The Playpen

OK, I admit it. Things slowed down a bit yesterday. But the topic is still important to me and I was grateful to have honest input from the esteemed panel of amazing moms on the third day of Time Out. Today’s topic, however, is something I have wrestled with on an almost daily basis since my daughter was born. Like cigarettes and liquor, TV is something I know should be bad, and something I should prevent her from abusing. However, it’s just so easy to come by. So let’s talk about it a little. Here comes question four!

Let’s talk about television for a minute. We all know that we are supposed to think that it’s bad for kids. In your opinion, is it? How much is too much for kids and what activities do you encourage as an alternative?

Kori Jones
See Kori Rant

We recently acquired cable television after having gone nine years with no television at all; I got rid of television after I realized our entire family was sheduling our day around what was on the TV. Well, that and hearing Bob Dole talk about erectile dysfunction. And, really, nothing has changed; there is still a lot of crap out there on TV, and I think it is our responsibility as intelligent adults (presumably) to weed out the things we don’t want our kids to see and learn. In the years without television, my kids learned to read or play with their toys or play games or (gasp!) go outside, and I have found that hasn’t changed that much. They still do all of those things because TV hasn’t been their primary focus. I do think that TV can be a useful tool, especially if parents are cognizant of the messages being sent out and take pains to reduce their impact of the children.

Mr. Lady
Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

I’m a big fan of tv. I am also a big fan of good grades and exercise. As long as a balance gets struck, I’m okay with it. I used to only let my boys watch tv on Saturday and Sunday, and I found that, come Saturday morning, it was like a FIX by that point. They were so insanely desperate for it that it would consume their whole day. It’s like never giving your kids candy and thereby creating little sugar-crazy maniacs. I let them watch during the week now, but after homework and around outside time. I find that by letting them have it in moderation, they never over-do it.

Aline Pfingsten
RedSparks

I have read that too much TV is bad for kids. And I’m sure to some extent that is true. Before Frankie turned 2 we limited her TV watching to about half hour to an hour a day. She’s always had her favorite shows taped, so we’ve stuck to that and that’s all she would watch. As she got older we became more liberal with the whole thing. My thinking; as long as she shows interest in other activities and is able to focus on them without constantly reverting back to TV then I’m ok with it. Some nights we don’t do TV at all and frankly she hardly minds it. This shows me that she’s not that attached to it. We read or play Wii, cook together or simply hang out and chat about her day at school.

Barbara Boucher
TherExtras

Okay, but only for a minute. [Give me the remote, Matt!]

(You pose a developmental question here, Matt. Are the children 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14 or 16 years old?)

In less than a minute: television = all screens; severely limited to pre-approved viewing or co-viewing (might be safer than co-sleeping) for less than 1 hour per day for preschoolers and only on weekends for children over the age of 4. Instead: reading, conversation, play with siblings and toys, planned activities, extracurriculars, play involving movement – skating, bicycling, swinging, swimming. A safe play environment in close proximity to parents.

Pre-set your own rules, for without rules it is a judgment call every.single.day.

Matt, you didn’t ask about texting and time online.

McMommy
The McMommy Chronicles

My kids are not huge television watchers….and not because I don’t encourage, believe me! You know how much it can help to have them watch a show for 30 minutes so you can get a few things done! But what they do love? Computers. They each have their own. My 5 year old loves to fly airplanes on his with Microsoft Flight Simulator. Our almost 3 year old has an old laptop of ours. He plays on www.starfall.com and www.playhousedisney.com. When I walk out in the morning (I am always the last person to get up in this house….SETTLE DOWN ALL YOU GOOD MOMS! It’s not my fault the three of them are morning people and I am not!) it is hilarious….all three of them are at my kitchen counter, sitting on the barstools, each with a laptop in front of them. I love it. Which could be proof that I may love tech geeks more than 80s hair bands.

So, I’m still not sure. Let my daughter watch eight straight hours of Gilligan or not? Weigh in with your thoughts. You know. If you’re not watching Idol.

If you’d like to read more of the Time Out series, click the links below for previous discussions.

Time Out – Frustration

Time Out – Preschool

Time Out – Private Time

-Matt
Online shopping beats TV every time. We all know it. Check out RedSparks.

