Oliver’s Tattoo 

When I decided it was time to get a tattoo honoring my newest little man it was obvious it would be something related to his name, Oliver, and also had to have some connection to Harry Potter. The olive branch has a very symbolic meaning which made it the perfect choice both references. The Olive Branch symbolizes a beginning of a new life. It was also written that the Olive Branch was the first thing that the dove brought to Noah as a sign of a new life in the land.

The Olive Branch also has long since symbolized victory and honor is currently still used as the symbol of Olympic victory in tribute to the early Olympian athletes who were crowned with Olive Branches. In Greek mythology it was attributed to the goddess Athena, and remains a symbol of peace and security. Athena, the Greek goddess of peace, war, arts, and wisdom, was said to have given the olive to humans.

In the Harry Potter story, Oliver Wood is the first Quidditch player we meet, keeper and captain of the Gryffindor team. Garrick Ollivander is the surname of the greatest wandmaker of his time. Ollivander is of Mediterranean origin meaning “he who owns an olive wand.”

The tattoo it surrounds is dedicated to Jackson and is a representation of a father and son taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (the short story The Tale of the Three Brothers).  For more on that click here: https://chroniclesofanewdad.com/2015/12/07/jax-tattoo/



Hubris

Me after listening to eight hours of crying


I thought I had this parenting thing all figured a while back when Jackson hit a groove and was easing up on requiring parental services for every part of this life.  When the new guy came along we hit our stride pretty quickly and got a routine up and running the minute we were home from the hospital. For the first few weeks, the baby would sleep in the doc-a-tot thing or even in the Rock and play. I had no worries of long sleepless nights and knew once Oliver checked out A-OK for allergies this was going to be a piece of cake. 

I had False visions of a snoring little bundle of joy, peacefully dreaming while I watched his little face smiling back at me.  I’d be able to look over emails and complete teacher observation write-ups. I’d be able to binge watch on Netflix and get back to writing on a more consistent basis. Heck I’d even maybe up my to reading a more than two books a month. 

That was until I realized that my son was being possessed by Voldemort… before I came to the conclusion that he was housing a piece of Voldemort’s souls inside him… before I spent eight straight hours bouncing, walking, soothing, or rocking this evil little dark wizard from 9-5pm every night… before I heard the decibels of screaming that this child’s tiny voice box could produce… before I went three straight weeks with little to no sleep. 

And you know what… that’s my bad. I shouldn’t have been so cocky. I shouldn’t have counted my eggs before they hatched. I should have banked as much sleep as I could early on. And that’s what happens when you fly too close to the sun. Too much confidence will “melt the wax on your wings” and send you to a certain death. It happened to Icarus and its now happened to me.