Raise Your Eyebrows and Pass Your Judgement, BUT Don't Take Away My Son's 'Ove' Glove

I catch a lot of hell and grief about some of my parental philosophies.

OK....that may be a little strong, but I definitely get the raised-eyebrow, disapproving glare more often than not.

Editor’s Note: I definitely don’t claim to be a parenting expert, but I have developed some viewpoints and I’ve started to figure out what works best for Team Myers.

The biggest points of contention, regarding my parental decisions, revolve around the following areas:

• Schedule

• Juice

• Gifts

To keep this post from being too exhausting, I only want to focus on one of these areas today: The gifts. (I’ll compare juice to black tar heroin another day.)

I was inspired to write this post after Crash’s second birthday. Someone said to me: “Please tell me you got him a present.”

Their eyebrow was already raised before I got the chance to answer.

“Yes, we got him one gift.”

My response did not squash the follow-up glare of judgment

that implied:

"ONLY ONE GIFT?!?!?!?"

I didn’t respond, though, because I can sleep at night knowing that I bought my son something he truly loves – but more importantly, something he genuinely appreciates.

The gift was a cute little school bus made out of recycled material (right). TK and I got it for him because the boy has NEVER met a “bool bus” that he didn’t love.

Random question: Is there a World Record for the number of times you can listen to “The Wheels on the Bus?” Just askin’.

Anyway, that was it – one “bool bus” for little Crash.

Confession 1: There are moments when I wonder if I’m depriving my son. (This usually hits me when we walk down the toy aisle at Target, and he starts acting like a hoarder at a garage sale.)

Confession 2: I personally get bored playing with the same toys over and over again.

It doesn’t take long for me to regain my focus, though: Love. Appreciation. Not going to raise a spoiled brat.

That’s my altruistic mind-set.

But I also wanted to share my common-sense rational: HE’S TWO! He thinks Tupperware and red solo cups are entertaining!

I will always provide for my son, and try to give him everything he wants and/or needs. But until he stops being amused by pocket change and cooking utensils – why compromise the college fund for some toys that won’t be touched?

The picture below tells a wonderfully great story and does a better job of supporting my stance on gifts:


Here’s an itemized list of his self-created activity:

• The ‘Ove’ Glove

• Deck of cards

• Cookie sheet

• Kitchen tongs

• Mini- spatula

• Rubber spatula

• Three cents

• Toy car

• Washcloth

• My wallet

So raise your eyebrows all you want and share your disapproving point of view, but please do it as your kid plays with the mixing bowl and the oven mitts.

Editor’s Note 2: They do NOT accept the ace of spades in lieu of a credit card at Starbucks.

Advice: Enjoy Every Minute of It – Especially the 'Oatmeal Kisses'

EDITOR'S NOTE: To celebrate my son turning 2 years old today, this is the last post in a four-part series describing my Crash-course initiation into Daddyhood. This blog post was originally posted on March 24, 2010.

– – –

I received a lot of guidance – some solicited and some forced on me – prior to Crash's arrival.

The best piece of advice that I received actually came from the sales clerk at Hallmark.

I was buying TK a Christmas gift – one of those Willowtree sculptures. I think the one I purchased was called, "Motherhood" or something apropos like that.

Anyway, it tipped off the sales clerk that we were expecting a baby.

CLERK: "Is this your first child?"

ME: "Yes. Why? Do I look terrified?"

CLERK: "Can I give you some advice?"

I had an internal wince and answered with a forced, "Sure."

I was waiting for the stereotypical "Get your sleep now" or "Enjoy every second of free time you have between now and then."

Then the sales clerk shocked me with some of the most thoughtful guidance that I had received. She said: "It goes so fast...enjoy every minute of it."

She explained how her kids were already in junior high, and she was baffled by where the time had gone.

I remembered this profound advice the other night when my parents came over to eat dinner and see Crash. I told them that I had started this blog, and my dad (right) said the same thing as the sales clerk.

"Enjoy everything – even the crying," he said. "Because before you know it, they'll jump in their car and drive away forever."

As a son, his thoughtful remarks made me smile, but as a brand new dad it made me very sad.

My dad went on to tell me about an Erma Bombeck column he read right around the time I left for college. He said it pierced his heart and brought him to tears.

After some online research and a trip to the library, I finally found the column he was referring to. It centers around parenthood, kids growing up and empty nest syndrome.