Time Out, day three. The series is going swimmingly well, I must say. Yesterday’s question ended up being more of a hot button than I expected but I think that, even though things got slightly heated, the debate was healthy. I was grateful for all the participation; the answers and comments made me feel much more secure about our decision to send our daughter to preschool at an early age. But now, it’s time to move on. Let’s get to question three!

Most couples experience somewhat of a “down cycle” in their relationship with one another after having children. Is alone time with your partner or spouse a priority to you? What do you, or did you, do to “recharge the batteries” with them? Does it/did it help?

Aline Pfingsten
RedSparks

The last time I went out to a nice dinner with my husband was in October of 2008, so yeah I’d say we’re in a down cycle now. I haven’t gotten much sleep in 7 months and I’m still learning to juggle two kids. And apparently my body no longer belongs to me since I handed it over to my son the day he was born. It’s definitely a priority but our relationship is on a slow track right now, soon it will be back to top of the list. All we need is time alone, the rest will come, we’re good at that. Solution? Find the babysitter we’ve been looking for the past 5 years!

Kori Jones
See Kori Rant

Since I already had three children when I met my current partner, this doesn’t especially apply in the same way-when I had child #4 with my current partner, I was already in parent mode and we had already had to work around that. That said, I DO believe that one-on-one time, without kids, is extremely important. We make a concerted effort to go out alone once a week, be it dinner on Friday or breakfast on Sunday. Also, the hour after the younger two go to bed is ours. I have a really crappy track record, and he has never been in a committed relationship with someone, so it has been interesting and sometimes frustrating to find that balance. However, I have discovered that remembering outside the bedroom why we are together, being two adults who share common interests and can have intelligent conversations, directly affects not just the sexual aspect of our relationship but every other aspect of it as well.

Mr. Lady
Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

HAHAHAHA. Moving on…..

McMommy
The McMommy Chronicles

When I married my husband, I gave him a watch the night before we got married. On the back of the watch, I had it engraved with “My drinking buddy. My friend. My love.” Which may not have been the most romantic thing to engrave on the back of the watch, but it was 100% us. Two kids later, it still holds true. Because nothing is better to my husband and I than opening a bottle of wine, sitting down in our kitchen, and just talking about our day….while our kids run around and tear up the house around us.

The one thing my husband and I don’t agree on? 80s hair bands. I love them. He doesn’t. Which may be grounds for divorce.

Barbara Boucher
TherExtras

Alone time is important to us. No real ‘down cycles’ for us – we married later than most and have always marveled that we found each other. [Mutually we attribute it to Divine Intervention.] Despite not living near relatives when they were young and with few trusted babysitters, we had plenty of alone time in our home when they were asleep. You might say we are easily entertained.

Frankly, alone time for special events or time away has been relatively more difficult to arrange after they became teens. But not a huge stressor for us. [*yawn* Is it bedtime, yet, Dear?]

Clearly “mommy-daddy” time is important to everyone yet, for me, seems so hard to come by after children. I believe strongly that spending alone time with your significant other helps build a solid family foundation yet, as you can see from my wife’s response, sometimes that’s easier said than done. I’d be interested in hearing how anyone else overcomes this problem. It is obviously not something I (we) have mastered.

Thank you for your honesty, ladies of the panel! If you’d like to read more of their answers, click the link below for previous discussions.

Time Out – Frustration

Time Out – Preschool

-Matt
You know, one thing you could to when you’re spending time away from your kids is shop for them online at RedSparks. Relationship-saver, for sure.

The second day of Time Out is here! This series runs every day this week, and features five brilliant moms from all over the U.S., answering five different questions on five different days. Yesterday’s question, regarding frustration in raising children, was pretty cool. But today’s question is a real humdinger, at least for me. Let’s get on with it!

1: There has, historically, been a lot of debate regarding whether full-time preschool benefits or harms children in the long term. What are your thoughts on preschool? Is three or four-years-old too early to ship your kid off to school?

Barbara Boucher
TherExtras

It depends. [One of the reasons the students did not like me.]

This is similar to the age old 20th Century question of the benefits/harm of daycare. The parents who are most capable select good preschools – so little-to-no harm done. Parents who are less capable take whatever preschool they get or choose poorly – with the results split for benefit to the children who get better preschool than parenting.

