The Family Man enjoys the interesting things his children say.
Waking up morning I felt particularly old and creaky. Stumbling out of bed, I mumbled to my wife, “My jones and boints are really sore this morning.”
I paused, thought, ‘did I just say jones and boints?’ My wife’s chuckle confirmed it. Senility, apparently, on top of osteoporosis. The day is 10 minutes old and not off to a good start.
On my drive into work I pondered the interesting things I’ve heard my kids say. The most memorable comments are those that come completely out of the blue. For example, one summer afternoon, sitting in the sandbox with my two year old, I noticed him staring intently at his bare feet. He looked up at me solemnly and said, “Dad, I have big feet.”
My two year old son told me the other day, “When I grow up, I’m going to be an owl.”
My four year old, sliding down a dirt pile – “I’m an avalanche.”
This winter, while watching snow falling outside, he said, “Snow is rain. Cold rain.”
These comments are tied to memories that I’ll treasure forever. Even the one that happened tonight, as I walked in the door after a long week at work. My wife and kids were talking about hair color. My wife asked my kids, “…and what color is blond hair?”
My four-year old looks directly at me and says, “Gray.”
I started the day with aching ‘jones and boints.’ I end the day with gray blond hair. Could it get worse?
Tonight while tucking my two-year old in to bed, he looked up at me and said, “You’re my best daddy. I’m going to keep you forever!”
No…it only gets better.
It’s great to be The Family Man
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Bed Check
The Family Man is the last one to bed
My wife is early to bed, early to rise – I am the opposite, at least halfway. Late to bed, a bit less early to rise. I’m still up and out the door by 7:30 for work, but can’t seem to get to bed before midnight.
The last thing I do before going to bed each night is to check on each one of my kids. I’ve done it every night since my first child was born. At the time I was worried about SIDS; now it has become a habit. So each night I go into each of my sons’ rooms, adjust their covers if needed, give them a kiss on the head, whisper “Good night,” and head off to bed myself.
There is both comfort and amusement in this routine. The comfort is spending a moment watching each boy sleep, so peacefully, wondering what he is dreaming about. The amusement comes from the occasion when they are asleep on the floor, turned sideways or backwards in their bed, or some other unique variation. Once in a while an open book is on the bed, sometimes a toy has been hidden away. Once I found a flashlight glowing faintly under the covers.
Still, each night before I leave I check to see they are breathing. Old habits die hard.
Only then can I join my wife and go to sleep.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
My wife is early to bed, early to rise – I am the opposite, at least halfway. Late to bed, a bit less early to rise. I’m still up and out the door by 7:30 for work, but can’t seem to get to bed before midnight.
The last thing I do before going to bed each night is to check on each one of my kids. I’ve done it every night since my first child was born. At the time I was worried about SIDS; now it has become a habit. So each night I go into each of my sons’ rooms, adjust their covers if needed, give them a kiss on the head, whisper “Good night,” and head off to bed myself.
There is both comfort and amusement in this routine. The comfort is spending a moment watching each boy sleep, so peacefully, wondering what he is dreaming about. The amusement comes from the occasion when they are asleep on the floor, turned sideways or backwards in their bed, or some other unique variation. Once in a while an open book is on the bed, sometimes a toy has been hidden away. Once I found a flashlight glowing faintly under the covers.
Still, each night before I leave I check to see they are breathing. Old habits die hard.
Only then can I join my wife and go to sleep.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
The Family Man has a personalized license plate.
We’ve all seen them. A message spelled out in the text of a license plate on the car or truck in front of you during the morning commute. The obvious [MY TRUCK], the silly [HI THERE], the truly personalized [DAVE] the job description [TAXI MOM], the sad truth [TIRED]. The few that are truly clever are vastly outnumbered by the many that are dumb, silly, or foolish.
You know how it starts. Some poor schlep is sitting in traffic one day and the vehicle in front of him, creeping along the freeway at 15 mph, has a license plate that says [HEY DUDE]. After staring at it for the next 10 miles he thinks, “That’s neat, I think I’ll get one of those.” He gets out of his car and decides that that perfect plate for his red Toyota Camry is [RED TOY]. He congratulates himself for being clever and hip, and when the plate arrives a few weeks later he proudly puts it on his car and drives slowly up and down his street, with his head held high, a newly minted member of ‘the club,’ the ‘hip’ crowd, and better than everyone else with mere standard issue letters and numbers on their red Toyota Camry.
No, I don’t want to be that guy.
If you’re going to get one of those plates it should say something about you, not your vehicle. Face it, your ride is not any more unique than any other of the same make and model that came off the line before or after it. I don’t care what fancy rims, paint, graphics or other add-ons you have – we can see them. Your license plate should not tell me something I can already see.
