In the past few months my stuff, keys, wallet, pens, etc. have started hiding from me. When I go to pick them up from their normal places..they have moved. It has gotten mildly annoying.
Now my coffee mugs seem to have joined in the game. I have three coffee mugs that I use. My favorite has no clever printing or silly pictures. It is simple white mug (probably from Ikea) the opening is about the same size as the bottom, but the mug is bowed out in the center with a handle that is just the right size. The other two are mugs that have sayings or quotes on them that I like. Now, all of a sudden they have all conspired against me.
For the past week, I have done as I have always done. I fill up my bride's coffee mug with the right amount of creamer and take it to her just as she gets out of the shower. Then I go back to kitchen and fill my mug. Then I wonder around accomplishing various tasks. So occasionally I set my coffee down to make the bed, or check facebook, or watch a moment of news...then I can't find my mug. I look here and there. I go back into the bathroom, scan the counter, mutter "Nothing" to my bride's question, "What do you need?" Then I walk back into the kitchen, and there my mug sits, in the middle of the cooking island, looking innocent and wide-eyed. I know good and well that I looked there before. So the only possible explanation is that the mug hid, then leaped onto the island while I was at the other end of the house, making me think that it was there the entire time.
So the next day I change mugs..same thing. Only now I can hear the giggling when I'm not in the room. These mugs are cooking this up at night while in the cabinet. They think it is funny to exasperate the old man early in the morning. I don't think the coffee is in on it, the coffee is an innocent bystander. In fact, by the time the mug unhides itself, the coffee is pretty cool to the entire escapade. So I have to warm it up in the microwave and the whole event starts over again.
Why would these mugs do this? The only explanation I can come up with is that they are in the moment of life called "teenage" mugs. Foolish pranks to upset the old guy. Well, I have a surprise for them, it is called "garage sale" See how they like being used as pen holders or better yet spit cups for the red-necked clan. I think I will find me a nice Japanese mug, no handle, but very proper.
Godspeed to those out there with well-behaved mugs. Mine are a bunch of hooligans.
Don
Monday, April 23, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
The Best Day
My bride does not like surprises. Which is a little incongruous because she married me and I am nothing if not surprising. But we dated and were engaged for a couple of years before saying "I do" so it is all on her.
This day is not a surprise, but we had a surprise birthday party last weekend when all the kids and grandkids were in town. She made it clear to me again that she doesn't like surprises. But we pulled it off, and she ate the cake and opened the gifts like the good sport she always is.
But here are a few things that make me fall in love everyday with this birthday girl.
She is all about everyone else. Our home is a secondary location for Hobby Lobby, JoAnnes, and innumerable little craft and quilting stores. You see, she custom makes a new blanket for each new grandchild. FIVE at this point. ONE in process. These things are heirlooms, not just because they are priceless, but because they are high quality and treasured by every single grandchild. Even Eli, who is sneaking up on 9 years old, still snuggles in with his. His little sister, Phoebe, left hers at our house and I had to mail it back. These things are works of art. And my bride sits on the floor and cuts and assorts and rearranges and sews and stitches each and every one. She does not cut corners when it comes to her grandbabies.
But it doesn't stop there, when we are out shopping she will buy something and I quiz her on what it is for, "Jordan is looking for this" or "Carrie needs this." or "Sarah will look really good in this." Wait a minute, those people are off our payroll! but she shops and looks and buys and contemplates what she saw where and what everyone needs.
But wait. Just two nights ago, "What are you sewing now?" Answer: "So and so needs this prom dress and her mother wanted me to make it." Really? A prom dress? She has done curtains, hemmed dresses. The list goes on and on. She gets paid for the stuff she has to buy, but it is her way of saying to people, "I love you and don't mind doing this."
She has always scouted the edge of the crowd and befriended the "odd ones" She has always gone beyond what is expected to make others feel welcome.
Now, mix in with all this a willingness to mix it up with anyone who she feels is taking advantage. I know it keeps me on my toes. She is kind and tough, soft and unyielding, challenging and a respite, maddening and healing.
