NOTE: This piece was written back when I was married and earning my degree at Weber State University.
At first it seemed like a perfectly sound idea but now, a year later, I'm beginning to feel the decision to do it was a terrible mistake. The doctor said it was a necessary procedure and in time I would be glad I did it. But was it worth losing my identity?
In support of, and to encourage all men who find themselves in similar circumstances, I've decided to come out of the closet and admit to the whole world, I'm . . . a house husband. That's right. I'm what's referred to as a Mr. MOM.
On the advice of our physician my wife and I decided I should leave the labor force and return to college to finish my education. The route we chose to accomplish this was to reverse our roles at home; she would work full-time, I would care for the house and children while earning my degree. After all, I only had a couple of years left in college, how bad could it be?
LITTLE DID I KNOW! Not only have I found that it takes me three times longer to do house chores than it does my wife, but I'm also beginning to sound like my mom when I was a kid.
"Get off that kitchen floor. I just mopped it and it's not dry yet!" Or, "Who left this mess on my clean counter?"
Oh yes, I've even used that favorite super stand-by: "If you don't like what I've fixed for dinner you can go hungry. I'm not running a restaurant!"
What worries me more is I once caught myself saying to my wife, as I bolted out the door, "The kids are all yours; I've got to have a break or I'll lose my sanity.
"Now when we argue over how to raise children it's my wife who says, "You need to be more patient," and me who says, "You haven't had to put up with their nonsense all day. You've been at the office."
I went to the doctor a while back for knee trouble. He told me I had what is known in layman's terms as the House Maiden Knee Syndrome from too much kneeling and squatting while cleaning the home.
I've started examining my physic in the mirror before I step into the shower--just to make sure I still look desirable.
When my wife speaks of her male co-workers, jealousy strikes like a ten pound hammer. When she's really late coming home from work I become suspicious of her explanations, yet don't pry too hard for fear of what I might learn.
Recently it dawned on me that each morning I anxiously await the arrival of the mail; walking to the mailbox has become the high point of my day.
It's turning out that I'm now the one who's too tired at night for romance. And it seems every 30 days or so I'm easily provoked and I swear, I bloat and gain a few pounds for the better part of a week.
Finally, I knew I was going through an identity crises when I realized I was able to converse intelligently with my friends' wives about the topics discussed on the Oprah, Geraldo, and Donahue shows. I only hope I'll graduate before the temptation to watch soap operas overpowers me.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Circle of Life
One of the most important lessons I've learned is that life comes full circle.
When I was a toddler, my grandparents would take me fishing with them. Often, after they had caught a few fish from a lake, Grandma would divert my attention. As she did so, Gramps would take my fishing pole, grab a fish and attach my hook to its mouth. He then would slide the fish back into the water. Next, my grandparents would whoop and holler, "Dougie, you got one!
They would then help me reel in my catch and spend the rest of the trip bragging about what a good little fisherman I was.
Later, the trips mainly consisted of Grandpa and me. Though I was no longer a toddler, I always talked Gramps into tying and baiting my hook. He seemed happy to oblige, and, truth be told, I think that he preferred it that way--it kept me close, allowing him to keep an eye out for my safety.
Finally, I learned to tie and bait my own hook. Shortly thereafter, when we would go fishing, Gramps and I would split at water's edge, one heading up stream and the other down. Gramps was still a little nervous about my safety, and it wouldn't surprise me if the noises I sometimes heard in the bushes came from him, as he tried quietly to check on me.
Time passed; we both grew older; and I became reluctant to separate from Gramps while fishing. Age had taken its natural course. His heart grew weaker; his sight faded; and he became less agile on his feet, often stumbling among the rocks in a stream, falling into the water.Soon, I found myself wanting to keep him by my side, under my watchful care. But there was no chance to accomplish this without insulting his pride. So, after we would split at a stream bank, I often would sneak to some foliage behind Gramps and peek out to be sure he was all right.
Finally it happened.
It was one of our last outings before his death. It was late afternoon, and we were standing on his porch, rigging our poles. I noticed Gramps having difficulty threading his line through the hook's eye. Finally, with a sheepish grin, he asked, "Guess my eyes ain't what they use to be. Think you could tie my hook for me?"