Just my two cents, of course. No offense meant if you read the previous paragraph and recognize that red Camry in your garage.
As I think about this, I’m also thinking of my kids (I am, after all, The Family Man). They aren’t old enough to read now, but at some point I’ll be driving them to or picking them up from school, practice or the movies, and I don’t want them to be (rightly) ashamed to get into a vehicle with a license plate that reads [BLUE BUS]. Even if my SUV was blue.
So the criteria, if I were to do this, are that the message should not be obvious, a tacky way to say something offensive [FUH Q], or a way to make sure people know something about you [BIG BUX], [PHD GUY] so you’ll feel important. I’m also on the fence about your favorite sports team [GO REDS] – just buy a pennant or bumper sticker or something.
That really doesn’t leave much, does it?
It took a while but I finally came up with the message I wanted. After checking with DMV I found that it was available, so I took it. It’s two words, six letters. It is not obvious, does not describe my vehicle, my job, my team, my faith, my family, my music, or any particular trait or feature. It does describe an attitude I believe in, something I aspire to but don’t always attain, something I put out there in public so when someone asks what it means (and people do) I am reminded that I want to live up to it every day. It’s something that will not offend or embarrass my children or my wife. It is the best personalized license plate ever made.
So do yourself, and all of us stuck behind you in traffic, a favor. If you’re going to get a personalized license plate, put some thought into it. Or better yet, reconsider. Because if you live in my state and see mine, you’ll realize yours is not worthy.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
You know how it starts. Some poor schlep is sitting in traffic one day and the vehicle in front of him, creeping along the freeway at 15 mph, has a license plate that says [HEY DUDE]. After staring at it for the next 10 miles he thinks, “That’s neat, I think I’ll get one of those.” He gets out of his car and decides that that perfect plate for his red Toyota Camry is [RED TOY]. He congratulates himself for being clever and hip, and when the plate arrives a few weeks later he proudly puts it on his car and drives slowly up and down his street, with his head held high, a newly minted member of ‘the club,’ the ‘hip’ crowd, and better than everyone else with mere standard issue letters and numbers on their red Toyota Camry.
No, I don’t want to be that guy.
If you’re going to get one of those plates it should say something about you, not your vehicle. Face it, your ride is not any more unique than any other of the same make and model that came off the line before or after it. I don’t care what fancy rims, paint, graphics or other add-ons you have – we can see them. Your license plate should not tell me something I can already see.
Just my two cents, of course. No offense meant if you read the previous paragraph and recognize that red Camry in your garage.
As I think about this, I’m also thinking of my kids (I am, after all, The Family Man). They aren’t old enough to read now, but at some point I’ll be driving them to or picking them up from school, practice or the movies, and I don’t want them to be (rightly) ashamed to get into a vehicle with a license plate that reads [BLUE BUS]. Even if my SUV was blue.
So the criteria, if I were to do this, are that the message should not be obvious, a tacky way to say something offensive [FUH Q], or a way to make sure people know something about you [BIG BUX], [PHD GUY] so you’ll feel important. I’m also on the fence about your favorite sports team [GO REDS] – just buy a pennant or bumper sticker or something.
That really doesn’t leave much, does it?
It took a while but I finally came up with the message I wanted. After checking with DMV I found that it was available, so I took it. It’s two words, six letters. It is not obvious, does not describe my vehicle, my job, my team, my faith, my family, my music, or any particular trait or feature. It does describe an attitude I believe in, something I aspire to but don’t always attain, something I put out there in public so when someone asks what it means (and people do) I am reminded that I want to live up to it every day. It’s something that will not offend or embarrass my children or my wife. It is the best personalized license plate ever made.
So do yourself, and all of us stuck behind you in traffic, a favor. If you’re going to get a personalized license plate, put some thought into it. Or better yet, reconsider. Because if you live in my state and see mine, you’ll realize yours is not worthy.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Monday, April 25, 2005
The Family Man’s Dinner Adventure
I was playing outdoors with my two boys Sunday afternoon when the rain began to fall. It fell hard enough to chase us indoors. About 45 minutes after we came in my two-year old asked if we could set up the tent in the living room. I asked him why he wanted to do that and he said, “I don’t want to get rain on my head.” When I pointed out that we were inside the house and it wasn’t raining in here he said, “I know. I just want to be sure.”
