Category: Parenting

  • Helping My Kid with Math Homework

    I don’t know about you, but when I found out that I was going to become a father, I had visions of all kinds of stuff I would do with my kid – like teaching them how to drive, or tucking them into bed, or dropping them off at college. But never in a million years did I ever contemplate in those early days how much time I would spend helping my kid with math homework.

    And to set the record straight from the beginning, my kid is really good at math. Like, it just makes sense to her, and she finds it fun. I am very proud of her.

    Me? I suck at math. I mean, I’m not awful at it, but there is a point where I am very proficient at all things math, and then there is this line, usually involving fractions, that I no longer have a mastery of mathematics, and start getting nervous that I don’t know what I am doing. I first encountered this feeling in 5th grade when everyone in my class seemed to understand how to multiply fractions, and… I didn’t. And it’s not that I felt dumb, it’s that I felt lost, like I didn’t know which way to go to find a solution. It’s a very unsettling feeling.

    I was able to dance around math in junior high, and high school, kept a B average but I had to work at it. Never took a calculus class, though now I wish I would have. I did the very unwise thing in college that I was warned not to do, which was save my final math class for final senior semester. Luckily, my university had a math class for arts majors – it was “Intro to Statistics.” I got a B.

    So, when the kid comes to me for help, there is a little wave of panic that wiggles through me, but I know I am just having a flashback to 5th grade. I am lucky that 4th grade math is completely in my wheelhouse, so in front of my kid, I still appear that I have a mastery on the subject. Though I might not be the best at explaining everything, I do at least come up with the correct answer.

    I know to enjoy this 4th grade year, because when she gets to 5th grade, I will be closing in on that line.

  • Spending the Night

    The kid is at the age of “Peek Sleepovers.” Such as, the success or failure of a weekend can be determined if a sleepover occurs, regardless if the sleepover is a success or not. The kid has taken part in a few “slumber birthday parties,” and a weekend away with a friend whose family has a place out of the City. I do use the term “Peek” not only because the kid is super excited about having a sleepover, but also because the kids are still at the age where they will go to bed at a relatively decent hour, so we can all get some sleep. Once they get to middle school age, then it turns into staying up all night and watching movies, and there is no guarantee that I or the wife will be able to get any rest. But, as of now, the kid is happy, and that makes everyone happy.

    There other thing that I am happy for is that the kid has no issues with spending the night and being away from us. Not all kids are like that.

    I wasn’t – I went through phases though. When I was little, I had no problem sleeping over. Then somewhere around nine, it began to bother me being away from home. Like the first few hours would be fine, then all of a sudden, a feeling of dread came over me, like I would never see my family again, or ever be happy. I know that I was feeling home sick, and that’s natural, but the feeling was so controlling and paralyzing, and the only thing I could think of was getting home. And then when I got home, I was overcome with shame, that I didn’t have the courage of strength to spend the night, and, you know, be a normal kid. When friends would invite me over to spend the night, I would come up with excuses why I couldn’t.

    Then, it just all went away. The fear, the anxiety, all of it was just gone. I remember it was 6th grade, and I was over at my friend David’s house with some other kids. We all stayed for dinner, and then his parents said if we wanted to spend the night we could. There clearly was a bit of it was peer pressure to stay over, but also, I didn’t get that sinking feeling in my stomach. I remember calling my parents to ask if I could stay, and my mother asking me over and over and over if I was sure I wanted to do this. I said that I was, and then not thinking about it again. I ran home and grabbed some clothes and a sleeping bag, and I was just excited to hang out with friends, and stay up all night.

    I think we watched “Let’s Get Harry” on Cinemax because we thought it was a dirty movie. It’s not a dirty movie, it’s just a really bad and dull movie.

  • Soccer Travel Team and Sports in General

    So, over the weekend, the kid got an invitation to tryout for a youth travel soccer team. This is something that she has wanted for some time, and was excited that the club had kept her in mind. I mean, who doesn’t like being asked to dance, right? There was a flurry in our home of making sure we had all the right equipment, and socks, and shin guards. Not that you need to have perfect equipment to be good at a sport, (Is it not the bad carpenter who complains about their tools?) but having the right stuff sure can boost your confidence.

    In my parenting philosophy, I believe that kids should play a sport, up to the age of sixteen. It was the way my parents raised me, and I have to say that it did me good. I played baseball up until twelve, and then I switched over to tennis. No real surprise here, but baseball taught me the importance of teamwork, and working toward a common goal. I loved tennis because, I was all on my own to make it happen; just me versus the other guy – which left no room to blame anyone for a mistake, other than yourself. Both sports don’t use a clock, which I guess is why I enjoy taking my time at things?