Again...smiles and tears.

I HAD to share.

Thank you, Hallmark lady. Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Erma.

"No More Oatmeal Kisses"
by Erma Bombeck

One of these days, you'll shout, "Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!"

And they will.

Or.

"You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do...and don't slam the door!

And they won't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy: Bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way."

And it will.

You'll prepare a prefect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company."

And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?"

And you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti. No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms. No more gate to stumble over at the top of the basement steps. No more clothes-pins under the sofa. No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent. No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathroom. No more iron-on patches, rubber bands for ponytails, tight boots, or wet knotted shoestrings.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. No baby-sitter for New year's Eve. Washing only once a week. Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings. No car pools. No blaring radios. No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night. Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste. No more sloppy oatmeal kisses. No more tooth fairy. No giggles in the dark. No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?" and the silence echoing, "I did."

A Boy's First Baseball Game: The Infamous Tale of Concourse Joe

EDITOR'S NOTE: To celebrate my son turning 2 years old on Feb. 16, this is Part III of a four-part series describing my Crash-course initiation into daddyhood. With pitchers and catchers reporting to Spring Training in one week, this is the PERFECT post to share. It was originally posted on June 6, 2010.

– – –

I've had more than one person say,
"I really hope Crash likes baseball."

My college roommate was the first person to plant this nightmarish seed of doubt in my head. He was admiring the Texas Rangers mural painted on the wall of Crash's nursery (right).

My response (in all seriousness): "I didn't know that was an option."

My friend tucked his lips, which created an unsure smirk, and shrugged his shoulders.

Me: "Crash will love baseball, right?

RIGHT?!?!?!

If Crash's first Rangers' game is any indication of his "love of the game," my buddy's rhetorical comment is actually valid.

Before I get into the details of this failed experiment at the Ballpark in Arlington, I will acknowledge that Crash might be a little too young for this kind of adventure. That became obvious when the 14th person said, "I never would have brought my infant to a game."

Our thought process: Since Crash loves being around people, loves being outside and has the ultimate baseball name, we thought this was going to be a wonderfully great exprience.

WRONG!

– – –

I really thought our biggest hurdles were cleared before we ever got inside the Ballpark.

We wanted to get to the game a little earlier than usual – we normally allow just enough time to grab a cold beer and sit down before first pitch. But I wanted Crash to experience it all – from the National Anthem to the Rangers taking the field for the first time.

I'm so glad we gave ourselves the "extra time" – we used it to haul the full set of luggage we brought with us to the game. (I've taken less bags on a week-long vacation.)

There were a couple other things that cut into our pre-game festivities:

• We made a couple trips back to the parking lot for things we forgot in the car (e.g. pacifier)

• We were stopped countless number of times by people who wanted to share their parenting beliefs. (Reminder: "I would have never brought my kid to a game that young!")

It was all good, though – we were going to the Rangers game, and we still had plenty of time before first pitch.

After single-handedly bottlenecking up the Bag Check line, we finally made it inside the stadium.

Again, I thought the biggest hurdles were cleared.

Instead of chasing down the Beer Guy – like previous trips to the Ballpark – we were on a mission to make Crash's first Rangers' game "official." I had heard rumors that kids could receive a certificate – signed by Nolan Ryan – to recognize this fantastic milestone. Two very sweet Ranger employees (below) hooked us up.

You could tell Crash was soaking it all in – so far, so good.

We still had a little time prior to first pitch, so we walked around the concourse. We were fishing for compliments on how cute Crash looked in his Rangers' gear and taking advantage of any and all photo opportunities.

After finding our seats, we ran into trouble, though. We quickly realized the noise and the heat of the June evening were going to be issues.

As soon as the Rangers' public address announcer (Chuck Morgan) said, "Your Texas Rangers!" – Crash was on edge. His sweaty little body was also a warning sign of things to come.

His mom was very sympathetic to his situation (wiping his face with a wet rag – not pictured).

In regards to the highly anticipated first pitch (mentioned several times already in this post because of its importance to ANY baseball game)...it was highlighted by TK giving Crash a bottle.

My thought process: "He'll be good to go after this, right? He'll be eating peanuts, keeping a box score, chasing after foul balls and trying to sneak a sip of my beer!"

BUT after his bottle, our 3 1/2-month old son turned into "Concourse Joe."

