Just Say No

With two boys about to turn three, it seems like the words "no" come out of my mouth more than any other.

I often find myself waking up in the middle of the night, just screaming "no", in the event one of my boys is making a ridiculous request.

I got up Saturday morning hoping my wife was going to take ownership of the boys and go downstairs. When I realized she was not, I feigned being asleep so I could get ten more uninterrupted minutes of rest. One of boys the shouted, "will you come get us dad?"

I, of course, almost involuntarily, said "no". About twenty minutes later going into their room, I knew I was going to walk into mayhem. They usually clear the bookcase of it's contents, empty a drawer or two and then pretend like they're driving in their beds. Yesterday they took it to a new level. One scaled the dresser, tool off his diaper and peed. I never saw that one coming, and when the other peed on the floor, it seemed relatively appropriate.

My sons are downright creative in their destruction. In the back of my mind I cheer this behavior. I love how spirited they are and how much enjoyment they seem to get out of their daily moments. I feel guilty about restricting them but know it is necessary. So most of the time I just say "no".

When I see them try and scale a lamp. When I see them going for an electrical chord. When they try to carry a glass plate. When they try and drive the car. When they decide the sofa would make a great trampoline.

The list goes on and on.

Never being one to follow rules, I took "no" to mean I was on to something. In all honesty I spent many years doing the wrong thing, from drugs to relationships to careers. My little voice just kept telling me, "this might work, despite the odds".

I still fight taking out the garbage. My wife sometimes gets tired of my adolescent antics when I try and exercise my free-will. As a result, generally distrusting authority, I am not a great employee, but have found a place in education working with people as defiant as myself. I think I am a decent husband, having learned to shut up and do what needs to be done.

I have some guilt about being the voice of discipline. The person that is impeding them from pursuing their whims. The person that is exerting authority over them and discouraging them from looking for their place in the world. Ok, maybe I have gone too far, I just do no want them to get them hurt.

I take a certain amount of pride watching my boys constantly pushing their boundaries. When Max was six months old he would fight and fight sleep. He had to know that he was going to lose but he still fought it. I enjoyed watching him go through this, but really wanted him to sleep so I could do the same.

As a safety precaution I will keep saying "no". Recognizing that they need to exist in a world with rules, that judges us on our ability to function as social beings, I will continue to verbally restrict them. But in the back of my mind I am cheering for them.

It's Not You, It's Me

Recently my wife and I were on vacation with our two boys. While we would like to go someplace exotic, such as the Outer Banks or New England, (these are exotic by our standards), we once again found ourselves in Ocean City, Md.

While I love the beach and everything it has to offer, my wife is not a big fan, but like the trooper she is, goes every year because she knows how much I like it. The draw to Ocean City, versus some of those other exotic places, is that it is free. For thirty plus years, my parents have owned a condominium. This has probably been one of the greatest mixed blessings of my life. I have used it many times over the years, and found it to be familiar and comfortable. The primary drawback is of course, that my family is often there with me. This situation has become more pronounced now that I have children of my own.

My mother is overbearing, caring and engaging. She is a wonderful person but she and I are prone to confrontations. My wife is much more reserved but intrinsically sensitive to her parenting skills, as most parents probably are. While my wife and I were excited about exposing our boys to the beach, the looming concern in our minds was the “issue” of my mother. More specifically, we were wondering how much of her we were going to be able to take. Our vacation was in fact cut short by one day. We stayed away for six days and just realized we were worn out.

Ironically, my mother had very little to do with this decision.

My boys loved the beach. It could not have gone any better. Every day they played on the beach, came inside and had lunch, took naps on occasion, went out every night and came home tired and ready for the next day. I took them kayaking twice, put them on a surfboard, walked them up the beach, and introduced them to the art of kite flying. I don’t think we missed a single Kodak moment, and my wife took the pictures to prove it.

But we were tired.

A few days before we left my wife suggested we cut the trip early. I, like the jerk that I am, took this to mean she was too frustrated to go on and needed help. This was more time than we had ever spent with boys, as they are in school every day. I feared that family vacations would forever be cut short because she just couldn’t spend that much time with her own sons. And there I was, two days later, saying the exact same thing.

I had just come out of the surf and was driving up the road, picturing myself carrying the chairs, umbrellas and toys, to the beach, all with my son on my shoulders. And I had to throw up the white flag. I called her to suggest we pack it up and go home. She didn’t point out the irony or hypocrisy of my suggestion. She simply agreed and got our things together. Two hours later we were on the road.

It was not my parents that brought us to our knees, it was our beautiful, energetic, little sand crabs. Someday I will have to tell my mother, it’s not you, it’s me. In a way this is liberating. I am finally responsible for my own limitations and can no longer blame my mother, but will continue to do so whenever possible.