So the tent went up. It’s a dome tent about 4’ x 6’ that we received as a gift but have never used outdoors. Once every few months the boys want to play in it for a few hours, and then it is forgotten. This time we spent the rest of the afternoon playing in the tent – mostly a variation of ‘the three little pigs,’ where I am the pig in the house and the boys are wolves. It goes like this –
Boys - “Little pig, little pig, let me come in!”
Dad - “Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin!”
Boys – “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in,” at which point they charge in though the flap and we wrestle for a minute, before racing back out to do it again.
Fortunately, they tire of this after about 90 minutes. At which point I thought we were through for the night – until my four-year old said, “Why don’t we eat dinner in the tent!” My hopes were dashed when Mom said, “That’s a great idea!”
So the four of us crammed into the tent in our living room and ate dinner.
I guess it was a good idea – we didn’t get rained on.
So the tent went up. It’s a dome tent about 4’ x 6’ that we received as a gift but have never used outdoors. Once every few months the boys want to play in it for a few hours, and then it is forgotten. This time we spent the rest of the afternoon playing in the tent – mostly a variation of ‘the three little pigs,’ where I am the pig in the house and the boys are wolves. It goes like this –
Boys - “Little pig, little pig, let me come in!”
Dad - “Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin!”
Boys – “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in,” at which point they charge in though the flap and we wrestle for a minute, before racing back out to do it again.
Fortunately, they tire of this after about 90 minutes. At which point I thought we were through for the night – until my four-year old said, “Why don’t we eat dinner in the tent!” My hopes were dashed when Mom said, “That’s a great idea!”
So the four of us crammed into the tent in our living room and ate dinner.
I guess it was a good idea – we didn’t get rained on.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
The Family Man at Work.
The Family Man has an interesting career in Corporate America.
After several years as a Senior Account Executive with a global Advertising Agency, I’ve recently taken a job as a Marketing Manager with a privately held tech company.
Agency life, for those with first had experience, can be hectic, crazy, unpredictable, exhilarating, stressful, tedious, grueling, rewarding and fun. Over the course of my Agency career I worked with people who were brilliant, people who were exceptionally creative, people who were chameleons and people who were morons – and those were my clients. At the Agency I worked with strategists, creators, innovators, facilitators and poseurs. It was a good run, but the time had come to move on.
My new job is exciting and engaging. We have an exciting product, the Marketing group is composed of bright, hardworking people and our boss is smart, fair and. I’m looking forward to executing marketing programs that will sell our products and solidify our brand image.
Bonus – my commute is now shorter and opposite the main flow of traffic in my city.
The Family Man has the best of both worlds. A great job, that I enjoy, with excellent career prospects and attractive compensation that allows me to provide for my family. Plus a beautiful wife and two young sons that I adore.
That last line is a sentence fragment, and I don’t care.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
After several years as a Senior Account Executive with a global Advertising Agency, I’ve recently taken a job as a Marketing Manager with a privately held tech company.
Agency life, for those with first had experience, can be hectic, crazy, unpredictable, exhilarating, stressful, tedious, grueling, rewarding and fun. Over the course of my Agency career I worked with people who were brilliant, people who were exceptionally creative, people who were chameleons and people who were morons – and those were my clients. At the Agency I worked with strategists, creators, innovators, facilitators and poseurs. It was a good run, but the time had come to move on.
My new job is exciting and engaging. We have an exciting product, the Marketing group is composed of bright, hardworking people and our boss is smart, fair and. I’m looking forward to executing marketing programs that will sell our products and solidify our brand image.
Bonus – my commute is now shorter and opposite the main flow of traffic in my city.
The Family Man has the best of both worlds. A great job, that I enjoy, with excellent career prospects and attractive compensation that allows me to provide for my family. Plus a beautiful wife and two young sons that I adore.
That last line is a sentence fragment, and I don’t care.
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
The Family Man knows the importance of his children's nightly bedtime ritual.
On Friday's after a long work week the temptation is great to hustle the kids off to bed, kick back and relax. I deserve it, and after all it's just one night a week. My kids are only 4 and 2, it's not like they'll be traumatized or scarred for life if we skip the books and 'tickles', and honestly I could use a refreshing beverage.
The temptation passes, however, as my little boys come running into the bedroom with their 'blankies' and books, saying, "It's time to read, Dad!"
So we all hop up on the bed, Dad in the middle and a boy on either side, and read for perhaps the hundredth time Bob the Builder, two or three of the Tonka Trucks adventures books, Thomas the Tank Engine, Green Eggs and Ham, or some combination of these and others. There's no room for slacking in effort - Dad's voice must approximate the various characters and convey true enthusiasm for each and every story.