Characteristics of a good preschool: low child/adult ratio, developmentally-based curriculum, stable staff who form attachments with the children, enriched and structured environment. Remarkably similar to staying home with siblings and a parent. Personally, I think part-time preschool is adequate for 3 and 4 year old children. Full-time preschool is euphemism for daycare – the characteristics of which should match the above listed.

Kori Jones
See Kori Rant

Apparently I have missed the entire debate, with all four of my kids. It has never occurred to me that it WOULD harm children; does the teacher have issues with small children? A pointy nose and warts that might frighten them? I can’t think of a single reason pre-school would harm a child. I think that if mom does not work and the child does not attend daycare, pre-school would be a benefit in order to provide socialization skills for three and four year olds. Or to keep mom from completly losing it for at least a few hours a week.

Aline Pfingsten
RedSparks

No debate here, I’m all for it. Especially, if the child is ready. What’s the point of keeping a child at home that is bouncing off the walls? Not to mention benefiting from the social aspect of preschool, a set schedule, learning to make friends etc…. In my case, my daughter Frankie was absolutely ready. Before preschool we did daycare twice a week. I knew that once preschool started it would be an every day, all day thing. Going to daycare gave her the opportunity to get acclimated to slowly being away from home. She loved it. A year later when she school started, she was one of the few kids who didn’t have a hard time with the transition. At that point I felt that I had done everything I could for her at home. The first day of school, although an emotional one for my husband and I, she hardly looked back to say goodbye.

Mr. Lady
Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

I have no idea. What I DO know is that I didn’t send my kids until they were four, and they’re no farther behind or ahead of any of the kids in their classes, and they’ve never been. I am lucky enough to have never NEEDED daycare or preschool, though. I would guarantee you that if you lined up 10 adults, you couldn’t pick out which ones were in preschool and which ones weren’t.

McMommy
The McMommy Chronicles

Ok, am I going to look like the bad mother here because I shipped my then 3 year old off to school 5 mornings a week? And do we have to use the words “shipped off”? It makes me sound even more delinquent. I mean, really, I did feed him breakfast at least before I kicked him out of the minivan and peeled out of the school parking lot.

For the record ALL YOU GOOD MOMS OUT THERE, my son actually loved it. He begged to go “full days”. And this year? He’s going full days and begging me to stay for “after care”. So I don’t think he is going to be harmed at all by attending preschool 5 days a week. If anything, he’s going to surpass me in intelligence very soon.

These are all really good answers in my book. My own particular concern with preschool is weighing two responses to one main question. Does the child benefit more from the education or from additional time at home with his or her parent(s)? My daughter is still four, and I think we’re doing the right thing by having her in school. Yet I have always wondered if she is not so stubborn and so independent as a result of so much time away from home. Time will tell, I suppose. But at least I don’t feel like a jerk now!

Thanks to the Time Out panel for another great discussion! If you’d like to read more of their answers, click the link below for yesterday’s discussion.

Time Out – Frustration

-Matt
If you DO decide to send your child to school, you can get them great clothes here.

This is it! The very first installment of my weeklong series, Time Out. In case you missed my last post, I was lucky (or pathetic) enough to persuade five lovely moms to come graciously to my assistance by discussing their own experiences with parenting. Five moms, five questions, five different answers. One a day every day this week. It’s like NaBloPoMo, only more manageable and much more interesting. To learn a little more about the ladies on the panel, you can read up on them here. This is a big deal for me, so I encourage everyone to share their opinions and join in the discussion. Let’s rock the first question, shall we?

Throughout the lives of any of your children, what is the most irritating and frustrating challenge you have experienced in their upbringing? What techniques did/have you used to overcome it?

McMommy
The McMommy Chronicles

My most irritating and frustrating challenge is dealing with two potty-trained boys, their lack of attention to their aim, and my bathroom. I liken it to what I can only assume it must be like to live in a frat house. Or be the poor person who has to clean a bar bathroom Sunday morning.

Mr. Lady
Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

I have one kid that is me, exactly. And it’s the most annoying thing ever. I have to work very hard to not come down on him harder than my other children simply because I see my flaws in him. It’s hard to let him work his way through all of the crap I had to work my way through, independently. Because, really, no one ever wants to look into the mirror that shows them all their flaws, but I went and made one.