While sitting in the stuffy, warm seats – with the speakers blaring right behind us – Crash was miserable. BUT walking around the concourse, he was in heaven – he was still outside and there were still a lot of people. The only difference...in the concourse, Chuck Morgan wasn't shaking his baby brain.

HEAVEN!

Not necessarily for TK....

She will admit that taking care of "Concourse Joe" makes it hard to enjoy....ANYTHING. She would sit in the seats for five minutes at a time and then dash back to the concourse before he had a melt down. TK ate her hot dog and drank her only beer of the night while watching the game on closed circuit TV.

(Special thanks to her for letting me enjoy the game and visit with an old friend who went to the game with us.)

As the game went on, Crash became extremely restless. In the fifth inning, Team Myers went on a tour of the entire concourse – walking around the whole stadium.

Crash was already over it, though. He didn't enjoy this journey, which even included a stop by the "misty fans" (right).

Needless to say, the wheels were coming off.

Towards the end of our long walk, Crash actually started to fall asleep. We debated whether to return to the seats, knowing that him snoozing through "Now batting Michael Young!" was a long shot. (Actually, it would have scared the yellow poop out of him and turned him into a screaming banshee.)

We didn't want to give up on this experiment, though. This was his first Rangers' game DANG IT!

TK offered to walk him until he was sound sleep and then bring him back to the seats. She said, "If he starts crying again...we'll go home."

Defeat had already started to set in for me. I agreed.

We stayed for another half inning, but when TK removed Crash's socks and stuffed them in his ears – I heard the words of my college roommate as he stared at that mural in Crash's room:

"I really hope Crash likes baseball."

I turned to TK, smiled, and said, "Let's go."

– – –

Then it was time to write this blog post:

• Where do I start?

• What should I leave out?

• What part(s) should I poetically enhance (Remember the complete luggage set? Confession: We only had two bags.)

• How do you capture excitement AND disappointment?

My biggest issue: "How do I wrap this up in a nice, neat, poignant package?"

During a conversation with my neighbor – telling her the tale of "Concourse Joe" – she tied it all together for me.

Neighbor: "I bet he would like to watch the game in a suite."

YES!

It made complete sense: Crash wasn't upset by the crack of the bat, the smell of fresh cut grass or the cheering crowd. He wasn't pissed off because of the excitement in the air or the grace of the game.

He wasn't upset that the Rangers can't hit with men in scoring position. (This might be a stretch...)

Crash was hot and the speakers made his baby brain rattle – that's it.

Those two things can be fixed in snap – his dad needs to find some rich friends who have a suite.

"Anything for you, Concourse Joe."

We Love Signing Off: 3 Simple Letters, 1 Powerful Message

EDITOR'S NOTE: To celebrate my son turning 2 years old on Feb. 16, this is Part II of a four-part series describing my Crash-course initiation into daddyhood. This is a PERFECT post to share on Valentine's Day. This post was originally published on April 4, 2010.

– – –

Before TK and I knew we were having a boy, we were prepared like most parents-to-be. We had a girl's name AND a boy's name picked out for our little "space peanut."

The girl's name we decided on was Ily (pronounced eye-lee).

We loved it because it was unique, but the story and meaning behind Ily made it wonderfully great.

Every time my mom closes a letter, e-mail or text message, she writes "ILY" for I love you.

"Call your grandmother. ILY, Mom"

"Dinner Thursday night? ILY, Mom"

"I need computer help! ILY, Mom"

The name was perfect! Three simple letters but very powerful in so many ways.

But God had other plans. He gave Ily a penis and blessed us with a beautiful little boy.

Most people know our precious angel as Crash, but his given name is Truett Greer Myers.

So now – when TK and I close an e-mail, text, or note now – we write "TGM"...for I love you.

"Can you pick up the dry cleaning? TGM, Drew"

"On my way home. TGM, Tanya"

"Kiss my boy for me! TGM, Drew"

As I've expressed countless number of times since Crash was born – he is the essence of love.

He represents God's love.

He represents the love between me and TK.

Every time we sign off with "TGM" it reminds us of that.

Parent On!

My Crash-course in Daddyhood Started 2 Years Ago

My son turns 2 years old on Feb. 16.

WOW!

I thought I would celebrate our voyage into the "Terrible Twos" by revisiting several blog posts that I wrote since his birth. (That little sucker was a tremendous source of fodder right out of the womb.)