    I hope that the kid makes the team, but I also know that it’s not the end of the world if it doesn’t work out. There are plenty of other sports and teams in the City, so she will get the experience of being on a team and all the joy, excitement and disappointment that comes along with it.

    Because learning to lose and not giving up is the biggest lesson one can learn. And there is also something wonderful about being on a truly awful team. And still showing up week after week, hoping that this is the day that your fortunes change, and you win just one.

    Maybe that was my experience…

  • I Like Coats, Scarves, and Gloves

    It’s cold in New York City, and I love it.

    For years now, winter around here hasn’t felt like winter. More like a “Perpetual End of Autumn” that carried on till the start of April. At least one Nor’easter would blow through every year, and dump four to six inches of snow on us, but within a week it would all be gone, and the reign of light coats would return. This was such a reliable pattern that the wife and I started to wonder if the winters of our first years in the City were a thing of memory.

    But starting Christmas week, the winters of the past returned; Snow fell and stayed on the ground, the temperature hung around freezing, and a feeling needing to be wrapped up on the couch was ever present.

    Perhaps I am a bit romantical when it comes to winter. I did grow up in Texas, where it rarely got below forty degrees in the deepest part of winter, and just the hint of snow was enough to close down the schools and services. I think it is true that most people are drawn to the thing they are most denied, and for me that was cold weather.

    For you see, my whole family was born and raised in Illinois. All, except me. I mean, I was born there, but we moved south when I was six months old, so my experience was the opposite of everyone else. My family would talk about snowball fights, building snowmen and snow-forts. There were foreign chores of shoveling out driveways and sidewalks. Keeping blankets, kitty litter, and chocolate bars in the car just in case. I remember seeing a pair of my father’s old snow boots, black rubber, that were up on a self in the garage, where they only thing they did was gather dust and become a relic of his other life.

    When I moved to New York back in 2006, it briefly snowed on my first Thanksgiving here, and it was close to the most magical thing that ever happened to me. That first snowstorm the following January was a moment of excitement, but also hammered home how unprepared I was for winter. I only had a Texas winter coat, which wasn’t a winter coat. No snow boots, but I did have a huge scarf that a good friend had given to me before I moved. I soon got a peacoat from an Army/Navy store on 16th and 6th, and still own it to this day. I have gone through several different pairs of snow shoes, and I am proud to tell you that I also still have that original scarf I was given – As it is rather long and thick, I pull it out to wrap my face on exceptionally cold days.

    The last time I talked to my dad, about a week ago, he was telling me of the coming winter storm headed his way in Texas. He dreaded it, and honestly, I think it annoyed him highly that it will get so very cold. “I moved down here to get away from all of that,” he told me, “I had enough cold to last me several lifetimes.” When he got the opportunity in his life, he ran to where it was hot, and took all of along with him.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Talking to the Dog, Shopping for Quirk, and Wrapping Up

    (Jump back, what’s that sound?)

    I know that I am not the only person who does this, because I have seen other people in my neighborhood do it, especially at night. And that’s talking to your dog on a walk. Now, I’m not talking about telling your dog that they are a good boy, or asking them to hurry up, or to slow down. No, I mean having a conversation with the dog. At home, I talk to the dog all the time. Like, if I have an idea, and I need to talk through it, the dog will be the recipient of my line of thinking. But out for a walk? No, I don’t want to look like the crazy guy on the block. Until, the other day, when I did it. I had several things I needed to take care of the next day, and I thought when the dog was trying to poop, that would be a good time to ask her if my agenda was in good order. She seemed to agree, or at least she had to no where else to go.

    As we are approaching Christmas, the wife and I have started looking for gifts for our family members who have a very excellent sense of humor. Last year, the winner was the fat plush cat with balls, which, for some odd reason, is no longer available on Amazon. For us, the quirk gift needs to revolve around a cat or cats. They do seem to be the funniest. Something with cat butts, or an art piece of cats watching use the bathroom are our winning ideas so far. No matter what we select, we do have to hope that it lands well, hence the good sense of humor being a requirement, but we also have to imagine and wonder what the reaction will be.

    AND as we approach Christmas, that will also mean that I need to wrap up my year on the blog. I only have two weeks left of live or daily created blogs left, and then I will start scheduling the final two weeks of the year. Lot’s of Christmas jokes, but I will again do a “Best Of…” week as well. In the past few years, I have let the “Best Of…” be the posts that received the most views, so you, the readers, have decided. This year I am going to change it up and select what I think were the five best blogs I put out. Maybe this is a good idea, maybe no one cares. Maybe it’s good to change things up from time to time.