Tag Archives: journal

Winter Loser

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It’s Spring. Yes, I know it does not officially begin till Wednesday, but let’s call a spade a spade. Here on the East Coast at least, we escaped the harsh winters we are used to and the snow of the last two winters. It was downright mild for the most of the winter. Not that I am complaining. I’ve told my wife on multiple occasions that I am the type who retires to Florida. Anyway, I kept waiting for another cold spell and even snow. I braced myself for the coming frigid weather. I repeatedly checked out weather.com and clicked on the 10-day forecast. I skimmed the information looking for those evil 20’s and teens but lo and behold they rarely appeared. What about snow? Are we getting snow? Nope, not that either. (To be honest, I would like a snow day – for my kids’ sake of course).

The temperatures are only one reason I hate winter. The biggest reason is I am a Winter loser. Well, what I mean by that is the winter magnifies one of my worst traits. I tend to lose things (unfortunately, this seems to be another one of those traits I have passed down. I think my son’s school is going to rename the lost and found after him. We still can’t find his winter coat). I go through 2-3 lunch bags a school year, have lost multiple thumb drives, misplaced glasses, etc. In fact, if you could line up everything I lost, Hansel and Gretel could go on 200-mile hike. What they would see the most along their hike are gloves and hats. Ahh, now you see one of my biggest problems with winter. In winter in particular, I am a loser. I need to buy disposable hats and gloves like some people buy disposable contact lenses.

Last year over Chanukah, my wife got me a decent pair of gloves. She was disappointed at my reaction to the gift. I looked at them and saw pressure. What if I lost them? If – who am I kidding – when I lost them, my wife would be reminded of this failing yet again. While she doesn’t think me perfect – that ended by the end of the first date – I still have some dignity. Anyway, I lost them and bought two more pairs. Despite this stocking up, by the time the dreaded season ended, I was wearing 2 left-handed gloves. It was part of my stance against personal waste.

This winter, this mild winter, I once again got gloves for the holidays. This time my wife gave me three inexpensive pairs along with matching hats. I am proud to say I only lost one hat (that was last year’s replacement hat) and one glove. Is it pathetic to feel proud and view this lack of loss as an example of growth and accomplishment? I think not. So as I take stock this Spring, I feel pretty darn good. After all, I am the proud owner of hats and gloves. I won!

The Dollar Store

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My wife loves dollar stores. She enjoys seeing what they have there and getting a bargain. There are at least a few dollar stores which she has called, ‘my dollar store.’  I, on the other hand, don’t have patience for dollar stores though I certainly don’t mind a bargain.

Sunday mornings are lazy times in my house. It is one of those times when if I am on the phone, my mother will say to me, “Are the kids awake? Everyone okay?”  Yes they are awake and just fine thank you. You see, we have three televisions in my house, and all of them are typically in use on Sunday mornings.  My wife watches in our room while doing laundry, my younger son watches in the den while playing with his Thomas trains, and my older son watches in the playroom while playing with Lego.  Before I run out of the house to do errands, I receive grunts for hellos from my beloved family. It’s special – very special – this bonding time.

Well, this Sunday morning (closer to afternoon – but same idea), I took the children with me on some errands. It would give my wife some space and get the children away from the television. Besides, one of the errands was to pick up their grandmother (my mother) at the train, and my mother loves when they greet her at the train. However, to get them away from the television on a Sunday morning required bribing.  One of our stops was the dollar store, and the children were allowed to pick something out. The five items, including the ice pop for my younger son and the car carrier truck for my older son, came out to less than $10.  The children did not complain in the store, said thank you, and smiled.  They say ‘big kids, big problems and little kids, little problems.’ Well, in this case it was little kids, little needs. These are needs I could afford without even having to think about it. I think I am beginning understand why my wife loves the dollar store.

Start Your Engines

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This weekend was the Pinewood Derby.  You know what the Pinewood Derby is – right? Well, I actually never heard of it till recently. You see my older son is in the boy scouts. He likes the events but is not interested in the meetings. No surprise there for a child who has focus issues.

