Navigating Family Through a Life of Grace and Vulnerability.
If you’re like me you discover boundaries by stumbling across them. If this were the method for locating trip wires and land mines in the military you can rest assured there’d be casualties.
I entered parenthood with images of my cape flapping in the winds of success. Has it happened? Actually yes! I’ve accomplished all the things I set out to do. Oh and by the way – pigs fly!
Not a chance in… HELP! I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
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You know that feeling when you think you’re completely alone and then it hits you…that eerie gut-knowledge that someone saw it. Oh yeah – that feeling where your stomach instantly knots up and adrenaline and shame shoots through your entire body.
Nothing is worse. The first time it happened was shortly after Roxanne and I were married; I’d say within a couple weeks. She was in the living room – I was in our bedroom closet supposedly hanging up clothes. I was certain she’d never find out.
And then, right as I reached for the hanger bar to hang up a shirt, she was right behind. She’d witnessed it all. There was no hiding it any longer. She walked in and I was caught in the act.
I was a closet… Elmo voice-over pretender! Dun, dun, dun!!!
“What the heck are you doing?” “Uh, nothing – hanging up my clothes. Aren’t you supposed to be making dinner?!” “Well I was until I heard you talking back here. Who are you talking to?” “Umm.. uh, no one. I was – you know – talking like Elmo while I hung my clothes. Don’t judge me!”
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In case you didn’t know, it’s World Breastfeeding Week. It’s probably a rarity for a husband to share his opinion of breastfeeding on social media but here goes. I 100% support and encourage breastfeeding. I also 100% support a family choosing what is best for them. That’s that.
Honestly, before The Lady Foster and I started a family I had no thoughts or stances on cord blood, cesareans, water-births, doulas, placenta encapsulation, natural vs. epidural – let alone breastfeeding. When we were pregnant with our first (and by we I mean my wife) I was the epitome of the uneducated man. “As long as mom and baby are healthy I don’t care if we use a catcher’s mitt to catch the baby when she comes out… a little game of baseball perhaps!”
Roxanne on the other hand was prepared for EVERYTHING. If our daughter had been born in a thunderstorm producing whale-sized hail – a whale storm – she’d have been ready. She was adamant about breastfeeding our children and as soon as Scarlette was born the process began. It was right then and there that I became a breastfeeding dadvocate.
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Daddy Daughter Dates. We understand the implication: time well spent between a father and his daughter. I love these moments with my little girl. She and I regularly have “dates”. However, it may not always be a fine dining dinner setting (though occasionally it is). It is more often an early morning run to the grocery store in pajamas where she helps me carry the hand basket from aisle to aisle. Sometimes we go to the park together or to the library for movies and books.
My case is not that dads have dates with their daughters since that seems fairly obvious – dads should absolutely date their daughters. I hope to show you that simple, everyday exchanges between dads and daughters may actually serve her better rather than an outing to a restaurant or a fancy place in the city. Simply put, daddies should not just date their daughters, they should involve them in the circumstances of the day as long she can handle it.
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This entire blog is about vulnerability. Now is the time for you to learn a bit more about me. I am a madman at night. Hands down – no ifs, ands or buts about it. Jekyll and Hyde, Caleb and Lunatic.
The middle of the night… You know, the time of day when carefree loving fathers turn into raging lunatic werewolves after being roused from sleep. Oh, that’s just me? I call it “good dad/bad dad” time. I particularly struggle with this. During daytime hours I am all about make believe, going to the park, teaching my toddler how to crack eggs, showing my 8 month old son how to bite my ear when we wrestle, etc. That’s me.
But then there’s the version of me that wants to murder someone when I am woken from slumber. I sometimes don’t even remember what I say or do in the middle of the night. Roxanne has come to realize that waking me at night means she may get Caleb the husband or Caleb the Crazy; a mindless animal snarling about the little skin bag that won’t go to sleep in the next room. It’s a problem, I know. I’ve had many a conversation with Jesus about why He allows such apostasy in children, but He never seems to respond – I mean kids act like sleep is akin to the grips of death itself. “What’s wrong with you Lord?! You can fix this kid – so do it.”
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Real men engage.
I want to take some time to talk specifically to men; primarily husbands and fathers. So ladies, if your man is not into blogs or reading as a means to encourage them…pass this along to them. Maybe not in a “you NEED to hear this way” but just a simple “I think you’ll be encouraged by this, what are your thoughts?”
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“BE. QUIET. Your brother is trying to sleep.”
“I’m gonna count to 3!”
“Roxa… err, Carst… Scarlette – whatever your name is!”
“When mommy and daddy are talking you need to listen.”
“Don’t stand on that.”
“Don’t touch that!”
“Give that back to your brother.”
“Don’t take things from your sister.”
“Do NOT put that in your underwear!”
“Stop whining!”
“What did you just say?”
“Scarlette Grace!”
“Carsten James!”
So seriously – when did it happen? Did you even notice? No one sat me down and offered me lessons or handed me a language guide for parenting. Let’s face it. Some things just roll off the tongue effortlessly when parenting children. All those times I swore as kid never to be like or sound like my parents were pointless. The “mother’s curse”, or rather “father’s curse” is coming true. Not only do I sound like my parents, I am starting to look like my dad – pretty scary stuff. Pray for me.
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Dear Moms,
So we’re different – okay, we get it. Maybe we’re more into baby tossing than we are baby wearing. But seriously…which is more fun? There’s a good chance that pile of dirty diapers laying by the trash can in the kitchen were the shots we missed “from downtown”. You take spin classes, we spin the kids around and around. Same difference right? And maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance we were halfway home from the store when a little head peered over the driver side headrest and whispered, “Hey Daddy, I’m unbuckled”. That last one was purely in theory though. Right? Wrong. Sometimes we just drop the ball – on our kid’s toe. But I’d like to offer a case for letting dads be dads.
We know we’re a mess with our own methods, but we love our kids; even if some of our uncanny antics put them in “danger”… or even regular danger minus the ” “.
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