As a former first grade teacher and now the parent of our second first grade child… It’s pretty simple if you ask me:
All emptied out of our first grader’s backpack the day after a four day vacation (in which he was sent to school with a completely clean and organized bookbag.
PS: Insert eye roll 🙄
We’ve been waging war with a particularly stubborn bottom front tooth for what seems like eternity. Oliver either literally has the world’s longest baby tooth root system, or has secretly superglued his teeth to his gums.
We’ve tried everything, but apparently this particular tooth is very special to Oliver as he refuses to allow anything near his face that might cause the minute chance of it dislodging from his mouth.
After all the tears… the refusing to eat anything that’s not yogurt… the constant vigilance and keeping his head on a swivel as to ensure nothing could or would knock out his tooth it was time.
Sadly, even with all of the added protection, a loose tooth sometimes just has to loose tooth. That little chiclet choose 8:30pm on a Wednesday night to just be free and live it’s best life.
… thank God for that!!
And with that being said, the tooth is sealed and ready for the Tooth Fairy.
Interestingly, the tooth has been placed under the spare bedroom pillow, not his own. He claims it’s so it doesn’t get lost. (AKA: he’s scared shitless of the tooth fairy).
Hopefully the Tooth Fairy comes through because Oliver thinks he’s getting $100, baseball cards… AND. I. QUOTE.: “A CVS credit card.
Dear Oliver,
As I lay next to you on the eve of your sixth birthday (mind you, I wrote “fifth birthday” two different times already in this blog and I’m not even two sentences in) I can not believe how fast you are growing up. Writing tonight, one handed as you hold my other hand tightly in yours is tough, but worth every second. I know that the years continue to fly by so I continue to remind myself to relish in every second I get to spend with you.
This year you took on three new major challenges: basketball, football and kindergarten and have taken them on like you do everything in your life… with: energy, enthusiasm and with an all out CraZy passion that is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever met. It doesn’t matter if it’s running a new play as the quarterback (and remembering to stop running when the whistle blows), dribbling the length of the court for red-light green-light at basketball practice, or accessing the regulation station for an extra recess, your love for whatever you do is inspiring.
You are reading and writing and are so proud of yourself every time you come home from school. You make new friends where ever you go and see the world through rose colored glasses, but still know right from wrong and are not afraid to speak up for what you believe in (especially when that belief is advocating for chocolate instead of vegetables at dinner).
I know this year will continue to bring amazing things for you. I’m sure sometime in late May or early June you will set the World Record for consecutive days eating a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. I’m positive you will read your first full book on your own, you’ll continue to take sports head on. But mostly, I want you to just keep having fun.
There’s plenty of time to find your niche, and I’m confident you will, but for now, just keep doing you… Creeper Face and all!
Love Always,
Dad
Twas the night before Kindergarten Oliver was asleep, his lunch was set out.
And mom and dad’s faces were in a pout.
His outfit was set on the dresser with care. In hopes that the school bus would quickly be there;
Both boys were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of breakfast danced in their heads;
And mommy in ‘PJs, and I in my shorts,
Jax was excited third grade means no more Covid Cohorts!!
When out in the yard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon shown a shadow on the still of the pool
I yawned and I shivered in the late summer cool.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a memory of a child so small we shed tears.
We cried and we sobbed while we packed up his bag
We were exhausted and beat, time to wave the white flag.
We spoke not a word, but went straight to sleep,
We laid down with questions, but knew he was ready for this leap.
Yes, we were sad that our boy was growing so fast,
But we knew it was time to move on from the past.
While mommy and daddy wished time would go slow,
We realized Ollie was ready, it was time to let go.
So now as we lay, we wish him the best.
All we can hope is mom and dad get some real rest.
Continuing with tradition (for the eighth year in a row) I tweeted at JK Rowling for advice in dropping the boys off at Platform 9 3/4.
I’m sure by now you know that September 1st is a sacred day for witches and wizards everywhere! Back to Hogwarts Day is when the Wizarding World boards the Hogwarts Express from King’s Cross Station heading to Hogwarts.
The hope being JK herself will acknowledge my tweet and show some love to two little wizards who have the unfortunate luck of being born to the biggest Harry Potter fan this side of Privet Drive.
This dude right here is about to embark on a magical journey, in other words:
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.
There’s no doubt that this little guy isn’t so little anymore and all joking aside, if kindergarten orientation is any indication of how this school year is going to go, sign me up for the Gilligan Island’s Theme Song, because Oliver and his preschool now kindergarten friends are going to cause all sorts of high jinx!
Thanks to the writers over at #MenWhoBlog for naming us a a TOP DAD BLOG for 2022!!!
Our second child is graduating pre-school. Next year, he’ll be entering Kindergarten. I know, I know. You’re thinking, “Your baby is growing up!” Most parents get all teary at this revelation. In fact, the teachers gave parents tissues at the gate before the ceremony… all the parents in my son’s class get glassy-eyed when we talk about “graduating.” Especially those, like us, whose youngest child is the upcoming pre-school graduate.
Last week, mom wrote the last check we’ll ever write for preschool. For the better part of the last eight years, we’ve have had a kid in daycare or “preschool”. We loved our boys’ schools. Everyone one of them. Their teachers, their email updates during the day with pictures of our children interacting and having fun with their friends.
In preschool, there are programs for every holiday. Sweet little songs and children dressed up in costumes. Handmade Christmas gifts with photos of our kids and Mother’s/Father’s Day poems and stories and some very sketchy art projects that often resembled those ink blots that you see psychologists use in movies.
