One September night, I turned on the light,
And sat my girl in her pink chair.
“I need to start soon, so pick your costume.
Lets not leave this up in the air.”
“Santa!” she cried, and my eyes opened wide.
“But that’s Christmas!” I said with a shout.
But then I thought twice, this might be quite nice.
The Santas would not be sold out!
I hopped in the car, didn’t go very far,
And drove to the holiday store.
With a victory cry, I held Santa high.
The trip took five minutes, no more.
I rushed in with a whirl and showed my sweet girl
The beautiful, easy red suit.
She started to cry, “No! BUTTERFLY!”
And gave poor old Santa the boot.
I fell to my knees, my head in my hands
I sobbed and I screamed and I cursed.
Accepting my plight, I went out in the night.
On the eve of October 31st.
I pulled up to the shop, my jaw it did drop,
When I saw the ridiculous line.
A sea of parents were there, pulling out their gray hair,
As their kids screamed and shouted and whined.
I walked, head hung low. To the end I did go,
The outcome remains to be seen.
But I stood and I waited, better not to be hated,
By my sweet young girl on Halloween!
Happy Halloween Everyone!
Matt
Check out our last minute deals on all Halloween Costumes! OK, not really, but come look at our cool Fall baby clothes anyway at our online boutique, RedSparks.com!
First and foremost, I’d like to express my sincerest thanks to Daniel at Deguia.net. Unbeknownst to me, our preemie and baby clothing site, RedSparks.com, has been unreachable to, oh, just about HALF THE COUNTRY for the last month. Daniel pointing this out, then graciously offering technical support, saved us from losing any more orders than we already have. Thank you, man!
Now on to business. We have a winner in the Lightning Traveling T-Shirt Giveaway. Even though it only got four comments (I chalk this up to the above mentioned server issues, NOT shoddy content), I ran it through the random number generator anyway and it came up lucky number 3!
Oh…my….God, its McMommy! Like SHE needs more free stuff, right?
Anyway, McMommy? You have to get this thing out of here fast! I dragged my feet and Lightning WILL strike if I don’t move this thing! Congratulations!
-Matt Have you checked out the amazingly cute new fall baby and preemie-wear at RedSparks? You should, you know. Will it hurt to look? Didn’t think so.
A little while ago, Mr Lady ran a little contest asking people to describe the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to them. I can’t play basketball, I choose wrong with 50/50 odds 89.3% of the time and I actually lost a spelling bee in school in which I was the only player. But this was something I could win…hands down.
And I did.
So the prize is this awesome idea started by Lightning, called The Lightning Traveling T-Shirt. The way it works is that she ponies up some cash for each and every blogger that comes across the shirt by December 1, then someone WINS that cash. Admittedly, I was way too slow to get my own contest up so that as many people could touch the shirt as possible, driving up the pot, and hope that my sluggishness hasn’t in any way upset her. (Her name is Lightning, Matt…c’mon. Use your brain.)
So here it is, and I will make it short and sweet, so we can get the show on the road. Simply comment on this post by 11:59 pm Monday, Oct 27 and I will Express Mail this shirt to the winner chosen by random drawing.
The only thing left is to show you a picture of this shirt. I couldn’t figure out the best way to depict the garment and showcase its quality. “What will do this shirt justice?”, I asked myself. “How can I let people know, photographically, that this shirt is not only important, but an actual high-end, couture item? Here ya go. Good luck!
I was nowhere near prepared for this when my wife was pregnant with our daughter, Frankie. I knew there would be moments in my daughter’s life that would stand out more than others, but I always envisioned them being the popular mainstream Kodak ones. A picture of her in a black graduation gown, valedictorian tassels around her shoulders, giving a thumbs up to the camera. A shot of her with a bowl of spaghetti on her head, grinning like the cat that got the cream. That sort of thing…the moments you remember and say “awwwwww” about.
My daughter is three-and-a-half years old now. And there have been two actual, real milestones that I can remember in her life. The first happened back in April, when her cardiac surgeon shook my hand and told us that the hole in her heart had closed unexpectedly. That was a milestone.