I stood in silence at the wonderment of how life comes full circle. A smile spread across my face as I recalled the many years he had tied hooks for me and worried for my safety. It was now my turn to tie his hook. It was my turn to worry about his safety, to care for the caretaker.
It was a privilege to do so.
Now, when I tie a hook or bait a line for my sons, my thoughts turn to that last outing with my grandfather. As my soul fills with warmth, I thank the Lord for the opportunity to experience the circle of life.
When I was a toddler, my grandparents would take me fishing with them. Often, after they had caught a few fish from a lake, Grandma would divert my attention. As she did so, Gramps would take my fishing pole, grab a fish and attach my hook to its mouth. He then would slide the fish back into the water. Next, my grandparents would whoop and holler, "Dougie, you got one!
They would then help me reel in my catch and spend the rest of the trip bragging about what a good little fisherman I was.
Later, the trips mainly consisted of Grandpa and me. Though I was no longer a toddler, I always talked Gramps into tying and baiting my hook. He seemed happy to oblige, and, truth be told, I think that he preferred it that way--it kept me close, allowing him to keep an eye out for my safety.
Finally, I learned to tie and bait my own hook. Shortly thereafter, when we would go fishing, Gramps and I would split at water's edge, one heading up stream and the other down. Gramps was still a little nervous about my safety, and it wouldn't surprise me if the noises I sometimes heard in the bushes came from him, as he tried quietly to check on me.
Time passed; we both grew older; and I became reluctant to separate from Gramps while fishing. Age had taken its natural course. His heart grew weaker; his sight faded; and he became less agile on his feet, often stumbling among the rocks in a stream, falling into the water.Soon, I found myself wanting to keep him by my side, under my watchful care. But there was no chance to accomplish this without insulting his pride. So, after we would split at a stream bank, I often would sneak to some foliage behind Gramps and peek out to be sure he was all right.
Finally it happened.
It was one of our last outings before his death. It was late afternoon, and we were standing on his porch, rigging our poles. I noticed Gramps having difficulty threading his line through the hook's eye. Finally, with a sheepish grin, he asked, "Guess my eyes ain't what they use to be. Think you could tie my hook for me?"
I stood in silence at the wonderment of how life comes full circle. A smile spread across my face as I recalled the many years he had tied hooks for me and worried for my safety. It was now my turn to tie his hook. It was my turn to worry about his safety, to care for the caretaker.
It was a privilege to do so.
Now, when I tie a hook or bait a line for my sons, my thoughts turn to that last outing with my grandfather. As my soul fills with warmth, I thank the Lord for the opportunity to experience the circle of life.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
I Wear My Gray Proudly
When I was a school teacher my students often remarked that I should dye my hair and beard.
“You’d look so much younger,” they’d say.
They couldn’t understand that I was proud of my gray hair. Gray hair is like a badge of honor, earned for performance above and beyond the call of duty on the battlefield of life.
I’m reminded of the time eldest son passed on some information to me that caused me severe mental anguish—he told me that within a few months he would be old enough to apply for a driver’s permit.
I wasn’t sure he was ready for that, and I knew I wasn’t. I was still experiencing post tramatic stress syndrom from the first driving lesson I ever gave him.
On a Saturday afternoon we drove to an empty high school parking lot where I commenced to teach eldest son how to drive. At first, things went rather smooth, but upon reaching the end of the parking lot he tried to turn the truck around at much too high of speed and almost rolled my new pickup truck.
So I decided to take my son to a long, straight stretch of road, where he could drive a far piece without being forced to attempt a “U” turn. My plan was a good one except I had forgotten one important fact—there was a fifteen m.p.h. hairpin turn at one end of the road, the end we were driving toward.
When within one hundred yards of the turn, I suggested to eldest son that he start slowing the truck down in preparation for the turn. Eldest son insisted that was what he was trying to do. But when nearing seventy-five yards from the turn he still hadn’t slowed the thing down.
“You’d better slow down,” I said with a touch of tension in my voice.
