I need fellow parents to chime in on this one, particularly Angelenos – is it normal to have to visit the dumpster four times a day once you have children?!?
Ever since Archer & Logan came home, I feel like I can’t walk Rexford without there being a stack of trash waiting by the door.
Maybe it’s the convenience(necessity) of delivery & pre-prepared meals in the concrete utopia of LA? Or perhaps the fact that instead of weekly trips to Target (like most parents?) we order daily items from Amazon?
It doesn’t help that we have to clean the bunnies‘ litter boxes and cages every week.
& diapers. Always diapers.
I really shouldn’t complain; I can’t imagine working a full job, having the twin-feeding cycle, & having to create our own meals twenty-one times a week instead of simply visiting munchery.com.
At the same time, I sometimes do miss life outside LA, where you can own a home, with a garage, & only have to put your trash out once a week on Tuesday nights…
Tuesday night, that reminds me! I have to set out the boxes for Farm Fresh To You‘s overnight produce delivery tonight.
In my twenties, I had this awkward notion that A-shirts (the colloquial “wife beater”) were the best option for men. Perhaps it was my sometimes-chiseled body, perhaps it was a misguided notion of manliness, either way you couldn’t convince me otherwise.
A few years back I transitioned into the professional world. My suit-&-tie life also meant a wardrobe shift to V-Neck undershirts. After all, what’s the point of wearing Hugo Boss if your deodorant discolors the pits after two wears?
For those of you who don’t have children yet, here is a picture of what a baby’s hand looks like, with a CLOSE-UP view:
I have no point of reference for how parents of one child manage their time. For us, with twin babies who EACH need to be fed every three hours (-changed, fed, burped, changed again-), certain things (like nail-trimming) just fall by the wayside.
Which leads to the title of this blog post. I need to buy some new shirts ASAP, crew-neck.
Because try as I might, I can’t burp my boys without yelping at least three times a minute.
If they don’t grow up to be professional mountain climbers, they will have some serious explaining to do.
*note – dad complains & yelps; mom breastfeeds both of them 17 times a day.
As an artist & storyteller, I still have projects from the past decade that are incomplete. My desk features about 270 business cards still waiting to be entered into my CRM. I have yet to file my extension on my taxes & I have three fix-it tickets sitting in my car glove box from January (#beingagrownman).
I am blessed to be the rare Angeleno, er, Beverly Hill…ite?… who lives within five minutes of their work. 4 minutes 37 seconds, to be exact. So when I am five minutes late to work it literally means I left at the time I was supposed to be there.
And I thought being a dad was going to make this punctuality issue somehow better?
Our boys spent 11 days in the NICU after arriving early at 34 1/2 weeks. As rough of a time as that was, feeling separated from them, having to make time to see them, parking and walking half a mile it seemed from the Cedars parking lot to the tower with the NICU, it came with a hidden blessing: scheduling. Our children came home on a strict 2:00/5:00/ 8:00/11:00 feeding schedule. They were trained to sleep thru constant beeps, and after two months we are now finding that once a night they tend to sleep thru one of their feeds as well.
If only we could accurately predict which one that would be, we’d be in fantastic shape.
Yet this morning, this morning of all mornings, when I woke up at 7:40 AM and my first meeting wasn’t until 9:30, this morning when I walked the dog, took out the trash, peeled my own hard-boiled egg (#beingagrownman), this morning, once again, I was late. Because, in just the past three days it seems, our sons started SMILING.
And I can’t get enough of it.
There I was, 9:20 AM, suit on, tie tied (Double Windsor! #beingagrownman), laptop and iPad and notepad in hand. I took one last look at Archer lying in his boppy and saw his eyes were wide open. I stopped in my tracks & said, in the closest thing I have to a sing-song voice, “Arrr-chhie!”
And my 9 week old son looked up at my face and smiled.
I instantly repeated the mantra, to an even wider grin. My next 7 minutes were like the best version of Groundhog’s Day ever.
I pulled into the work parking garage at 9:32 AM. My blessings compounded; my 9:30 meeting emailed me saying “stuck in traffic, five minutes late.”
Excuses are unacceptable, and being punctual is being a grown man. This one time, being a father trumps all. I will never forget those minutes I was late, making my son smile.