The second occurred today. My daughter goes to preschool five days a week. Although all the statistics and Barack say that this will benefit her in the long term, my wife and I have had serious doubts about her being away from us for that long. She simply seems too young. Unfortunately, due to economic and sanity factors, we made the decision that schedule was necessary. While driving her to school, we were having our usual conversations. Why someone would leave a grocery cart in the road, where the helicopter at the local airport was and how if the police see her turn the dome light of the car on, they will give us a ticket.
Out of nowhere she said, “Daddy, I want to go to school.” To which I replied “We’re on our way, baby, you know that.” Then, after thinking for a moment, “Why, out of curiosity?”
“Because all of my friends are there and I want to play with them. Tracy and Ara and the other Tracy. We play all day and slide down the slides and do Playdough.”
At that moment my mind made a Scott Bakula Quantum Leap. I realized that she hasn’t complained about school at all. She runs right in every morning, leaving me in the dust, while all the other kids run out to say hi to her. She never looks back. I envisioned her in just a few short years, playing with Barbies or that phone date game the girls used to play with when I was in school, in her room with her friends, screaming “da-DDY” at me when I try to poke my head in to say hi. I imagined her and her clan lying on their stomachs in the TV room talking about boys, growing suddenly silent when I pass.
This realization, I am afraid, is a milestone. I now understand that milestones aren’t events, they are feelings and emotions, experienced at a particular point in time, that cannot be forgotten. I am relatively new at this parenting thing, but this morning I saw the future, and I will not forget this day. I am incredibly proud of my little girl, more than I can express. “There goes my little girl!” I say to myself as she trots off. Deep down, though, there is a constant tug at my heart caused by the realization that, one day, she will be a little girl no more.
Matt The new fall line is up at our online baby boutique, RedSparks. Check it out!
Another year has gone by. Quickly. I am embarrassed and ashamed that, for another year, I will have to write you an I.O.U for your dream birthday present, as I am still a bit short.
In lieu of your sports car though (Porsche, if you care to send me a free Boxster, I would be happy to review it for my readers), I did manage to scrape up a little something that I think is pretty good (no, its not the Vanilla Haagen-Dazs that I know you found in the freezer…peeker!) And I can promise you that you, Frankie and I will all have a blast at our Crazy Mommy Birthday Party tonight, and that the year to come will be much better than the last. I’m looking forward to great things and to spending it with you. Have a happy birthday, Aline! You deserve it.
Although my daughter, after three-and-a-half years of her sweet little life, has been relatively (BIG emphasis on that last word) easy to deal with from a behavioral standpoint, bedtime continues to be an issue for us to this day.
Since just before one year old, this child has some type of demonic, Pinhead-from-Hellraiser-like opposition to going to sleep. I, of course, chalk it up to her hyper-intelligence. She is clearly too stimulus hungry to allow her oversized brain to rest during a period where it could be calculating complex equations or contemplating the general meaning of life. But at 9:45, when she has gotten out of bed for the 4th or 5th time, even geniuses become annoying.
Just when it felt like we were making some progress, a new reason for sleep-denial has surfaced. Monsters. There are a few things I need to point out about this issue.
1. I may be somewhat to blame in that I thought it would be a good idea to “toughen her up” for Halloween a little by repeatedly showing her this guy the last time we were at Target.
2. I am not so sure that she is actually still frightened by them or has just realized she can leverage Crypt Keeper-esque stories to stay up later. While she did seem frightened in the beginning, it does appear that we may be being manipulated a bit at present time.
The question is not so much how to get her to sleep. We already know we will never be able to do that. Forget it. Acceptance and complacency is the key to happiness. Its that we don’t have a great technique yet for chasing the monsters out. I put a little flashlight in her room, and we check the entire room now before going to bed. We don’t tell her there are no such thing as monsters, but rather focus on the fact that, if there were monsters, they certainly wouldn’t be here because we have a dog and because we have checked her room. We do all the preschooler advice-blog stuff. Bottom line is, its not working, and with Halloween right around the corner, I suspect it may worsen before it gets better.
