Sight for sore legs

There was a time when I used to enjoy running, perhaps tolerate is a better verb. This was primarily before child #4 came along. I was doing garage workouts similar to Crossfit WOD's, the only difference was that I didn't go around talking incessantly about how I do Crossfit.

INT: WE ARE AT A DINNER PARTY, GUESTS ARE MINGLING IN THEIR EVENING WEAR, AND MOST ARE HOLDING A BEVERAGE IN ONE HAND AS THEY TALK CAUSALLY WITH OTHER GUESTS.

HOST:     

I read recently that China's lack of infrastructure development, could potentially cause a                     massive collapse in its economy.  

CROSSFITTER (Feigning interest):         

It's funny because I was just thinking the other day that if I don't emphasize mobility in my Crossfit WOD's more, my time in some of the benchmark WOD's could suffer.

HOST:    

I'm afraid I don't see the connection.

CROSSFITTER:       

Is this dip Paleo?

HOST:     

I'm not sure what that means.

CROSSFITTER (Yelling):          

Crossfit !!!!!

In an effort to stay fit and to get out of the house, I would regularly load up E, Z, and H into a massive triple jogger stroller. The idea that seeing a man running down the sidewalk pushing a humongous stroller with 3 kids in it, never struck me as unique. However, every time I went out it never failed that I would get at least one honk from a passing car whose driver would give me a wave or a thumbs up. At first I thought I was just seeing people that knew me from work or something. As time passed and the pattern continued, I began to understand that passing cars were equally amused and impressed at the sight of a father pushing his 3 kids whilst out for a run.

I think people overestimated the difficulties I must have been experiencing. People probably assumed that the added weight of pushing 3 toddlers, must have infinitely increased the trials and tribulations of an otherwise leisurely jog. While I can attest that the 3 kids and jogger stroller added some resistance to my run, particularly on hills, the reality is it probably was not that much more difficult than when an octogenarian decides to add some hand and ankle weights to their mall walking routine.

The ego boost I received from passing cars probably took 20-30 seconds off of my mile, it was great feeling like some sort of Super Dad. On one occasion one guy rolled by, and shouted out of his open window, "You the man!". Thanks random stranger, I am the man. Not only am I great father for spending time with my kids, but my cardiovascular conditioning must be on par with triathletes..."I'm the Ironman!"

I sometimes wonder what kinds of memories my kids will have of me. Will they remember the times we went running? Will they remember how they used to shout green-light, and daddy would sprint as fast as he could pushing them in the stroller as they raised their hands over the heads screaming gleefully like they were on a roller coaster? Will they remember the countless trips to the park, or the times mommy and daddy would take them to the Farmer's Market? Will they fondly recall the times we had movie night, and ate popcorn and drank chocolate milk?

There is a running joke in my family, about how I was always changing what I wanted to be when I grew up. My parents and brother can all confirm, that at one time or another I wanted to be: an actor, a professional wrestler, a comic book artist, a chef, a rock star, an advertising executive, and a slew of other things. The fact that I came to finding my career as a teacher at the ripe old age of 36 is likely correlated to my constant fluctuation in career paths as a child. As I stated, I'm a teacher, but I've come to realize that's not how I want to be remembered. I want to be remembered as a good dad and husband. The highest achievement I could have would be for my grown kids to say, "Dad, you remember that time we...?" "You were a great dad."

So, with all of that in mind...

Mom, among other things, thanks for making that watermelon cake with green icing for my birthday that one year. You went to Bloomington one time for work, thanks for bringing home those He-man action figures that turned into rocks. Thanks for coming to all of my football games, and even though I acted like I was embarrassed because you were so loud and you always had that noise maker shakey thing...I secretly appreciated it. Thanks for telling me that I'd make a good teacher.

Dad, among other things, thanks for taking me to Olive Garden on quite a few of my birthdays. Thanks for taking me to Wrestlemania VIII, even though I'm pretty sure you don't like professional wrestling. I wish I would've returned the favor and gone fishing with you more, even though I'm pretty sure I don't like fishing. Admittedly, I sometimes thought you only had me and Nathan, because you wanted help with yard work...but, thanks for making me mow the yard, trim the hedges, shovel the driveway, etc. You should know I still hear your voice in my head, telling me if I'm going to do something, do it right. Thanks for giving me a couple of hundred bucks the day I moved my family to Las Vegas...you said it was to help with moving costs, but I know you just wanted to give me something tangible so that I knew you loved me. Also, thanks for not telling me I made a mistake when less than a year later, I moved my family back to Indiana.

Mom and Dad, you remember that time you asked the neighbors to put the presents under our tree while we were all at Grandma's house? And when we got home we thought Santa visited us?  You were great parents.

