This is us

"I know the f word mommy. It's fuck. No wait it's fuck-in." My stepson does not mince words and he listens very well. He's constantly working on his vocabulary. Smart kid, like engineer smart. We know our Avery will do big things one day.  But his sarcasm comes from his mother, respectfully cited. That is my wife and so is her son. It's annoying at times but an idiosyncrasy I would surely miss of the two. And it's not nearly as blistering as my quirks can be. 

   Speaking of blistering, there's Cori. She will talk your head off, scream hers off, and then by the end of the day charm you with a smile. She's a tapestry of emotions and moods. She's probably the most similar to me in this house yet ten times more tangibly driven. She definitely gets that from her mother, a true glutton for touch and affection. She is the one that drives me the maddest and still the one I bend over backwards for by bedtime. I can't tell if she just requires the most attention or whether she just gets the most patience out of me through some kind of symbiotic understanding. Either way she is a real enigma, kind of like me. 

  My youngest Lyric, had blood drawn last week to test for celiac.  I'm getting so sick of the pricks and the prods and the tests. I'm done with the tears and the fears, special diets, and medicines. I don't know if I'm tired of it all or just tired. Whatever the case, she tested negative. I can't tell if Hilary is relieved or not. I think she wants an explanation for Lyric and her behavior, at least a reason for her finicky eating, or constipation, or general longing for the boob. It's an addiction to be more factual. I know that Hilary needs a connection as badly as I do, yet in the opposite way. My wife needs a break. So I leave her room like a ninja, aware of every creak in the floor and noise of the door.  Every time I can successfully lay her to sleep, I walk away, feeling alive. See, watching my daughter fall asleep has become a ritual of ours. I lay her down gently, stuff her arms with as many lovies as her grip can take, and wait. It doesn't take long but she goes to sleep. Its a little strange due to the fact that she wants nothing to do with me right now. I find Hilary and I fighting over it sometimes. But only when I start the day with snide remarks about my child. It's hard for me. I want to connect with her on a level that I can't reach. I want her to love me. I need her to need me. Our arrangement works though, which helps my wife a lot I hope. It's a fair trade to make up for the times I bitch like a teenage girl. I'm a grump, what can I say. 

  Finally there is Fox, loud enough to be noticed but still sometimes lost in the shuffle of older and younger siblings. He used to be such a daddy's boy when he was here but lately I find myself wondering if he truly wants to be around. Everything that happens here is trumped by stories of mommy and how she does it better or, most frustratingly, first. This drives my wife up the wall, as she constantly vies for a place in his heart, trying to become a firm fixture in his life.  We make strides and we fall back, victims of what happens at his other home. There he is number one and here he is the middle child. But as far as children go, Fox is my first, my baby boy. I have to be careful not to favor him over the others even though Hilary would tell you that I probably do. I don't know why I feel sorry for him sometimes. It can't be because I'm half responsible for him not having a solid home, since that's exactly what he has under our roof. Maybe it's because I can't give him 100% of me like his mom can. It's probably for the better, so that one day he can be certain that Daddy was not only present in his life, that he could also take care of a whole family. I need him to see that I can whole-heartedly love a woman in his stepmother, as well as he and his step siblings. After all, we can all be assholes. 

Focus

Sometimes it's hard to focus. There are so many distractions in life. There's work, kids, school. It's all weight. The heavyness of the world is upon us and we only know because we sometimes grasp but a single breath, only long enough to worry. If you don't watch out though, these breaths will be the coming and going of your children's youth. It's a double edged sword. We must be diligent in our teachings, but not so much that we don't laugh anymore, take notice anymore. As much as I just want to not focus and glide right through the evening, there is the becoming of my 16 month old daughter at my feet. She is a wonder, and very difficult one in that. She makes me want to scream and she makes me try not to cry. For each of those moments that she shuns me, or perhaps just prefers her mother's comforting bosom, is a time that she holds onto me tightly or puts her head on my shoulder. These are the reason for our existence. It isn't to harp on the rough, it's to cherish the good times. Because I know that this moment of her walking, that I wished for over so many months, will one day become her ability to walk away as a woman. Life is a paradox. But what a magical and maddening ride. 

The Achingly Curious

Surviving a day in my house is like surviving a season of war. Daddy drank, and mother cried as strategic moves were painstakingly made. Are we better people in the end, despite our scars?  

My wife is the external while I am eternally internal. I only overflow at the worst of times, spitting quips with a razors edge. On the flip side, I'm too understanding. I stare below the surface, and it makes me putty...I am molded and shaped, and made to feel too much.

But my wife can scream. 

I hear it as her voice cracks, somewhere caught within the realm between wrath and the white flag. It is real and it is maddening. There are no answers for the achingly curious.  So what do we do parents? These children have become a true paradoxical version of our whole self. But they're humans in the end, just like the rest of us, and who on this earth isn't still learning? 

Wednesday

The baby is screaming and the dog is whining, as the faint sound of an alarm going off only slightly unnerves me more than the text from my ex wife. The kids also seem to be negotiating with me over God knows what. It must be bedtime and these are my nights. 

Come and Gone

With a bit of fun, a year has come...and gone,

We bought our shelter, even added a little one.

With a little sun, despite fear overcome, tears sometimes shed, as the day was done.

But in the end, we always win...just two friends,

Who became more, who learned through the war,

Certain truths to be had, with each opened door. 

There's that soul of hers, and it completes mine,

Two long lost lovers, her heartbeat and mine. 

A father's song

I love the way you smile at me, so much wonderment and disbelief.
A half pint full little miracle, your eyes show me something lyrical.
So if you call me I'll be there
The comforting breeze through your hair.
Forever trying to get prepared
For my Lyric, you're a song I'll never share.

Date Night

I'd bet she feels the weakest, but I only see strength, when I'm being an asshole.
See it takes conviction to love somebody in their darkest hour, when they're acting out their worst fears.
My uncanny ability to fall down can only be  matched by the unselfish way she carries me.
As I push she pulls, creating harmony in our balance.
What a true unconditionalist, a martyr for the sake of love.
She feels alone I think, as I act alone, machismo soaring through my veins.
Why is it so hard for me to lay it down? Must I win a battle that only yields casualities?
Her style of victory is by stopping the blood, the fruit of my insecurities.
I can learn the world from this if I open my eyes, especially when my heart is unprotected.