At fifty yards from the hairpin turn we were still approaching it much too fast.
“SLOW DOWN!” I exclaimed. By now, I was beginning to panic.
“I have the brake pushed all the way to the floor but nothing’s happening,” was his reply.
Finally, when we were just twenty-five yards from the turn, it dawned on me why eldest son couldn’t get the truck to slow down even though he was pushing the break pedal all of the way down to the floor. What he thought was the foot brake was, in actuality, the clutch. I quickly moved my left foot to the driver’s side of the truck and pressed the brake pedal to the floor, bringing our vehicle to a hasty halt.
Without a word spoken between us, we exchanged places in the cab of the truck, and I drove us directly home, where I hastily when into my bedroom and changed my underwear.
"When can we go driving again?" Eldest son inquired the next morning.
"Just as soon as we buy a vehicle with an automatic transmission," I answered.
"When will that be?"
"When the truck wears out," I said.
And believe you me, I took great care of that truck. I planned on it running for a very long time.
2 comments:
Hale McKay said...
Whew! Sounds like an experience I had when I took my daughter out driving a few times. I still feel sorry for that piles of bagged leaves she run over. I was glad we pulled away before the poor person who had toiled so long raking and bagging them didn't see us. My ears were burning later when he must have been cleaning up the mess.
“You’d look so much younger,” they’d say.
They couldn’t understand that I was proud of my gray hair. Gray hair is like a badge of honor, earned for performance above and beyond the call of duty on the battlefield of life.
I’m reminded of the time eldest son passed on some information to me that caused me severe mental anguish—he told me that within a few months he would be old enough to apply for a driver’s permit.
I wasn’t sure he was ready for that, and I knew I wasn’t. I was still experiencing post tramatic stress syndrom from the first driving lesson I ever gave him.
On a Saturday afternoon we drove to an empty high school parking lot where I commenced to teach eldest son how to drive. At first, things went rather smooth, but upon reaching the end of the parking lot he tried to turn the truck around at much too high of speed and almost rolled my new pickup truck.
So I decided to take my son to a long, straight stretch of road, where he could drive a far piece without being forced to attempt a “U” turn. My plan was a good one except I had forgotten one important fact—there was a fifteen m.p.h. hairpin turn at one end of the road, the end we were driving toward.
When within one hundred yards of the turn, I suggested to eldest son that he start slowing the truck down in preparation for the turn. Eldest son insisted that was what he was trying to do. But when nearing seventy-five yards from the turn he still hadn’t slowed the thing down.
“You’d better slow down,” I said with a touch of tension in my voice.
At fifty yards from the hairpin turn we were still approaching it much too fast.
“SLOW DOWN!” I exclaimed. By now, I was beginning to panic.
“I have the brake pushed all the way to the floor but nothing’s happening,” was his reply.
Finally, when we were just twenty-five yards from the turn, it dawned on me why eldest son couldn’t get the truck to slow down even though he was pushing the break pedal all of the way down to the floor. What he thought was the foot brake was, in actuality, the clutch. I quickly moved my left foot to the driver’s side of the truck and pressed the brake pedal to the floor, bringing our vehicle to a hasty halt.
Without a word spoken between us, we exchanged places in the cab of the truck, and I drove us directly home, where I hastily when into my bedroom and changed my underwear.
"When can we go driving again?" Eldest son inquired the next morning.
"Just as soon as we buy a vehicle with an automatic transmission," I answered.
"When will that be?"
"When the truck wears out," I said.
And believe you me, I took great care of that truck. I planned on it running for a very long time.
2 comments:
Hale McKay said...
Whew! Sounds like an experience I had when I took my daughter out driving a few times. I still feel sorry for that piles of bagged leaves she run over. I was glad we pulled away before the poor person who had toiled so long raking and bagging them didn't see us. My ears were burning later when he must have been cleaning up the mess.
On Thin Ice
Growing up in the Rocky Mountains for the first part of their lives, my kids never experienced anything like an ice storm. We just never had them. So our first winter in Branson, Missouri, my sons went berserk when we had our first ice storm of the year.