Barely Breathing...not just an obscure 90's song

There's something about being a parent that causes me to worry about my kids all the time. Last night I was downstairs folding laundry, because that's the exciting lifestyle I lead now. We had just put the kids to bed, when all of a sudden I hear a thunderous boom and the rattle of the ceiling above me, followed by the piercing scream that only a two year old can produce. Immediately I knew what happened. A picture of the new dresser we put in the boy's room ran through my mind's eye. However the dresser was not in its upright position, the sound came from the toppling over of said dresser. Which would obviously mean that the piercing screams were emanating from my son now trapped and probably crushed beneath the dresser. Cue panic and terror.

Springing from my laundry perch, I bolted up the stairs taking 4 steps at a time. Certain that I would need to heave the piece of furniture off of my son, I recalled those stories of mothers lifting cars off of their children in a rush of adrenaline...that's a thing right? As I kicked down the door like a DEA agent busting up a meth lab, I saw my son, safe but scared, standing on his bed tears flooding down his face. He was terrified at what he had done. It was like an episode of Maury Povich where they send troubled teens to prison in an attempt to scare them straight, by giving them a glimpse at the probable outcome to their poor life choices. Hopefully my son has been scared straight out of climbing furniture.

After I calmed my son down, which consisted of laying him down to sleep in our bed, I sat and reflected on the experience. I was reminded of how often I would check to make sure that my kids were still breathing when they were infants. Sneaking into their rooms when it seemed they had napped for an inordinate amount of time, I would get down on my knees so their chests and my eyes were on the same level. I would watch intently to make sure I saw the rise and fall of their chests, ensuring myself that my precious babies were in fact still breathing.

I swear I did these types of breathing checks multiple times a day. Call it what you will, paranoia, new parent anxiety,  or ignorance. Nevertheless, I developed a few techniques to assuage my fears of un-breathing babies. One is the aforementioned eye test, however there are times when the peaceful slumber of a child results in shallow and nearly imperceptible breaths. In these instances it is necessary to use the mirror method. Take a small mirror and place it adjacent to the child's nostrils or open mouth, if you see the mirror fog up then you can rest assured that the child is in fact breathing. The ear test works best when your child is suffering from some nasal congestion, as their breathing becomes heavier and more pronounced. If all else fails I will  recommend the nudge method, however this comes with a caveat and a pretty steep downside. You always run the risk of actually waking your child up if you choose to nudge them to see if they are still breathing. It cannot be emphasized enough that you must use a delicate and deft touch as you gently push, prod, or poke your sleeping child. Apply enough pressure to cause your infant to react in a manner that lets you know they're breathing, but not so much pressure that they wake up and cut into your Netflix time.

I reckon I'll never stop checking to see if my kids are still breathing. When my son skins his knee and scrapes his hand after the training wheels come off his Huffy, I will pick him up and check to make sure he's still breathing. When my daughter comes home crying because of something mean someone at school said about her, I will check to make sure she's still breathing. When my boy comes home with a busted lip, because he stood up to the school bully, I'll check to make sure he's still breathing. When my girls are teenagers and some stupid boy breaks their heart, I will check to make sure they are still breathing. When my sons don't make the team or perhaps drop the game winning pass, I will check to see if they're still breathing. When my children get an acceptance letter to their first choice college, or a "...we're sorry to inform you" letter from their first choice college, I will check to see if they're still breathing. When my son says to me, "Dad, I think she's the one.", I'll check to make sure he's still breathing. When I have to stand before a crowd of people, holding my daughters hand and say, "Her mother and I do...", I will kiss her cheek and check to make sure she's still breathing. When my son calls me up and says, "Dad it's a boy...", I will check to make sure he's still breathing.

Perhaps we check to see if our kids are still breathing, not because we worry about them, but because we want the very best that life has to offer for them.

Oh wait...I had a blog?

It's been a while since I last posted... actually it's been almost 5 years. To my tens of fans, I apologize for the season ending cliffhanger that was my last blog post. It's really nothing to be ashamed of though. Consider this, Harper Lee published her famed novel, "To Kill A Mockingbird" in 1960. It was recently announced that she plans to release her second novel later this year, that's an astonishing 55 year lay off for her between writings. So in comparison to Lee, I'm actually a prolific writer.

A lot can happen in a five year span. For instance, the Cecil family moved to Las Vegas and added another kid to our brood, a year later we moved back to Indiana and added another kid to our clan. I went back to school for a career change, and I'm now teaching high school English (Don't judge my grammar please). We bought a new house, and two used cars. We adopted a cat, and then gave it away. We adopted a dog, and then gave it away. We adopted another kid, and then...just kidding we didn't adopt anything else, but perhaps a few personality quirks. All that to say, I've got some catching up to do! I've been inspired/ challenged by colleagues and students to write on a more regular basis. So, I pledge to you my loyal fan base (i.e. mom) to write at least twice a lustrum.