This is the first of four blog posts in four days describing my Crash-course initiation into daddyhood.

This four-part series is dedicated to all our wonderfully great family and friends who have provided love, prayers and support over the last two years. It takes a village to raise a child, and our “village” is nothing short of incredible. Thank you!

– – –

There are some blog posts that simply write themselves – the content is so compelling and/or poignant and/or humorous that you simply let your fingers go crazy and hope your brain doesn’t screw anything up.

This should be one of those posts,
because...

I’m proud to introduce my first-born son – Crash Myers – to “the world.”

(I’m putting an emphasis on “should write itself,” because my sleep-deprived brain is working at the same capacity as a bowl of instant oatmeal.)

Right now, Crash is celebrating his 1-month birthday comfortably pressed against his mom’s chest, sucking the varnish off his vanilla-flavored pacifier, and counting down the minutes until he gets to enjoy the steak and baked potato that TK ate for dinner.

It’s so cool – not just the sweet scene described above – but EVERYTHING.

Here is an e-mail that I sent to several family members and friends right after he was born:

I just wanted to share this picture with you. (It was taken by our neighbor, Arlene.)

Update: Crash is a STUD and LOVES his mommy. (I think it's the whole breast milk thing.)

You think you're ready for something like this, but as I was singing him to sleep after his morning feeding, I broke down a little (in a good way). I don't mean to be over-dramatic and sappy, but this is the coolest thing EVER! How can people look at a baby and not believe in God and/or love?

Thanks for all of your support through this amazing adventure.

Love,

Drew

That incredible feeling – that hit me like a wave on Feb. 16th at 10:39 a.m. – has only gotten stronger.

Actually, this blog post is kind of difficult to write – because there are so many wonderfully great things to share.

To make it easy on my numb brain – I thought a logical place to start would be the delivery room.

There were several things that
really stood out to me:

• My wife was an all-star. I even asked her between pushes if she had done this before. They broke her water at 7:30 a.m. and Crash was stealing our heart before 11 o’clock.

TK rocked the pregnancy, crushed the delivery, and she could have received an honorary degree in lactation consulting. (“Are you sure you haven't done this before?”)

While we’re on the subject of my wife: She is the toughest, strongest, most wonderful woman that I know. She has such a huge heart – more than enough to love all her boys. Crash is a very lucky little man.

• I didn’t lose it, like I anticipated. I thought I was going to cry like...well....a baby. I didn’t. There were a few tears, but the confidence and clarity, that Crash instantly provided, dried me up.

• I’ve always been terrified to hold a baby under the age of 9 months old. Changing a diaper? Ha! Right! When Crash crashed into this world, I instantly became Super Dad. God flipped a switch in my brain, and I just started doing what ever was necessary to provide for my son. It goes back to clarity and confidence. It was awesome!

– – –

After Crash was born, he was catapulted into the middle of his first battle. His arch nemesis: Low blood sugar. This fight sent him to the NICU, but he came through like a warrior.

The experience really brought me and TK closer together, and I was so proud of my boy – but it was all the babies in the intensive care unit that stole my focus and attention.

My Facebook status after we were discharged: “WE'RE GOING HOME! Thank you for all of the prayers. I have one more request, though. Please pray for all the families who still have a baby in NICU – there are almost 40 at All Saints alone. I bet you even know someone living this horrible adventure right now.”

– – –

Since we pulled into the driveway as a family, it has been a “trying” and “educational” experience. Those both carry negative connotations, but it’s totally opposite. In a sick and twisted, former football coach kind of way – this is fun.

I love trying to figure it all out – what works best...can we tweak his schedule just little...what if we did this...how can we improve that.

What do we need to do
in order to "win" today?

The funny thing is: Even if Crash screams his head off for a couple of hours and signs off with an up-the-back blowout...it’s still so wonderfully great.

WIN!

Even though he doesn’t know me from Gus (our dog), I still love coming home and holding his perfect little hand and kissing his soft little cheek.

VICTORY!

Even if I'm forced to function on less than 3 hours sleep, it all fades away when Crash falls asleep on my chest during my quite time the next day.

CHAMPIONSHIP!

You know what...several people have encouraged me to write a regular blog and/or a book about being a dad.

They may be on to something.

This was the easiest blog post I’ve ever written.