still not 100% there (I’m convinced he won’t poop in the toilet until he’s 37), he’s a rock star with peeing and keeping his overnight diapers dry. Sidenote: I’m fairly positive I never thought I would think this sentence, let alone write it for public viewing. Ah, parenting. Oh, and yet another shoutout to our cloth diapers for being rock solid for over 4 straight years now. Honorable mention to our washer and dryer for surviving semi-industrial usage for that same time. Y’all are the real deal.

2) Travelin’ Man. As you may or may not know, we were fortunate enough to live in The Netherlands for half of this year. And we traveled. A lot. Our son was a friggin’ road warrior, surviving 9-hour flights, drives of 10, 14, and 18-1/2 hours, and being thrown into a brand new society and culture. All at the tender age of 3 where he was just learning to speak his native language, let alone deal with a completely new one. While he may not remember everything (or anything) from our time there, I can already tell that the experience changed him forever.

3) Roger the Rabbit’s European Adventures. Along the same lines, T’s favorite stuffed animal, Roger the Rabbit, went everywhere with us – from riding the bus in Rome to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris to relaxing in a beach house in Sweden. If you’re on Instagram (@comma.splice) I have a decent amount of photos of T and Roger on their adventures together. This rabbit has seen more of the world than most children!

4) The Colliding Hugs. Every day I come home from work he does this awesome thing where he’ll say my name (“Daddy”) and start running toward me. The faster he gets the faster and louder he says my name until WHAM! he collides with my midsection and wraps his arms around me for a giant hug. This will never, EVER get old. Can I just be greeted like this everywhere I go?

5) School Days. One of the hardest things for me has been realizing that I can’t teach him everything he’ll need to know to survive in the world; I just don’t have the capacity. So watching him develop further and really like going to preschool has been immensely satisfying. Until he comes home with a cold picked up from some other snotty-nosed, drool-faced kid and gives it to ALL. OF. US. Thanks, drooly-face.

6) Building Blocks and Lego Sets. We’re doing LEGO now!! And not just the Duplo stuff, but real, serious, “Age 5-12” sets! I’m not sure who gets more excited by them, me or him, but they’ve really captured his imagination and attention span, all while advancing his fine motor skills and spatial abilities. And the best part? This is only going to get more awesome over time!

7) Music Man. If Lego make me giddy, then music makes me absolutely ecstatic. He’s strumming the guitar, making up songs, singing on pitch, exploring his new keyboard, my trumpet and drums, and memorizing hooks from songs by bands such as Junius, Nirvana, and Hole. We’re also playing a lot of “Song Like/Do Not Like”, which is how I know he likes certain songs by some complex bands like Lamb of God, Opeth, Static X, and Gojira. Oh, and he’s really into Skrillex and Glitch Mob, so we have an EDM thing going too. I’m fairly certain he’s in rarified 4-year-old air in terms of musical palette. Quick, someone get me some Frank Zappa!

8) Friendship. He’s got genuine friends! Partners in crime, even! On the surface, it’s not surprising since he’s got all of the extrovert genes of me and my wife combined then multiplied by 5. But I was a socially awkward kid and sometimes a barely functioning adult in social situations, so it’s been wonderful to see him reach out and connect with others. Oh, and not be a dick to them, too. That’s important.

9) Family Connection. One of our best memories of Europe was driving to Sweden to visit my sister-in-law and her beautiful family. Not only did T get to see his Swedish cousins for the first time (one of which may as well be his doppelgänger), but this was the first time my father-in-law was with all four of his grandchildren at the same time. A moment that would make Hallmark jealous.

10) Reading Rainbows He’s always loved books, but Now. He. Can. READ. THEM!!!! He’s actively spelling words, sounding them out, and putting it all together. This was the official first book, and he read it all the way through!!! Watching his mind work and actually hearing the connection turn into words is one of the most amazing experiences for me. It’s literally indescribable.

And with that, we look ahead to 2018, which will no doubt be big year in a lot of ways.

Adios, 2017!!

Black Lives Matter / The End of My White Fatherhood

Posted on September 26, 2017 by Chris

As I am challenged to keep improving and become a better parent to my mixed-race son, I’ve had to face the death of a very, very large part of my parenting: the White Parent. Let me explain:

All parents have worries and concerns about sending their children out into the world. White Parents don’t have to worry about their child being bullied, hurt, or killed because of their skin color.

All parents want their children to succeed in school. White Parents don’t have to worry about their child being passed over for opportunities or being labeled a “troublemaker” because of implicit racial bias.

All parents want their child to get a great job. White Parents don’t have to worry about their child being passed over for a great job opportunity or being paid substantially lower because of implicit racial bias.

All parents want their children to be safe. White Parents don’t have to worry about their child being killed by police at an alarming rate.

These are not things I worried about growing up and going through school. And as far as I know my parents didn’t worry about them either. The advice given to me was standard for white suburban America: “Work hard and you can achieve anything”; “Stay out of trouble and you’ll be fine”. And while my experiences (and those of my family) have proven that advice sound, I know enough now to worry that the same advice will not hold true for my son.