She is my bride, my heart, my soul. This would be one dim place indeed without her.
Happy Birthday, Bev. I love you. Always have..always will.
Godspeed to all those who were captured early in the love wars.
Don
This day is not a surprise, but we had a surprise birthday party last weekend when all the kids and grandkids were in town. She made it clear to me again that she doesn't like surprises. But we pulled it off, and she ate the cake and opened the gifts like the good sport she always is.
But here are a few things that make me fall in love everyday with this birthday girl.
She is all about everyone else. Our home is a secondary location for Hobby Lobby, JoAnnes, and innumerable little craft and quilting stores. You see, she custom makes a new blanket for each new grandchild. FIVE at this point. ONE in process. These things are heirlooms, not just because they are priceless, but because they are high quality and treasured by every single grandchild. Even Eli, who is sneaking up on 9 years old, still snuggles in with his. His little sister, Phoebe, left hers at our house and I had to mail it back. These things are works of art. And my bride sits on the floor and cuts and assorts and rearranges and sews and stitches each and every one. She does not cut corners when it comes to her grandbabies.
But it doesn't stop there, when we are out shopping she will buy something and I quiz her on what it is for, "Jordan is looking for this" or "Carrie needs this." or "Sarah will look really good in this." Wait a minute, those people are off our payroll! but she shops and looks and buys and contemplates what she saw where and what everyone needs.
But wait. Just two nights ago, "What are you sewing now?" Answer: "So and so needs this prom dress and her mother wanted me to make it." Really? A prom dress? She has done curtains, hemmed dresses. The list goes on and on. She gets paid for the stuff she has to buy, but it is her way of saying to people, "I love you and don't mind doing this."
She has always scouted the edge of the crowd and befriended the "odd ones" She has always gone beyond what is expected to make others feel welcome.
Now, mix in with all this a willingness to mix it up with anyone who she feels is taking advantage. I know it keeps me on my toes. She is kind and tough, soft and unyielding, challenging and a respite, maddening and healing.
She is my bride, my heart, my soul. This would be one dim place indeed without her.
Happy Birthday, Bev. I love you. Always have..always will.
Godspeed to all those who were captured early in the love wars.
Don
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The Pot of Gold
One of my current favorite quotes right now is "Children are the rainbow from God, grandchildren are the pot of gold" I have no idea who coined this quote, but I like it. As the scriptural take on the first part, God displayed the rainbow as a reminder to himself that he would never destroy his creation with floods again. When I contemplate my kids I reframe the promise by imagining that the rainbow of our kids is a promise that our lives, our dreams, our hopes, our significance will not be destroyed by the floods of pain and worry and set-backs we endure in this moment. God's promise holds true for him and for us.
Grandkids are the reward of a life spent raising our kids. Oh there were rewards from the kids, but those rewards were hard earned, and hard fought. We received very tough on-the-job training because these kids came with no instruction manual. Then, just to be funny, God sent us each one different than the last. So 80% of what you learned on the first one was useless with with the second and on and on.
These grandbabies certainly bring their own share of worry and concern. But because we are so much more settled in where we are, we can enjoy their development without the fear of scarring, the fear of failure. We get to hold them close and snuggle into their necks and laugh at their antics. The cares of raising them falls to the ones we have raised. It was with pleasure that I watched each of my kids and kids-in-law this last weekend spend most of their time instructing these little ones. As far as I could see none of the adult kids missed a single opportunity to teach. The lessons of sharing, of letting the other one finish with a toy, of correcting defiant behaviour, of encouraging kindness were all manifested at some point during the weekend.
Meanwhile, Grandaddy got to play 13 holes of golf with his eldest grandson and talk about his new hobby of running, he only won a $1 off of me for hitting the green from the tee box. Phoebe snuggled close on Sunday morning and we talked about her school and her art and dancing, the human warmth and heart warmth were treasures stacking up in my soul. Park and slides and throwing rocks are the stuff of Lincoln, and we did them all; his "no, Siddy (silly)" as fun to hear the 100th time as the first. The repetitions on the 3' slide in the backyard with Isaac as he would grin and stand at the steps, arms up, saying "Again?" OF COURSE again, who could refuse? And then Lola, who at three weeks really only has sleeping and eating and pooping down to an art, but to sit and wonder at the possibilities as I got to gaze into her face and wonder about the future. And though a while from now, watching my d-i-l expand as little Abbey grows, not yet seen, but loved already.