It started on a Monday with the five-day forecast. The weatherman on T.V. called for possible freezing rain by Thursday afternoon, turning to a full fledged ice storm by Thursday night.When the kids heard this prediction they screamed, jumped up and down, and clapped their hands with the excitement of a lottery winner, and later that night, while kneeling at his bedside, youngest child was heard praying for the weatherman’s projection to come to pass. We really needed to have a serious talk with that child.
Thursday evening, as they impatiently awaited the arrival of the storm, the boys were wound up as if on a caffeine high. They were literally motion with no where to go. If they weren’t wildly running throughout our little abode, bouncing off the walls, and loudly creating endless, incoherent chatter, they could be found with their eyeballs glued to the freshly cleaned living room window, their hot breath creating a circle of fog on the glass which they periodically wiped clear with their hands.
Well, amongst all the chaos I somehow managed to fall asleep on the sofa around 8 pm. Some time thereafter, I was startled to a state of semi-consciousness by a biting chill in the air. I was further brought to a more cognizant state of mind by the piercing, high-pitched voice of youngest son.
“Wow, this is cool,” he said as he stood on the porch (the front door wide open), leaning over the banister with his tongue hanging out, trying to catch falling ice.
“Shut that . . .!” I started to yell, but was cut off by eldest son’s nervous laughter coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the unsheltered parking lot of our apartment complex.
I rose to my feet and made my way to the open door to see what the heck was going on. What I saw was a bit unsettling. Eldest son was floundering all about on the icy parking lot (a parking lot with a fair incline to it), trying to make his way back to the porch. Evidently, while I was snoozing on the couch, he decided to try his skating athleticism on the newly formed ice rink outside.
Slipping and sliding all over the place, he grabbed at everything in sight; only, everything in sight was covered with ice and his hands just slid right off. Over and over again he’d slip and fall, get up, slip and fall, get up, slip and fall. It was like watching a newborn colt trying out his legs for the very first time.
Finally, I tossed the boy a rope I kept in the coat closet for just such an emergency (I didn’t grow up in a family of all boys without learning a thing or two about the mischief they can get into) and I pulled him in.
“Hey Dad, “eldest son said once he was back in the house, “how about we take our rocking chair and slide down our road in it?”
The look I gave him must have bespoke my thoughts concerning his proposal for he abandoned the idea and never brought it up again. I mean come on, what was he thinking? There was no way we could've steered the chair around that first bend in the road.
10 comments:
Jules said...
This one brought back such great MO. memories! thanks
Monday, August 20, 2007 9:18:00 AM EDT
kel said...
Brilliant story!!
Monday, August 20, 2007 1:52:00 PM EDT
doodlebugmom said...
I hate freezing rain. I will take snow anyday!
Monday, August 20, 2007 2:27:00 PM EDT
kristi noser said...
I have to admit I love it when it rains and freezes. Not only do you not have to go to work, you get to watch all that ice sparkling when the sun comes out. Beautiful.
Monday, August 20, 2007 3:33:00 PM EDT
kristi noser said...
Oh, and why waste time riding a rocking chair down the slippery slope? Go for the Barcalounger!
Monday, August 20, 2007 3:34:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
having never dealt with sleet, i guess i'll take rain. 'sides people here lose their freaking minds every.time.it.rains.
Monday, August 20, 2007 8:39:00 PM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Doug,I think your boys must have heard some of your childhood stories and wanted to live up to their Dad's escapades! ;)Junie
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 11:27:00 AM EDT
skrpndiva said...
Can't even imagine that scenario. I have never experienced snow, sleet or ice! After all, I am a California girl, born and raised...I should say, a southern California girl, born and raised!Jacquie
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 7:04:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
For me freezing rain meant the school buses would be cancelled, and consequently I couln't get any work done. Sounds like your kids had a great time and there were no bones broken.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 7:52:00 PM EDT
Rachel said...
Sounds like the apples didn't fall far from the tree. teehee!!! The rocking chair would have been fun. You could have tied the rope to it - got a good speed up -the rope would have caught and then you would have all went flying on the ice......wheeeeeee.........