I must admit I was warned. Family members of mine expressed concern and urged me not to marry interracially because they didn’t want to see me go through hardships or have a child of mine (and theirs) endure them as well. But the heart wants what it wants, and to reject love out of fear of hardship is poor advice at best. So here I am, a white father but no longer a White Parent. Worrying and just shaking my head are not the examples I wish to set for my son.

What’s important is that my child knows not only that his life matters to me, but that the lives of children and adults like him matter to me as well. That I am not content to turn a blind eye to injustice and “hope” that he is spared because sometimes he can “pass as white”. That I, in the group of the oppressor, will use my advantages to systematically dismantle the barriers of inequality for him and for everyone like him. That I will defend him and reaffirm his and his mother’s worth even when my family members do not. That I will not accept “that’s just the way he/she is” as an excuse for people not doing the work to change. That Black Lives Matter to me, to his mother, and to anyone else we choose to accept as family and friends.

The path forward for my son will be neither straight nor easy. But at least he will know I am there with him in much different ways than I had previously imagined. Onward and upward.

Goliath.

Posted on March 28, 2017 by Chris

[Preface: My family and I are living in the Netherlands for the next 6 months due to my work assignment. I haven’t written anything about it here, but I hope to soon.]

Big day yesterday. Big, big day. The first day of preschool, sort of, anyway. While living here in Eindhoven it was critical that we found ways to expose our son to as much of the culture as possible. So as serendipity would have it there is a preschool/daycare less than a 5 minute walk from where we’re living. So for 3 days a week, 4 hours a day, Trenton goes to Kinderdagverblif’t Parelbosch to play with other children his age and absorb as much of the Dutch culture, language, and education as he can. By the end of this it’s very likely that he’ll speak Dutch better than we will after studying it daily for over a year.

My mind was racing with worry the night before and the morning of. Other than babysitters and family this is the first time he’s been left without us for so long. And having to do it in an unfamiliar space in a foreign country where he doesn’t speak the language? For 4 hours??? Did he eat enough for breakfast? Will the 1 snack they feed him be enough? What will the snack be? How well will he play with the other children? Have we as parents prepared him enough for this? Will he melt down from the tremendous pressure and separation anxiety?

I cooked him a special breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, cheese, and Mandarin oranges. He ate some of it, but I fretted internally about him not eating enough protein. We made the short walk from the house to Parelbosch mostly with Trenton being carried in mom’s arms. We walked up the stairs and through the door together holding hands. We walked into the room and he made a beeline right for the cars and trucks, us parents only a minor inconvenience sharing the same space while he went straight to the work of play. A quick kiss goodbye, some “I love yous”, and poof, we were gone. No tears, no hugging of legs, nothing. Anticlimactic to say the least. A walk home with no child in tow provided a very surreal feeling.

Kids have a way of surprising you in the most incredible of ways. Aside from some minor struggles from being hungry (not enough breakfast) and a little separation anxiety, he said he had fun! Played with cars and trucks, ate apples for a snack, and went outside with the group to play. We as parents didn’t do him any favors there by forgetting to leave his coat there so he had to borrow one from someone else (hey, we’re rookies at this too). All in all a great day and a huge sigh of relief from me.

I know my job is to prepare him as best I can for all the challenges he will face in the world so he can fearlessly knock them down head on. Even then, he’s doing the heavy lifting here and I am unfathomably proud of him for that. He’s been so brave and resilient for all the struggles of being here – from the 20-hour travel day here to the jet lag and 9-hour time difference to having to endure Daylight Savings Time twice in 3 weeks. This child has proven he is built to slay giants and the next one comes tomorrow.

Go get ’em, kid.

Good Hair

Posted on December 4, 2016 by Chris

Dip the cup into the water and fill it up. Gently place my palm against his forehead to avoid spilling into his eyes. Slowly pour over his head. Repeat until completely saturated. Add conditioner. Rinse. Add leave-in conditioner. Then, with Dave Wyndorf of Monster Magnet, Joe Duplantier of Gojira, or Devin Townsend of Strapping Young Lad punctuating the background, the ritual starts.

Slowly, methodically, my fingers snake through his curls, catching on knots and tangles. There’s much work to be done tonight since bicycle helmets have their own unique way of adding to the nest of tangle-opolis. And sometimes he’s not as amenable to this 10-minute exercise in patience, so in some ways it feels like the clock is ticking here. Yet I find myself enjoying it. My hands move in seemingly random yet fully intentional patterns. Extract the curls with my fingers, find the knot, slowly yet precisely unwrap the strands. After doing this nearly every bath for at least the past 2 years I no longer need to focus; I can meld the movements and the music into one.

I love everything about his hair. The curious intersection of tight ringlets and loose waves. The thick, gentle knot he’s weaved just behind his left ear from constantly twirling his finger through. That it can turn into this beautiful, voluminous afro when it’s both wet and dry, curls falling gently over his ears and down his forehead. I can only hope he loves his hair as much as I do.