My rainbow has three vibrant colors that still mesmerize me. They are far beyond what I could have hoped far. They are funny with wickedly good humor. They care for all the others, not a prima donna in the bunch. Same with my kids-in-law, and expanded rainbow. Who would have guessed?
And the gold is pure and good and has made me a wealthy man. Wealth beyond my wildest dreams of avarice.
Godspeed, I hope you all find your pot of gold.
Don
Grandkids are the reward of a life spent raising our kids. Oh there were rewards from the kids, but those rewards were hard earned, and hard fought. We received very tough on-the-job training because these kids came with no instruction manual. Then, just to be funny, God sent us each one different than the last. So 80% of what you learned on the first one was useless with with the second and on and on.
These grandbabies certainly bring their own share of worry and concern. But because we are so much more settled in where we are, we can enjoy their development without the fear of scarring, the fear of failure. We get to hold them close and snuggle into their necks and laugh at their antics. The cares of raising them falls to the ones we have raised. It was with pleasure that I watched each of my kids and kids-in-law this last weekend spend most of their time instructing these little ones. As far as I could see none of the adult kids missed a single opportunity to teach. The lessons of sharing, of letting the other one finish with a toy, of correcting defiant behaviour, of encouraging kindness were all manifested at some point during the weekend.
Meanwhile, Grandaddy got to play 13 holes of golf with his eldest grandson and talk about his new hobby of running, he only won a $1 off of me for hitting the green from the tee box. Phoebe snuggled close on Sunday morning and we talked about her school and her art and dancing, the human warmth and heart warmth were treasures stacking up in my soul. Park and slides and throwing rocks are the stuff of Lincoln, and we did them all; his "no, Siddy (silly)" as fun to hear the 100th time as the first. The repetitions on the 3' slide in the backyard with Isaac as he would grin and stand at the steps, arms up, saying "Again?" OF COURSE again, who could refuse? And then Lola, who at three weeks really only has sleeping and eating and pooping down to an art, but to sit and wonder at the possibilities as I got to gaze into her face and wonder about the future. And though a while from now, watching my d-i-l expand as little Abbey grows, not yet seen, but loved already.
My rainbow has three vibrant colors that still mesmerize me. They are far beyond what I could have hoped far. They are funny with wickedly good humor. They care for all the others, not a prima donna in the bunch. Same with my kids-in-law, and expanded rainbow. Who would have guessed?
And the gold is pure and good and has made me a wealthy man. Wealth beyond my wildest dreams of avarice.
Godspeed, I hope you all find your pot of gold.
Don
Friday, March 30, 2012
Free Will
A philosophy professor I had a few years ago said, "Philosophy is a wonderful handmaiden, but a terrible taskmaster." Every time I read a book that deals with some facet of philosophy, I think of this quote. Mostly because philosophy gives me tired head. It circles around and around and asks different questions and pushes the boundaries of what I have always considered truth and makes me wonder if they are just snotty, know-it-alls or if I'm mentally handicapped in some way and just can't see it. With that said, about twice or thrice a year I pick up a book on philosophy and spend a time in intellectual flagellation. See, I'm even beginning to sound like them.
But a couple of days ago I started reading Free Will by Sam Harris. To sum up his view of free will, he believes it is a delusion we created to help us cope with our lack of control on the world around us. There, now you don't have to read the book. But I started it because most of the sections in the old book that give me greatest amount of angst is the collision between Divine providence and (you guessed it) Free Will. And you have to understand I have read a lot of material about all the major constructs of this argument from Determinism, Libertarianism, Compatibilism, Openness, Molinism and the list goes on. I even have a working knowledge of some of them.