Kori Jones
See Kori Rant

My middle son Sam is so terribly bright, very funny, and a natural performer. The biggest frustration has been for me to find a way to challenge his intelligence and let him simply be who he IS, without placing my own expectations on him. At the same time, he is extremely hyper, he has asthma for which he takes medicine that makes him even more so, and he acts out. A lot. So for me, finding a balance between allowing him to express himself fully without crossing the line into outright awful behaviour is really hard. I imagine that Jim Carrey’s mom had the same problems:”Stop with the damn voices already and clean.your.room!” As for how I manage this? Poorly, most of the time. I find myself needing time outs from him on occasion, which doesn’t help the behavior any but allows me to calm down so that I don’t smother him in a fit of rage.

Aline Pfingsten
RedSparks

Potty training (or lack thereof) has been the biggest hurdle I have yet to cross. Boy was I wrong thinking that my daughter would be out of diapers at 2! HA! I thought once she got it, it’s done and over with but no. The potty is not our friend. I’ve gotten great advice; and I’ve read everything there is to know about the subject, yet we still have accidents from time to time. I made some mistakes along the way probably right at the beginning and I’m paying for them now. The kid is almost 5! It’s been frustrating especially when she’s home and avoids going to the bathroom, maybe on purpose? Maybe for attention. I’ve given up on it and don’t react. Somehow, someday she’ll get it.

Barbara Boucher
TherExtras

Meeting the teen years has been the most challenging for us. For something that took more than a decade to creep-up on us, the refusals and back-talking in a person near your own size was as sudden and crushing as a heart attack. Who are you and what have you done with my child?

We suffered greatly from children who did not want to get up in the morning. As with other misbehavior, it seemed like a judgment call every.single.day. To punish or not, that is the question.

How to overcome these stresses? Wait it out. I mean, there’s hope that the teen years will pass. I mean, each of us is proof of that, eh? Endure Persevere. Persevere in believing in yourself and your child’s ability to grow-up despite you because of every single decision you make.

Terrific answers, everyone, thank you. You notice how I led with this question? Not a coincidence. One of the things that I find most fulfilling about writing this blog is the interaction when it comes to this very topic. Whenever I feel like I’m at my wit’s end with my children, my blog is always here to let me know that I am, most certainly not alone. It’s tough, being in charge of someone’s life.

-Matt
This series isn’t about me, but I will say that browsing through the amazing selection of baby clothes at RedSparks, our online shop, always makes it all better.

Beginning Monday, I’m proud to announce that I’ll be running a new series called “Time Out,” here at The Playpen. The premise is simple. Having two children has opened up my eyes to even more questions and more ways in which I screw up on a daily basis. Parenting is just plain hard and, more often than not, I find myself muttering “There is absolutely no way I am doing this right.” With that in mind, I’ve decided to hand over the reigns for a week to a bunch of moms who can get it right, and do.

I’ve assembled five moms from very different backgrounds, each with their own unique take on parenting. Each day, for five days in a row, I will be asking the panel a question regarding parenting, all of which are based on topics that have caused me (and probably other parents) some degree of stress or concern in the upbringing of my children. I will post all of their answers to the question each day, and encourage everyone to join into the debate. I respect each and every one of these women a great deal, and I am honored to have them as participants, even if I did have to beg, lie and bribe to get them all involved.

LET’S MEET THE GUEST MOMS!

Mr. Lady
Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

Mr Lady is someone’s mother, three times over, and someone’s wife, just once so far. She likes to type and loathes ironing, so blogging’s worked out pretty well for her.

McMommy
The McMommy Chronicles

Kids: Matthew (5) & Carter (3 next month)
Favorite 80′s hairband album: Poison’s Look What the
Cat Dragged In
Likes: pina coladas, getting caught in the rain, and commenters
Dislikes: stepping on Matchbox cars, running out of wine, and Jay Leno replacing Conan O’Brien

Barbara Boucher
TherExtras

Summarizes her career as “been there done that” in the world of pediatric occupational and physical therapy. Barbara feels that blogging is WAY more fun than teaching graduate students to become physical therapists. She done did that, too. [Bloggers are much more respectful than know-it-all students.] “Even with PhD behind my name they still thought they knew more than me,” states Barbara. “The few students who had children of their own understood WAY over the others. Mommies know everything. I learn from other Mommies and give them what I know.”