But then it hits me. As much as I want him to take pride in his hair, there are millions of people who haven’t or don’t. People have been scorned, shamed, bullied, beaten, and even killed because of this hair, the roots of its culture, and the illogical and unfounded threat it supposedly represents. Generations of children, women, and men have seen this hair as “unnatural”, as something broken to be “fixed” in order to look pretty, to look human in the eyes of others. Billions of dollars are spent every year on products designed to make this hair – a natural gift – look like “white hair” to avoid being seen as the other, a reject, an outcast.

This is something I’ve never had to live through and not something I want my son to experience. And yet I need to accept that he most probably will, especially if we stay in this little town where we live much longer. This is one of many lessons we will have to teach him about acceptance, being accepted, and loving who you are and from where you come. These lessons may be difficult as I acknowledge the world we live in but above all else he can look to me and his mother for wisdom, guidance, and support.

But even then isn’t it much easier for me to lead by example when I, as a cis white man, am the least likely to be oppressed? Even as his advocate, defender, and protector, will he not eventually turn to me and say, “Dad, you can never understand what it’s like to be me”? And for me to then have to painfully admit that I can’t??? Can I ever be more than a parent, an educator, a safe harbor, and a comforter?

Then a literal splash of water hits my face, preventing me from exploring these real-yet-philosophical depths further. This water is cold which signals the end of bath time. I open the drain, slowly lift my son out of the tub, and wrap a towel around him.

I watch the tiny droplets of water bead up and dangle at the end of his corkscrew curls, unaware neither of the safe space from whence they came nor the cold reality of the hard bathroom floor they will meet when they fall. I pull my son in close and hug him tightly; this is a metaphor for everything.

Three.

Posted on November 15, 2016 by Chris

My Baby Boy,

You’re not much of a baby anymore. You’re not even really a toddler either. You’re blossoming into a pre-schooler, a boy all your own. Strong, fierce, independent, and fearless, you have boundless energy to explore the unknown with bright, wide eyes. It’s been utterly amazing to see you grow and develop into the person you are. Some of my favorite moments are our conversations, hugs, kisses, and cuddles. And every time you say “I love you Daddy” or “you’re my special friend”, my heart fills even larger with love. I really didn’t know my heart would keep growing this much this fast with love, but it is.

As much as you are changing and growing I feel myself growing right along with you. Pushing each other is how we learn. We try, we fall, and we get back up together. We may have our tough moments but know you are loved, you are safe, and I will always be there for you. I will lead the way if you need me to and follow when you ask. I will lift you up, break down walls for you, and be in your corner even when the entire world is against you.

This year will be full of fun and exciting things; I can feel it. A beacon of hope and light in the world – go forth and shine, bringing happiness and joy to all in your life.

Happy Birthday Baby Boy.

I love you.

photo-oct-26-7-52-41-pm

Go.

Posted on October 3, 2016 by Chris

I’m out of breath, hunched over with hands on knees, sweat dripping down my face. My son is staring at me wide-eyed with a smile on his face, green bicycle helmet planted squarely on his head. “That was fun, Daddy!” he shouts with exuberance.

He’s just finished a harrowing cruise on his balance bike down the hill toward the main road in our neighborhood. He was flying so fast that I couldn’t keep up with him “running” full speed (I put running in quotes because what I do is more like a close approximation to actual running). All I could do is watch him pull away from me with a healthy acidic gut mixture of joy, pride, fear, and panic. Thankfully, the combination of his foot braking and a well-placed sidewalk curb kept him from careening into traffic, but still, the feeling of losing control was all too real.

And for me, that loss of control is one of the most bittersweet things. How on earth, at younger than 3 years old, is he ready for full-speed no-fear bike riding? He’s got the balance part down which is mind-blowingly amazing, but can he really process all the inputs about speed, control, balance, steering, terrain, traffic, and trajectory, all the while leaving me in the dust? Apparently the answer is a resounding yes.

So as fearful as I am of the unknown, about not keeping up with him, I am also incredibly proud. He’s doing this all on his own with no guidance from me other than how to stay safe. He’s falling, getting right back up, and hopping back on the bike while saying “try again”, all without any prompting from me! The kid is a fearless warrior, and I now see my job with much more clarity. I need to give him more opportunities to explore, to push himself, to venture into the unknown, all while ensuring he knows I will catch him when he falls, that I will comfort him, patch him back up, and walk right back out there with him.

To that end, I’ve dusted off my running shoes so I can keep up. Nothing like seeing your toddler put some asphalt between us on a bicycle to remind you of how out of shape you are. Also, he’s ready for a 2-wheeler without training wheels, so that will be coming in the near future. He’s definitely earned it. Considering I didn’t get rid of my training wheels until I was close to 9 or 10 years old, this kid is kicking my ass already. And that’s what I want, right? I want him to be better than I ever was, better than I ever will be.

The world is your playground, my son. Let’s hit it.