So why put myself through this? There is only one reason. It makes me "think" better. It makes me show my answers. Philosophy makes us run through all the thought strings until they either circle back on themselves or they run out and aren't valid. I believe the lack of critical thought is one of the greatest weaknesses in the Christian world-view. We accept without question the doctrine and, consequently, look foolish to the rest of the world. I think it was Stalin who claimed that Christianity was the opiate of the masses. When we don't think critically, we illustrate his point.
So I will finish the book. I don't know if I chose to read it, or as the author claims it was my destiny, manufactured by my psycho-neurons and past experiences. Maybe my next post will be on the couple I saw at the Detroit airport yesterday where he was 6'4" and she was 4'11". Incongruity is all around us.
Godspeed, I still describe myself as a "functional skeptic" maybe it has to do with my reading material.
Don
But a couple of days ago I started reading Free Will by Sam Harris. To sum up his view of free will, he believes it is a delusion we created to help us cope with our lack of control on the world around us. There, now you don't have to read the book. But I started it because most of the sections in the old book that give me greatest amount of angst is the collision between Divine providence and (you guessed it) Free Will. And you have to understand I have read a lot of material about all the major constructs of this argument from Determinism, Libertarianism, Compatibilism, Openness, Molinism and the list goes on. I even have a working knowledge of some of them.
So why put myself through this? There is only one reason. It makes me "think" better. It makes me show my answers. Philosophy makes us run through all the thought strings until they either circle back on themselves or they run out and aren't valid. I believe the lack of critical thought is one of the greatest weaknesses in the Christian world-view. We accept without question the doctrine and, consequently, look foolish to the rest of the world. I think it was Stalin who claimed that Christianity was the opiate of the masses. When we don't think critically, we illustrate his point.
So I will finish the book. I don't know if I chose to read it, or as the author claims it was my destiny, manufactured by my psycho-neurons and past experiences. Maybe my next post will be on the couple I saw at the Detroit airport yesterday where he was 6'4" and she was 4'11". Incongruity is all around us.
Godspeed, I still describe myself as a "functional skeptic" maybe it has to do with my reading material.
Don
Thursday, March 22, 2012
5 and 2
But it isn't the scorecard. It is the piling up of blessings that prompts this blog. Yesterday we added our 5th grandchild and 2nd granddaughter. She came to us in fine shape, all parts intact and working. Her momma is now recovering and dealing with the physical pain of the procedure, and rejoicing in the knowledge that this little red-faced girl is healthy and sweet and finally here.
It was not until the evening that I got to hold her, watch her for a moment and finish the prayer that started several months ago. Praying that she would be healthy and sound, that the pregnancy would be uneventful (which it was until Monday when her momma fell walking into school, all was fine)
But the prayer went far beyond that. I have discovered that life tends to throw us hardballs that we sometimes can't duck. The constant companion of grandparents is worry, for parents it is guilt. Worry because we know what life can do to us, guilt because we did not prepare those gifted to us in the best way possible. But I have about decided that grandparent's greatest role is to provide perspective. The fierce fighter in the kid has great potential for wide ranging change because of the very things that drive his parents crazy. The gentle nature of others will be taken advantage of, but it is our only hope for a compassionate society. The song and dance of a little girl's heart will be broken, but it is only through her dancing and singing will we catch a glimpse of angels. And the little tyke who has such an inventive and infectious sense of humor will have to find a way to deal with the seriousness of life, but he will bring the healing power of laughter to all of us.
So what will this new life bring to us? Will she be serious, will she be thoughtful, will she be caring, will she bring comfort? I don't know. These blessings tend to create a life of their own. They tend to find their own way. It is up to us to provide a trail for them to follow.
And so I wonder about her. Will she ever love me as much as I love her at this very moment? The other four have created their own rooms in my heart. They all moved into my thoughts and prayers, they took the best places and have made the house of my heart a better place. The room for Lola is now being furnished. It will take months and years to finish the job. I pray that God grants me the longevity to meet the unknown ones that will be their mates. I don't care if they have to wheel me into the church for the last one, I would like to be there. But if I am not, I hope that whatever I have been able to pass on to them will be of value, will be treasured.