Anyway, back to the Derby. It is one of the signature events of the boy scouts’ season. The boys are distributed blocks of wood, wheels, and numbers and from there, they design race cars.  I was with my son every step of the way – poor kid. My father always blamed the tools.  One time my Dad and I were putting together a barbeque. There was some pressure since the family BBQ was to be at our house that night. My father and I started early in the morning making our way through the 842 steps. When we were finally ready to light it, the tension was palpable: Would it work, would it blow us up?  My father told me to back up as he readied the flame. However, we stayed side by side — both ready to leap should catastrophe strike — and held our breath. It worked! Success. It did not look exactly like the one in the picture, but that did not matter.  So my poor carpentry skills are inherited and, unfortunately, seem to have been passed down.
Well, my son and I did get the car together, although the two-step process certainly made it a reasonable task even for us. He painted the car – not my choice of colors – and he seemed content with the final product. We were ready for the race.

When we walked into the location of theDerby, it was very crowded. I had no idea how seriously people took this. There were whole families there, an elaborately laid out track, electric timers, etc. I could hear Brent Musberger saying, “You’re looking live atFair Lawn,NJwhere 25 excited anxious racers are ready to do battle on the track.”  Corn dogs were being sold.  Some kids even had sponsorships. Ok, maybe not, but the feeling was there.

My son’s car – number 10 – won one race, came in second in another race, and was a last place finisher a number of times. He was okay with that, so I was too. The cake and juice to celebrate the successfulDerbyput a sweet spin on the events that seemed to leave everyone happy. My son and I are already plotting the car for next year. My wife is the crafty one in our family; she is going to have to get involved.

 

Slow Down and Bond

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I lost my son. I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean I literally lost my son.   He was in one place at one moment and was not there a few moments later. This was very upsetting in a multitude of ways.

On Friday afternoon, I went to my nearly 8 year old son’s school to pick him up.  He sees this as a treat – apparently, he is not a big fan of the school bus.  In fact when he gets off the bus, he typically runs to the house as if staying on the bus might mean more homework. Anyway, I figured since I had the day off, I would pick him up which would give us an opportunity to bond. At least, that is what I imagined.  We would run errands and talk along the way. Efficient and useful bonding time.

When pick-up time rolled around, I was in a rush. Too much to do and too little time – the usual story.  So, rather than casually going about the errands, we instead would be rushing. Still, I was optimistic for our chances to bond. The first two errands went well – we were in and out of the bank and dry cleaners quickly and painlessly.  No lines – my version of heaven.  We actually slapped hands after each errand – we were sharing the joy of efficiency. My son was truly getting something from our time together.

Our last errand entailed dropping movies off at the library.  Now, the tricky part of this errand would be getting back home. You see there is a left hand turn you have to make to head back in the direction of our house which requires much patience and ultimately a daring do that would make James Bond hesitate.   Much time would have been needed between parking the car and having to make the turn. So, I decided to send my son to drop the movies into the slot. Before sending him off to do the errand on his own, I asked him multiple times if he knew where the slot was. He kept saying yes in that way that children can which makes you feel like you are asking a ludicrous question.  I then told him, “Meet me here. I’ll be here. I just have to turn the car around. Do you understand? Right here.  Just come back here.” More bored shakes of the head. The whole errand should have taken less than a minute.  When 3 minutes slowly ticked by … where is he, what the hell is up with him, oh come on, where did he go, he said he knew where to go … I parked the car while trying not to panic. I ran into the library and was told no one saw anyone fitting his description. I was in front of the library with nearly 10 minutes past since I dropped him off.  I thought of that movie Ransom, I thought about going to the police station which was across the street, and I thought about calling my wife.  I was freaking out and turning my head around furiously like a merry-go-round when a man poked his head out of a car and said, “Are you looking for a little boy? He’s up the block.” I ran while alternating my mutterings between: I am going to kill him, thank G-d, and what was I thinking?  After finally catching up to my son (I ran up two other blocks before finding the one the man was referring to), I grabbed his hand and tried to remain patient. I wanted to give him a lecture, but settled for I was really nervous, why didn’t you come back to where we talked about, and you have to listen. Okay, so I gave a brief lecture. Who wouldn’t?

As we rode home together and my heart beat slowed to its regular pace, I peeked at my son in the rearview mirror.  I came to two understandings.  Firstly, I was not going to tell my wife about this. The second understanding was that though he is big brother it does not mean he is necessarily responsible.  Rushing and bonding don’t go together.