So here I am again, using this forum to ask whether or not any of you have come up with an effective monster antidote. Monster spray? D-con Monster traps? Lifesize cutout of Jason or Freddie Kreuger? (He will keep the monsters out, sweetie, he’s mean.) Suggestions are appreciated.
My wife will get on me about this post. The Playpen is supposed to be about preemies, parenting and family. Jeremy is running a contest. Jeremy’s site is called Discovering Dad. Its a site about being a good father and what it means to be a good dad. And the prize is some Harry Potter stuff. So you see, babe? Its all about family.
It was one of those nights in the Midwest. Warm, but breezy. Crickets chirped hypnotically. Most of the neighborhood was asleep, and only the glow of the streetlights lit the willows lining the narrow boulevard. Two eighteen-year-old boys leaned on the hood of a 1973 Volvo. Dave, the taller of the two, sucked lazily on a cigarette dangling from his lips while Matt, his best friend, talked excitedly.
“We’re really gonna do this? I mean really. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, dude.”
Dave exhaled and looked at the street lamp thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “We’re doing it.”
The next morning the two boys were on the road early. A half-empty pot of coffee rested on the floorboards between Matt’s feet and Van Halen blasted on the cheap Pioneer tape deck. It was a long drive, but it went by quickly as both thought about what lay ahead of them in silence.
They arrived at their destination at 10:00 AM. Dave maneuvered the car down a long gravel road. He brought the vehicle to a squeaking stop. Both boys got out and looked up.
Matt’s eyes fixed on a bright orange windsock, blowing restlessly in the morning breeze. He wondered how anyone could actually see it from that high up. It must be…
“Jesus”, Dave said under his breath, interrupting Matt’s train of thought. Matt followed Dave’s gaze skyward and saw what he was reacting to. A figure, clad in what appeared to be some type of spandex and hanging under a gleaming yellow rectangular parachute came swooping down out of the sky at a blazing speed, the fabric of the canopy flapping noisily in the wind. Just when it looked like the man would slam directly into the ground, he yanked on the toggles in his hand, and flew 200 feet or so at top speed hovering a few feet off the ground before lightly touching earth on his tiptoes.
Dave looked at me and I looked back. He looked pale. I knew I did too. There was no turning back now.
Within an hour we were jumpsuit clad, crammed into a dilapidated Cessna 182 and making a laborious ascent to 3000 feet. We both acted excited, throwing thumbs up back and forth to one another, but we both knew that if the plane ride took a little longer, that would be A-OK with us. We were just getting comfortable when the engine slowed and the door to the plane flung open. My heart lept into my throat as the smell of gas, the blast of wind in my face and the sheer noise of the plane engines engulfed me all at once.
“OK, C’mon!” our instructor, Spence, shouted over the roar of the engine. I was glad that Dave was nearest the door. Dave glanced at me one last time, eyes like dinner plates, and scrambled out of the plane. Spence didn’t waste any time. “Ready, Set, GO!”
Before I knew it, Dave was gone. Aside from Spence, I was alone in the plane.
“C’mon dude! Move it…we’re gonna miss our spot!”
I made my way to the door and climbed tentatively out onto the step. I was shocked at how hard the wind was blowing. My knuckles were as white as bone and my body shook with adrenaline. I gripped the wing strut firmly with both hands and jumped off the step, my body swung from the wing like a ribbon on a fan and the plane rocked. What was I doing!” I looked back at the door where Spence crouched inside grinning from ear to ear. The door seemed a million miles away. “Ready, set, GO!”
I let go.
The propellers of the plane grew fainter and fainter, followed by a few brief moments of silence as I fell weightless through the sky. A sensation that I can not. Will not, ever forget. It was as if I was flying in the eye of a storm…almost peaceful. As I began to fall faster, the wind began to whistle in my ears, increasing in volume until my body was racked with a huge jerk. My breath was forced out of my lungs and my legs flailed about. My whole body tensed. When it passed I looked up and saw the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life. A big, billowing, perfectly-opened red parachute. I had done it.