Lola came to us yesterday with her little red face, her thatch of black hair, and her fingers wrapped around our hearts. Captured again by someone whom I don't even know...yet.
Godspeed out there. As I mentioned in the culture's front porch called Facebook. Children are the rainbows of our lives, grandkids are the pot of gold.
Don
It was not until the evening that I got to hold her, watch her for a moment and finish the prayer that started several months ago. Praying that she would be healthy and sound, that the pregnancy would be uneventful (which it was until Monday when her momma fell walking into school, all was fine)
But the prayer went far beyond that. I have discovered that life tends to throw us hardballs that we sometimes can't duck. The constant companion of grandparents is worry, for parents it is guilt. Worry because we know what life can do to us, guilt because we did not prepare those gifted to us in the best way possible. But I have about decided that grandparent's greatest role is to provide perspective. The fierce fighter in the kid has great potential for wide ranging change because of the very things that drive his parents crazy. The gentle nature of others will be taken advantage of, but it is our only hope for a compassionate society. The song and dance of a little girl's heart will be broken, but it is only through her dancing and singing will we catch a glimpse of angels. And the little tyke who has such an inventive and infectious sense of humor will have to find a way to deal with the seriousness of life, but he will bring the healing power of laughter to all of us.
So what will this new life bring to us? Will she be serious, will she be thoughtful, will she be caring, will she bring comfort? I don't know. These blessings tend to create a life of their own. They tend to find their own way. It is up to us to provide a trail for them to follow.
And so I wonder about her. Will she ever love me as much as I love her at this very moment? The other four have created their own rooms in my heart. They all moved into my thoughts and prayers, they took the best places and have made the house of my heart a better place. The room for Lola is now being furnished. It will take months and years to finish the job. I pray that God grants me the longevity to meet the unknown ones that will be their mates. I don't care if they have to wheel me into the church for the last one, I would like to be there. But if I am not, I hope that whatever I have been able to pass on to them will be of value, will be treasured.
Lola came to us yesterday with her little red face, her thatch of black hair, and her fingers wrapped around our hearts. Captured again by someone whom I don't even know...yet.
Godspeed out there. As I mentioned in the culture's front porch called Facebook. Children are the rainbows of our lives, grandkids are the pot of gold.
Don
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
The Answer May be Behind Us
Yesterday I checked into a Hampton Inn somewhere west of St. Louis for a meeting this morning with a new(ish) customer. When I checked in, though late in the afternoon, I asked if they had any USA Todays left. They did not have today's edition but yesterday's. Since I hadn't read it, I took a copy and scanned through it while working on the laptop. I came across an article titled, "Millenials aren't amoral, adrift"
The article rightly points out that older generations tend to view younger generations with an enormous amount of skepticism. Everything they do is wrong and everything we do is right. The term "going to hell in hand basket" was a term used by my parent's generation to describe my group. The older I get, the more I tend to agree with them. But the younger generations do have two areas that diverge strongly from my parent's generation. The rejection of worldly religious/secular/political organizations, and the tolerance for lifestyles that do not easily fit into the conservative framework. My generation seems to be the "missing link" in this argument. Like a hybridization gone terribly wrong, my generation seems to encapsulate all that is wrong with generations on both sides. Alas, I digress.
In the article are various authors of note quoting either one side or the other, but the essence is that the generations behind us have a very different world-view than we do. While rejecting the authority of the organizations, they have a keen interest in social justice. They have discovered all too well that the organizations of the world today are far more interested in the health and vitality of the organization than the individuals who make up that organization. In this I agree with them. Church today is far more about marketing than maturing. Politics is about greed than governing. The common discourse is demonizing anyone who disagrees with your singular and insular point of view.