Kori Jones
See Kori Rant

A working mom of four writing her thoughts about politics, religion, and everthing in between

Aline Pfingsten
RedSparks

Co-founder of RedSparks online baby boutique (yes, the little business attached to this very blog). Favorite things include spending time with her four-year-old daughter, Frankie and seven-month-old son, Dominick, Led Zepplin and getting together with friends at new restaurants for drinks (which she has not done in almost five years). Aline is also a certified chocolate snob, and will turn up her nose at anything less than delectable, high-quality confection.

Clearly, I am lucky to have such a distinguished panel of intelligent and compelling women taking part in my little series here. I encourage everyone to tune in each day and take part in what is sure to be a very interesting discussion. Thank you, ladies, I’m looking forward to it!

-Matt
While you’re waiting for Monday so you can start reading this awesome series, why not pop over to RedSparks and check it out for yourself?

Last year, to this very day, as I dropped my daughter off at preschool on her first day back after the holiday break, my heart broke as I held her in my arms a bit longer, squeezing her tight and wishing I had a few more days with her. She didn’t want to go back either. I believe she had gotten used to being around mommy and daddy all day long, and was beginning to assume it would always be like that; that maybe those first few months of preschool had been a temporary thing, like camp or the success of Ed Hardy clothing. It was a difficult time for all of us.

She’s four now. I cannot, for the life of me, tell you why anyone even mentions the terrible two’s, excepting that they have perhaps not experienced the four’s yet. Dear god almighty how we battle. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point while my daughter was in her second year of preschool in the Fall, she became a screaming banshee of stubborness and antagonization. The entire break this year, which lasted three weeks but felt like three years, was chocked full of arguments.

“You’re going to clean up your room becaue I am telling you to. Now.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. And if you talk back to me once more you are going on time out, understand?”

“No I’m not. PPPPPBPBBBBHHHHHHH!”

“That’s it, young lady, you are on time out. Sit on your chair.”

“No.”

“Then I will put you on it. There. Is that better? I’m setting your timer, and if I see you reach out and pull leaves off of the piano plant, you’re getting another five minutes. Got it?”

Tiny four-year-old arm raises toward piano plant, ever so slowly. Reaching….reaching….reaching. “Pluck!”

“OK, fantastic. You just got another five minutes. I can do this all day. Are you happy now?’

“Yes.”

AAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHHHH!

You get the idea.

A fairly significant change is beginning to take place. My tiny little daughter is beginning to become her own person. She has her own personality, her own thoughts and her own ideals. I believe that her stubborness is an indication of her desire to grow, perhaps not as much underneath the protective wings of her mother and father.

I contemplated this as I drove into the school parking lot and opened up the door to take her out, fully prepared to hold her in my arms and comfort her and tell her that, while we had a terrific time on holiday break, it was time to return to school like a big girl. Then I would wipe her tears and walk away with a heavy heart, bearing the guilt that comes from abandoning your sobbing child as she calls after you with open arms.

She flew out of that car and left me in the dust. Not even a goodbye or an “I love you, Daddy!” She was just gone.

When I finally caught up to her at the classroom and signed her in, I peered through the window and watched her speaking excitedly with her group of friends, who had gathered around her, listening and nodding.

Slowly I turned and walked back to the car. My little girl isn’t so little any more, and that sucks

-Matt


She IS still little enough to fit into all the awesome clothing at RedSparks, our online baby boutique. Shopping always makes me feel better, doesn’t it you?

Ten years ago, on this very night, I sat (high on slightly more than life) huddled with a small group of friends in a tiny cave lit by candlelight on the edge of a desert about 50 miles north of Los Angeles.

As my friend tuned in the boom box to the countdown which, at those particular coordinates could only be found in Spanish, I stepped out of the cave and clambered up to the top of a large mound of boulders to gaze at the city lights far, far away. My body was warmed by alcohol and God knows what else, and as I looked at the tiny luminescent grid in the distance my thoughts were consumed with only one thing; myself. As the frigid desert air whipped through my fleece I said under my breath “I’ve beaten you, Los Angeles. You lose.”