After the books are read Mom will take one boy to brush his teeth, while the other gleefully says, "Dad, it's time for tickles!" whereupon I commence to tickle him silly. Mom trades boys and the other receives his tickle time. Then it's time for prayers and the tuck-in ritual, which involves a few more tickles for good measure and a 'stern' admonition not to kick off all their covers - which each boy promptly does as soon as we've left the room.
At this point it's 9:00 p.m. The beverage beckons, along with the Wall Street Journal, some quite time with my fabulous wife, some bills needing attention and the prioritization of the weekend to-do list.
The vision of the relaxing hour or two has vanished like a desert mirage - replaced with the knowledge I have given my kids something very important to them, something they cherish and look forward to each night. There is satisfaction in that, a feeling of having done the right thing, perhaps not the easy thing.
With that in mind, I change into my sweats and head to the gym. There are weights to be lifted and miles to be run.
The right thing, if not the easy thing.
It's great to be The Family Man.
The temptation passes, however, as my little boys come running into the bedroom with their 'blankies' and books, saying, "It's time to read, Dad!"
So we all hop up on the bed, Dad in the middle and a boy on either side, and read for perhaps the hundredth time Bob the Builder, two or three of the Tonka Trucks adventures books, Thomas the Tank Engine, Green Eggs and Ham, or some combination of these and others. There's no room for slacking in effort - Dad's voice must approximate the various characters and convey true enthusiasm for each and every story.
After the books are read Mom will take one boy to brush his teeth, while the other gleefully says, "Dad, it's time for tickles!" whereupon I commence to tickle him silly. Mom trades boys and the other receives his tickle time. Then it's time for prayers and the tuck-in ritual, which involves a few more tickles for good measure and a 'stern' admonition not to kick off all their covers - which each boy promptly does as soon as we've left the room.
At this point it's 9:00 p.m. The beverage beckons, along with the Wall Street Journal, some quite time with my fabulous wife, some bills needing attention and the prioritization of the weekend to-do list.
The vision of the relaxing hour or two has vanished like a desert mirage - replaced with the knowledge I have given my kids something very important to them, something they cherish and look forward to each night. There is satisfaction in that, a feeling of having done the right thing, perhaps not the easy thing.
With that in mind, I change into my sweats and head to the gym. There are weights to be lifted and miles to be run.
The right thing, if not the easy thing.
It's great to be The Family Man.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
The Family Man appreciates the joy of the simple moment.
This evening my wife was in the backyard with our four-year old son. Our two-year old son was sitting alone, quietly, on the family room floor listening to a CD of childrens music. At the top of the stairs I watched him, completely unaware of my presence, enjoying the music. Softly I crept down the stairs, crossed the floor and knelt beside him. He turned to look at me, an angelic smile on his face, welcoming me to share the moment with him. I lifted him up in my arms, held him close, and began to gently sway to the music. His smile grew wider, then he lay his head on my shoulder and closed his eyes and we slowly swayed across the room. His fine, light hair brushed my cheek, the scent of his shampoo faint in the air, his soft breath warm upon my neck.
All too soon the song ended. He lifted his head, looked at me, and said, "Daddy, let's do that again."And so we did.
It's great to be The Family Man.
All too soon the song ended. He lifted his head, looked at me, and said, "Daddy, let's do that again."And so we did.
It's great to be The Family Man.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
The Story Begins
The Family Man has the life of which others only dream.
I am The Family Man. Married, wonderful wife, two perfect kids. Great job, house, car, dog. In fact, there is nothing about my life that isn't downright fantastic. Go ahead, pinch me, I'm not dreaming, it's all real. When the stock market is down my portfolio is up.
This story is called The Family Man because the foundation for this perfection is my family. Oh, sure, I had a pretty wonderful life as A Single Man, and over time I will share some of those stories as well. But truth be told, The Family Man's family is what put my life over the top, from merely very good to undeniably great.
So much for the introduction. Check in from time to time and I'll open the window for you to lok in on the life of The Family Man, and you can see for yourself the fantastic life that is mine - The Family Man.
I am The Family Man. Married, wonderful wife, two perfect kids. Great job, house, car, dog. In fact, there is nothing about my life that isn't downright fantastic. Go ahead, pinch me, I'm not dreaming, it's all real. When the stock market is down my portfolio is up.
This story is called The Family Man because the foundation for this perfection is my family. Oh, sure, I had a pretty wonderful life as A Single Man, and over time I will share some of those stories as well. But truth be told, The Family Man's family is what put my life over the top, from merely very good to undeniably great.
So much for the introduction. Check in from time to time and I'll open the window for you to lok in on the life of The Family Man, and you can see for yourself the fantastic life that is mine - The Family Man.
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