So what makes those of us over 45 cringe with the younger crowd? They make us uncomfortable with their ability to ignore the church politics while flinging themselves into secular volunteerism. Why? Because they see far less damage by the organization towards those being helped or the volunteers carrying out the mission than they do in "church". They believe in Jesus, pray daily, and find no issue with friends and family who embrace another lifestyle. This last one drives the old folks crazy. As it becomes more culturally acceptable to live an alternate lifestyle, we will have develop a language that will become inclusive, rather than exclusive. By the way, if "all good things come from heaven" how can we condemn a long-term, loving, sacrificial relationship between homosexuals? I have observed one for many years as one partner cared daily for her partner who had a massive stroke, FOR YEARS. I'm just saying that there are a lot of layers to this blanket condemnation we publish, yet our younger travelers seem to accept and love and embrace those with ease.
These younger generations can teach a thing or two about getting to the core essence of being engaged at an organic level, of accepting people for who and where they are, of focusing their energy on finding common ground instead of battle ground. I think I like these young folks a lot. Maybe I can dye my hair, lose a few, and sit on their back row and listen. You never know, I might learn something.
Godspeed to you millenialists, we don't understand you, but we are beginning to trust your instincts.
Don
The article rightly points out that older generations tend to view younger generations with an enormous amount of skepticism. Everything they do is wrong and everything we do is right. The term "going to hell in hand basket" was a term used by my parent's generation to describe my group. The older I get, the more I tend to agree with them. But the younger generations do have two areas that diverge strongly from my parent's generation. The rejection of worldly religious/secular/political organizations, and the tolerance for lifestyles that do not easily fit into the conservative framework. My generation seems to be the "missing link" in this argument. Like a hybridization gone terribly wrong, my generation seems to encapsulate all that is wrong with generations on both sides. Alas, I digress.
In the article are various authors of note quoting either one side or the other, but the essence is that the generations behind us have a very different world-view than we do. While rejecting the authority of the organizations, they have a keen interest in social justice. They have discovered all too well that the organizations of the world today are far more interested in the health and vitality of the organization than the individuals who make up that organization. In this I agree with them. Church today is far more about marketing than maturing. Politics is about greed than governing. The common discourse is demonizing anyone who disagrees with your singular and insular point of view.
So what makes those of us over 45 cringe with the younger crowd? They make us uncomfortable with their ability to ignore the church politics while flinging themselves into secular volunteerism. Why? Because they see far less damage by the organization towards those being helped or the volunteers carrying out the mission than they do in "church". They believe in Jesus, pray daily, and find no issue with friends and family who embrace another lifestyle. This last one drives the old folks crazy. As it becomes more culturally acceptable to live an alternate lifestyle, we will have develop a language that will become inclusive, rather than exclusive. By the way, if "all good things come from heaven" how can we condemn a long-term, loving, sacrificial relationship between homosexuals? I have observed one for many years as one partner cared daily for her partner who had a massive stroke, FOR YEARS. I'm just saying that there are a lot of layers to this blanket condemnation we publish, yet our younger travelers seem to accept and love and embrace those with ease.
These younger generations can teach a thing or two about getting to the core essence of being engaged at an organic level, of accepting people for who and where they are, of focusing their energy on finding common ground instead of battle ground. I think I like these young folks a lot. Maybe I can dye my hair, lose a few, and sit on their back row and listen. You never know, I might learn something.
Godspeed to you millenialists, we don't understand you, but we are beginning to trust your instincts.
Don
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Showers are Parties
Showers are parties for the softer side of human-kind. Showers for the ugly side are a quick way to get clean without sitting down. I will freely admit that I do not understand the allure of the female affinity for this event (the party shower, not the cleaning shower).
Oh, I get the need and willingness to gather stuff for the coming nuptials or the impending baby arrival. I just don't get the fervor around making it a party. Now there is the nuance of having "themes" for these showers. Hmm, isn't a baby theme enough?
So for days and weeks ahead of the shower a group of women gather and plan the event. Like the "elder" women conferring on the young mother-to-be not only the essentials like strollers and diaper bags and baby clothes, but the constant transmittal of knowledge through legend.