It started on a Monday with the five-day forecast. The weatherman on T.V. called for possible freezing rain by Thursday afternoon, turning to a full fledged ice storm by Thursday night.When the kids heard this prediction they screamed, jumped up and down, and clapped their hands with the excitement of a lottery winner, and later that night, while kneeling at his bedside, youngest child was heard praying for the weatherman’s projection to come to pass. We really needed to have a serious talk with that child.
Thursday evening, as they impatiently awaited the arrival of the storm, the boys were wound up as if on a caffeine high. They were literally motion with no where to go. If they weren’t wildly running throughout our little abode, bouncing off the walls, and loudly creating endless, incoherent chatter, they could be found with their eyeballs glued to the freshly cleaned living room window, their hot breath creating a circle of fog on the glass which they periodically wiped clear with their hands.
Well, amongst all the chaos I somehow managed to fall asleep on the sofa around 8 pm. Some time thereafter, I was startled to a state of semi-consciousness by a biting chill in the air. I was further brought to a more cognizant state of mind by the piercing, high-pitched voice of youngest son.
“Wow, this is cool,” he said as he stood on the porch (the front door wide open), leaning over the banister with his tongue hanging out, trying to catch falling ice.
“Shut that . . .!” I started to yell, but was cut off by eldest son’s nervous laughter coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the unsheltered parking lot of our apartment complex.
I rose to my feet and made my way to the open door to see what the heck was going on. What I saw was a bit unsettling. Eldest son was floundering all about on the icy parking lot (a parking lot with a fair incline to it), trying to make his way back to the porch. Evidently, while I was snoozing on the couch, he decided to try his skating athleticism on the newly formed ice rink outside.
Slipping and sliding all over the place, he grabbed at everything in sight; only, everything in sight was covered with ice and his hands just slid right off. Over and over again he’d slip and fall, get up, slip and fall, get up, slip and fall. It was like watching a newborn colt trying out his legs for the very first time.
Finally, I tossed the boy a rope I kept in the coat closet for just such an emergency (I didn’t grow up in a family of all boys without learning a thing or two about the mischief they can get into) and I pulled him in.
“Hey Dad, “eldest son said once he was back in the house, “how about we take our rocking chair and slide down our road in it?”
The look I gave him must have bespoke my thoughts concerning his proposal for he abandoned the idea and never brought it up again. I mean come on, what was he thinking? There was no way we could've steered the chair around that first bend in the road.
10 comments:
Jules said...
This one brought back such great MO. memories! thanks
Monday, August 20, 2007 9:18:00 AM EDT
kel said...
Brilliant story!!
Monday, August 20, 2007 1:52:00 PM EDT
doodlebugmom said...
I hate freezing rain. I will take snow anyday!
Monday, August 20, 2007 2:27:00 PM EDT
kristi noser said...
I have to admit I love it when it rains and freezes. Not only do you not have to go to work, you get to watch all that ice sparkling when the sun comes out. Beautiful.
Monday, August 20, 2007 3:33:00 PM EDT
kristi noser said...
Oh, and why waste time riding a rocking chair down the slippery slope? Go for the Barcalounger!
Monday, August 20, 2007 3:34:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
having never dealt with sleet, i guess i'll take rain. 'sides people here lose their freaking minds every.time.it.rains.
Monday, August 20, 2007 8:39:00 PM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Doug,I think your boys must have heard some of your childhood stories and wanted to live up to their Dad's escapades! ;)Junie
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 11:27:00 AM EDT
skrpndiva said...
Can't even imagine that scenario. I have never experienced snow, sleet or ice! After all, I am a California girl, born and raised...I should say, a southern California girl, born and raised!Jacquie
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 7:04:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
For me freezing rain meant the school buses would be cancelled, and consequently I couln't get any work done. Sounds like your kids had a great time and there were no bones broken.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 7:52:00 PM EDT
Rachel said...
Sounds like the apples didn't fall far from the tree. teehee!!! The rocking chair would have been fun. You could have tied the rope to it - got a good speed up -the rope would have caught and then you would have all went flying on the ice......wheeeeeee.........
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