The preschool teachers are family. They are more than one and done. They have watched Oliver grow from the time he was a few months old until now, in cap and gown accepting his preschool superlative Caring Classmate (I would have voted for Crazy Classmate).
Preschool graduation means no more hand-holding while walking into school. Oliver, our baby, will trade in the preschool drop-off, for the big, yellow school bus. His class size will double. We will say goodbye to the teachers who have known him since he was born. We will say goodbye to many of those hand made gifts. Kindergarten is the big time, but this time we’re ready. (Or at least we say we are). There is no doubt that Oliver is ready for the big time. He’s a leader, kind, helpful, FUNNY and his graduating class’ Caring Classmate.
Mom and I watched our baby on the preschool stage (wood chips) wearing a pint-size cap and gown, we sat through the slide show from the past five years, we saw pictures of our little boy across multiple rooms from his past five years, but the tears I anticipated didn’t come.
Instead this time, all I could do was smile and nod. This time, I was prepared, ready and confident that we did the best we could. I was confident that nothing can ever be totally planned and that the most important aspect in life is trusting that what got you to where are now will help you continue to succeed. So with that being said, Oliver keep being the caring, crazy classmate you are! Mom and I could not be anymore proud of the little boy you have become.
Oliver, you will be successful in whatever you do as long as you always put forth your best effort. Always be kind to others, treat those who need help with respect and kindness and never stop asking questions and learning from everyone you meet.
So with kindergarten on the horizon, I didn’t think I would be… but I’m ready this time. And, more importantly, so is our son.
Dear Jackson,
Eight going on EIGHTEEN! Seriously, when I woke up this morning I feel like you had a full beard and were reading the Wall Street Journal. It’s insane to me how much you have grown. You are such an exceptionally hard worker, a fierce, fierce friend and most importantly a loving big brother.
Eight years after you were born and we (mom and I) are still amazed by you every single day. Yes, you drive us crazy, there is a lot more talking back and many, many more “No’s” than all those years ago, but we wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Covid has put a damper on so much of your childhood, but you continue to persist. Masks, virtual learning, vaccinations and social distancing are as much part of your birthday as cake and balloons. Yet, here you are… eight years old and still making the best of everything.
I’ve watched you pick up your brother when he falls, then push him back down five minutes later, then pick him back up again! I’ve watched Oliver have a meltdown and you try to calm him, then laugh. (Always with him, never at him… just like a big brother should do and I would know!)
You have become such a leader in your school and among your friends. You know right from wrong and always make sure to advocate for anyone that needs help.
Mom and I want nothing more than you to be happy, healthy and grow into a caring, kind and respectful young man… and if the past eight years are any indication… then you’re already there!
Happy Birthday, Jackson. We all love you very much!
Love Always,
Dad
“It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.” -Albus Dumbledore
This is a post I knew I’d have to write one day, but never wanted to actually have to write. I have no idea how I’m going to get through without completely breaking down. But having just been through this awful course of events, if I can spare a few lines of sorrow, yet in some way figure out how to break the news to my kids, this will have been worth it.
Our Buster was our first baby. Steph and I brought him home when we were newlyweds 15 years ago. We were broke college kids and we would go to eat at Olive Garden and then go play with the puppies who were in need of of a home. It was a fun way to spend a Friday date night. Buster was there for a while. A few weeks maybe and he grew on us. I decided to bring Buster home as a surprise for Steph the day after our wedding. It was the perfect gift for both of us.
Through the years he ate through a few jackets (he preferred the taste of Northface), he was the reason for the demise of no less than 578 chapsticks, ate multiple meatballs and once farted out biscuits after eating a bag of bisquick.
Buster enjoyed many wall rides with his bestie Sadie and drank his fair share of spilled beer, but he always preferred a glass of Chardonnay to wash down a steak he had pulled off the counter (sorry Vinny)
He tolerated ear tugs from his younger brother Max and rougher than necessary “love pats” from young toddlers who didn’t know better. He kissed them and snuggled them and enjoyed eating all the food they spilled on the floor.
Over the last few months, when I imagined the end of Buster’s life (I know, morbid thought), I always pictured the vet telling me that he had some incurable disease. We never wanted him to hurt and I assumed the decision would be clear cut and obvious. But it wasn’t. I assume now it never is.
Buster’s struggles the past few months, specifically this week, we’re tough to watch. But even to the end, he was sniffing around looking for some scraps of food one of the boys left behind, or something Max might not have finished.
Everything happened relatively quickly at the end. We tried to gently tell the boys how Buster was getting old and really needed to go see the doctor soon. You can never prepare anyone especially kids for something like this, but somehow I think Jackson knew.
As I was about to leave for the vet, I had each of the kids give Buster a kiss. They did, and then they saw that Steph was crying. Jax walked over and gave her a hug and kiss.
This morning, I chose to speak to each of them separately, Jax after breakfast and Oliver tonight (we didn’t want to ruin his thanksgiving party at school today 🙄.
There’s no need to go into details about the conversation. That’s between a dad and son. But Jax took it well. He said he was sad, but I could tell he already had known. Oliver is still too young to “get it”. But I’m sure he’ll have questions I’m not sure I’ll know how to answer. But that’s ok because I’ve learned sometimes it’s ok to not have an answer. Just to say I don’t know and then give a hug and a kiss and be there. We always will be, just like the memories of the last 15+ years we have of Buster. They will always be there.
Sorry Son: Chronicles of a New Dad 