I eased back in my harness and looked around. From that height, the farmland looked like a giant jigsaw puzzle, divided up into multi-colored squares. I looked down past my feet and saw another parachute far below making lazy circles as it descended to Earth. Dave.
I have never felt more at peace than I did that first day, flying around under my red parachute. There is no other way in the world one can experience that view. Dead silence. The breeze blowing gently on your face. Nothing, I mean nothing, around but you and the clouds. It is the closest I have ever been to Heaven.
For the next two years, Dave and I jumped together a lot, and I am not certain that I will ever have a period in my life again where I feel that free. Those were the golden days…the days we will sit on the porch in rocking chairs as old men and discuss while the sun sets. The best of times. The adventure of a lifetime.
Matt
Check out the new fall line of preemie, infant and toddler clothes at our online boutique, Redsparks!
I was challenged by this post. Barbara at TherExtras, the consummate intellectual who’s blog I read because it makes me think, asked her readers to post about healing. Fairly broad topic, don’t you think?
It turned out to be a very interesting exercise for me. I thought about it. First on a surface level, then much more deeply. I arrived at the conclusion that healing is perpetual. It is not so much a destination as it is a journey (this sentence was lifted from my “100 Greatest American Cliches” handbook).
Each and every one of us deals with healing in our own way. In order to attempt to narrow my focus, I must apply the concept to a two basic categories within my life:
Surface. The human body is always healing. Be it a skinned knee, a bad back, a bad haircut or a night of heavy drinking, our poor old bodies try with all their might to correct the physical atrocities we put them though on a daily basis. An amazing machine, the body is.
Emotional. A much more difficult and drawn out process. I believe that all of us, from day one, spend most of our lives and effort trying to process and justify those events in our pasts that have, for one reason or another, left a bruise on our egos. I challenge anyone out there to contest the theory that occurrences in our lives that have in some way lessened our opinions of ourselves do not haunt us forever and shape the very way we live our lives from said event forward.
Since The Playpen is a site about parenting, children and family, I choose to focus on the latter category, and how it relates to the birth of my daughter. As many readers know, she was born almost two moths prematurely, and her early arrival put not only her own health in jeopardy, but my wife’s as well. If one were to view a timeline of my life to this date, they would clearly see a large red dot, circled in Sharpie with exclamation points around this time.
Looking back, I realize that the unexpected nature of her birth left deep emotional scars on my wife and me. And, honestly, we have only truly begun to heal from this event. Many, many decisions we have made are significantly influenced by this unexpected event.
We have only one child. This is an absolute result of her early delivery. Had we gone through a normal pregnancy, we would probably have another by now.
We spoiled her. At some point we should have been more strict with her. We should have laid down the law. I believe that because of hyper-concern for her health, we allowed her to get away with too much for too long. We are all doing much better with this now, but it was a problem for a while.
To this day, we overreact to a common cold. Not as much as we used to, granted, but our daughter knows the ins and outs of an ER, she knows the name of the equipment, how to lay on the examination table and sometimes refers to a bracelet as “what she wears at the doctor’s”.
I do not wish to paint a picture of my family as suffering from hypochondria, in and out of doctors offices on a daily basis. We are all healthy and happy. I am merely pointing out that past experiences have influenced our behavior, and the awareness of this particular issue and the desire to overcome it defines “healing” for me personally.
Healing is awareness. It is overcoming the fear of facing adversity in ones past and standing up to it. Healing is relinquishing the control that we though we had and turning our attention to strengthening our resolve and character. Healing is overcoming our demons. Facing what frightens us. Healing is courage and the willingness to improve oneself as a human being. If we are unwilling to put forth the effort to heal, we doom ourselves to a life of fear, and perpetual regret.