This morning I woke up and had a family. I had a beautiful and intelligent daughter and a handsome and alert son. I had a supportive, attractive, brilliant wife, trying her best to hide her fear. I had a mortgage and I had a tuition. I had a real life. And I had knowledge. I had grown a bit and, as I looked back on that New Year’s Eve, I could not help but scoff at my previous, arrogant self.

In the ten years that passed between conquering a city containing 3.5 million people with individual lives and the moment the sun kissed the roof this morning, releasing steam into the dawn, I learned. I learned that I most certainly conquered nothing, and that my purpose had been all wrong. In that ten years I had built an empire, which crumbled. I rebuilt it, only to see it crumble again. I had the rug yanked out from under my feet, and detested life for treating me so poorly.

Somewhere along that oh-so-short timeline that is a decade, I came to an awareness. One that I will use to shed light on every decision I make for the rest of my existence. I realized that, in life, there is no rug. The things that we perceive as stability, security, success and power are all just temporary facades over which we have absolutely no control. We can nudge them and, if we are lucky, maybe even influence them from time to time. But at the end of the day, our lives are in someone else’s hands; a disucssion for another day. I realized that, no matter how hard I tried, how hard I fought, there really was only one true constant in this great big mess called life. Only one thing that I could depend on. Only one thing that made me human. People.

Throughout all the ups, throughout all the downs, there have been people in my life; in all of our lives. People that reach out, that pick us up, that show us love and that extend a needed hand without consequence. There have been people that have made us laugh, inspired us, caused us pain, and awakened us. There have been people that have loved us. I can say without a doubt, on the dawn of a new decade, that people, and the relationships we have with them, are the meaning of life.

Every man, woman and child deserves our respect, admiration and compassion. None of us is any greater, or lesser, than the other. I swore when I started writing online that I would never write a “New Year’s Resolution” post, but I’m doing it now, and would like to suggest that anyone reading this try, at leat a little, to do the same.

This year I am committed to only one thing; to being a good human being. Losing weight, quitting smoking, spending less money; these are all selfish goals that can be carried out on the side. I am committed to helping those who need it. To offering assistance to those less fortunate, to humbly privding a shoulder to those in pain and to those who can benefit from a few small words of encouragement. I have realized that my, our, purpose in life is to support and nurture the human spirit, to put one’s problems and concerns aside and ask oneself “What can I do for you?” This, I believe, is the path to remembrance. Complete selflessness is a mark that nothing else can leave on the face of life, and I intend to do it.

When life gives you lemons, share them with others.

Happy New Year to you all. May peace, love and happiness be yours in the upcoming year.

Sincerely,
Matt, Aline, Frankie and Dominick.
RedSparks

“What time are they coming?” I asked my wife hurriedly, after tossing back what was left of my whiskey and sliding the empty glass across the kitchen counter.

“4:30,” she replied frantically, not raising her head from the bowl of cookie dough she was stirring while setting the oven timer with her other hand, “And I still have to get dressed and do my hair. You better get going, there’s no way we are going to make it.”

I cursed and looked at my watch. 3:25. How the day had slipped away from us I had no idea, but this was a pattern we seemed doomed to repeat every year on Christmas Eve, and I was not sure if we bit off more than we could chew or were simply bad planners. It didn’t matter. We were hosting eight guests, many of them already in their cars and heading merrily towards our house, fully expecting to walk in and smell the aromas of mulling spices, a crackling fire and a full Christmas dinner. The only aroma we had managed to stir up at that moment was a quick whiff of gas as the stove lit to begin preparation on the first course. I cursed again as I pulled on my coat and stepped out into the cold to begin a journey that had become, over the years, the most dreaded task I had ever been forced to carry out; an angry, deflating and demoralizing trip to a place that I very much imagine to closely resemble the End Of Days.

I was going to Honeybaked Ham.