"My second one carried a lot lower and that seemed to be a boy/girl thing"
"You will know when it is time to go to the hospital because..." (frankly I quit listening, it was becoming much too graphic for my comfort level)
"Oh they let you stay for 48 hours instead of 24, like when mine were born"
On and on the legend and lore of baby birthing is transmitted from one generation to the next.
And the planning of the shower is almost as intense as the development of the baby. What kind of food, where it should be, what decorations need to be rounded up, who to invite. My eldest daughter stated early that she couldn't help all that much leading up to the event, but she wanted to be in charge. Guys would balk at this concept, the ladies all seemed to think this was a great idea. Sometimes I just have to shrug my shoulders and realize that I will never get it.
Then the actual day of the event and I am informed that my strong back would be needed to haul decorations/cake plates/desserts/gifts to the location. My opinions/views/remarks were not welcome AT ALL. So, like the whipped husband and father I am, I loaded boxes and unloaded boxes standing in the living room like a big dumb farm animal holding the box until I was told specifically where to set it down. Thank goodness my eldest daughter was there, she can make a quick decisions and there is no one to disagree. After all they put in her in charge.
I will tell you that we men have no interest in this event. The quickest way to get a man to shake in his shoes is tell him it is a "couples shower." We would rather have a doctor's exam than to endure these things. The food is marginal (rarely any meat) the conversation is so estrogen-filled that we can't hear it (like a dog whistle, we know from the reactions that something is being said, we just can't hear it) and our tolerance for all things pink is pretty low.
We made through though. My youngest is having some really early signs of labor, my son-in-law is a little stunned by the entire thing (The first time around was a C-section) I think he prefers the schedule. Lola's room is ready, though awfully pink. We are locked and loaded..
Godspeed out there to all the guys who have or will go through this right of passage. We have all done it. We just don't understand it.
Don
Oh, I get the need and willingness to gather stuff for the coming nuptials or the impending baby arrival. I just don't get the fervor around making it a party. Now there is the nuance of having "themes" for these showers. Hmm, isn't a baby theme enough?
So for days and weeks ahead of the shower a group of women gather and plan the event. Like the "elder" women conferring on the young mother-to-be not only the essentials like strollers and diaper bags and baby clothes, but the constant transmittal of knowledge through legend.
"My second one carried a lot lower and that seemed to be a boy/girl thing"
"You will know when it is time to go to the hospital because..." (frankly I quit listening, it was becoming much too graphic for my comfort level)
"Oh they let you stay for 48 hours instead of 24, like when mine were born"
On and on the legend and lore of baby birthing is transmitted from one generation to the next.
And the planning of the shower is almost as intense as the development of the baby. What kind of food, where it should be, what decorations need to be rounded up, who to invite. My eldest daughter stated early that she couldn't help all that much leading up to the event, but she wanted to be in charge. Guys would balk at this concept, the ladies all seemed to think this was a great idea. Sometimes I just have to shrug my shoulders and realize that I will never get it.
Then the actual day of the event and I am informed that my strong back would be needed to haul decorations/cake plates/desserts/gifts to the location. My opinions/views/remarks were not welcome AT ALL. So, like the whipped husband and father I am, I loaded boxes and unloaded boxes standing in the living room like a big dumb farm animal holding the box until I was told specifically where to set it down. Thank goodness my eldest daughter was there, she can make a quick decisions and there is no one to disagree. After all they put in her in charge.
I will tell you that we men have no interest in this event. The quickest way to get a man to shake in his shoes is tell him it is a "couples shower." We would rather have a doctor's exam than to endure these things. The food is marginal (rarely any meat) the conversation is so estrogen-filled that we can't hear it (like a dog whistle, we know from the reactions that something is being said, we just can't hear it) and our tolerance for all things pink is pretty low.
We made through though. My youngest is having some really early signs of labor, my son-in-law is a little stunned by the entire thing (The first time around was a C-section) I think he prefers the schedule. Lola's room is ready, though awfully pink. We are locked and loaded..
Godspeed out there to all the guys who have or will go through this right of passage. We have all done it. We just don't understand it.
Don
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