Welcome to the second installment of The Preemie Adventure. This personal and inspirational series is a collection of real-life stories from real-life parents that deals with the emotional roller coaster associated with pre-term birth.
This installment comes from a good friend of ours, Jeremy Biser. Jeremy runs a brilliant site entitled Discovering Dad, which was founded in 2007.
The objective of Discovering Dad is to build connections between dads and encourage fathers to get involved in their kids lives. It is also meant to help fathers establish their own voice in society as something more than the ’second’ parent.
We appreciate Jeremy’s story, and hope you draw as much inspiration from it as we did.
Our daughter, Caitlin, was born at 35 weeks, and she weighed 5 pounds 6 ounces. We were a little surprised at her early arrival, but our 2-year-old son was born at 36 weeks, so we had started to prepare for the possibility of another preemie a week or so prior to Caitlin’s arrival.
When she was first born, we anticipated a short stay in the NICU; however, we were not prepared for a 24-day battle with a severe intestinal infection. A few days after birth, Caitlin was diagnosed with Necrotizing Enterocolitis, which had the potential of rupturing her intestines and requiring major surgery. Fortunately, the disease was caught early, and she was a little fighter. It was an emotional roller coaster for us, but looking back on it now, it brought our family even closer together.
We are so thankful for the blessings we have, especially our three kids. Today, at 3-months-old, Caitlin is a happy and healthy baby. She went from being in the 5th percentile for weight and height when we brought her home to the 50th percentile in both at her 3 month check up. Every time I look at her, my heart swells with joy that she is a part of our life.
If you would like to submit your preemie stories and photos for inclusion in The Preemie Adventure, drop us a comment, or email us at matt@redsparks.com.
A few weeks ago we were driving my daughter home from preschool. As we were talking to her about her day, a little drama began to unfold.
Me: So what else did you do today, sweetie?
Daughter: Nothing. That’s it.
Wife: So was it a good day or what?
Daughter: No.
Me: Why not…did something bad happen? (my first reaction to almost any negative statement from my daughter)
Daughter: Yeah. Peyton hit me and knocked me down.
Wife: Ohhh….that’s not very nice of her. Why would she do that?
Frankie: Not she, mommy. He.
Wife: Oh, well I ju….
Me: Nonononononononono….hold up a sec here! I got this. Peyton is a boy? A boy hit you at preschool and knocked you down? Lemmie tell you what you do in this situation. You listening? The next time little Pick-On Girls-Peyton hits you, you smash him right in the face as hard as you can…you got that? And if he falls down kick him. Twice!
Daughter: (happily excited): Yeah, Daddy!!!!
Wife:…………
Me: (looking proudly at wife): See? That’s how you play that. No stupid kid is gonna get one over on MY little girl. Punk. He’s lucky I…….
Me: (looking at wife again): Babe? What??
It occurred to me that it may be possible that I had slightly overreacted with my response. After my wife explained that she thought it might have been better to suggest that, at 3 years old, my daughter simply go to the teacher and explain what had happened I realized that, once again, my man-sense may have gotten the best of me.
But then I started really thinking about it. IS going to the teacher the right thing to do? Shouldn’t she be taught to stand up for herself? A parent or a teacher won’t always be around, you know? I took martial arts for a couple of years. Busy Dad could knock me out over the phone, but I did learn that, if you can’t avoid it, and are absolutely in harms way, make sure you put them in harm’s way first. Do enough damage to make sure you are safe, then walk away. To me, that is what I would like my daughter to learn as well. The more I thought about it, the more I stood by my original reaction (not the vernacular, mind you, but the concept).
I also considered that, if I had a son instead, and a girl hit him and knocked him down, my response would have been much different. Clearly, there is a lot of gray area here, and I am interested in how you would have (or have already) handled these types of situations with your own children. Let the authorities handle it, or handle it themselves?
Oh and, by the way? Peyton? You’re goin’ down.
Matt The RedSparks Summer Sale is over. We will be launching our brand new fall collection later this week, so you still have a few days to take advantage of the last summer savings. Stop by and rummage through our stuff!