I can’t speak for the rest of the country, but there are a lot of people here. All on the same schedules, all with the same needs. And on this particular day, Christmas Eve, all of them wanting, no needing, their beautiful, crusty, brown-sugary and savory Honeybaked Ham. I had been each year before this one, and the experience was always the same. As I would round the corner my heart would sink as my eyes were met with the sight of an almost-infinate, winding serpent of people stretching for blocks, all waiting in frustration to get their hands on that perfect piece of gold-foil-wrapped pork. It was ludicrous, and the experience always put me and my wife into a bad mood. Me for having to endure the indefinite wait for meat, my wife for having to greet all of our guests with her hair not done because I was not yet home to relieve her. There had to be a better way.

As my car sped down the freeway on my way to Burbank, I decided to call ahead and ask for an approximate wait time. Perhaps knowing what I was in for before I saw the line would lessen the blow when I actually saw it. As I fished my phone out of my pocket my wallet fell out onto the floor. I glanced down to pick it up, noticed the corner of a twenty-dollar-bill sticking out and stopped.

I had an idea.

With the Jack Daniels still warming my blood I dialed the number, held the phone to my ear and waitied.

“Honeybaked Ham, this is Trudy,” said a raspy female voice on the other end, one that I could only assume belonged to a sixty something, three-pack-a-day smoker who’s face had seen too many years of hard living. I paused for a mintue, faltering as a result of the unexpected harshness of the individual who had answered, then pressed on.

“How long is the wait?” I murmered in a low voice, applying a faint British accent to my tone. I am still not sure why I felt the need to wear a vocal disguise, it just happened.

“I don’t know,” Trudy snapped. “Just as long as it is every year. I don’t have time to go count 500 people. Anything else?”

“Wait!” I said, still British. I took a deep breath. “Want to make twenty dollars?”

I held my breath as I drove in silence for what seemed like ages.

“I’m listening,” came the eventual reply, this time a bit softer and lower.

“I’m really late, and my wife will kill me if I wait in that line and show up for dinner during the third course with the third course. I just can’t wait. I’ll pay for my ham, but the twenty dollars is yours, Trudy. All yours.”

Silence. More silence. Then finally:

“Come straight to the little room at the back behind the drink machines. Talk to anyone and the deal is off.”

Click.

My adrenaline pumped as I pulled into the parking lot where there were actually employees directing traffic. I got out, pulled my hat down low over my eyes, thrust my fists deep into the pockets of my overcoat and began walking briskly towards the front door past the line of impatient and fidgety people, my head down. I grabbed the door handle and bumped into a portly, red-faced man as I squeezed through.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He bellowed. “The line is back there!”

“Just have to take care of a thing real quick,” I said quickly. British again.

I saw the door immedately over the sea of Honeybaked patrons exactly where she said it would be. It was cracked slightly, and I could see that it was dark inside with the exception of a single bare bulb, haloed by a cloud of cigarette smoke. I made my way to the door, the eyes of countless ham-buyers burning into the back of my neck as I clutched a tightly rolled wad of bills in my pocket. They gave me comfort.

I opened the door with a sqeuak and closed it behind me. The silence, immediately following the din of the wating room, was deafening. I waited for a moment, not able to make anything out in the darkness, before I saw the faint orange glow of a cigarette in the corner, followed by a scratchy exhale and a fresh cloud of smoke.

“Put it on the table.” The voice was Trudy’s.

I took a few tentative steps towards the voice and opened my trembling hand, dropping the wad of cash onto the tiny card table. After a few seconds I heard a shuffling sound, followed by a large foil-wrapped object sliding towards me. The ham came to rest a few inches from the edge. I stared at it, then back at the blackness where the cigarette had been.

“Thank you, Trudy. Trudy?”

There was no reply. Trudy was gone.

With that I snatched up my ham, tucked it under my arm and bolted for the door. I heard customers began to shout and clamor as they realized I had a ham under my arm, but kept running as fast as I could.

“Stop that guy!” someone shouted, and a few people stuck out their arms from the line as I whizzed by them, however they were too afraid of losing their place to stray too far from where they stood, and I avoided them. I dove into my car, their protests fading behind me, turned the key in the ignition and stood on the gas pedal, tires squealing as I rocketed out of the parking lot and onto the dark city streets. With my heart pounding in my chest, I looked at my watch and smiled. I was going to make it home in plenty of time, and I had my ham.

I have seen, or rather not seen, Trudy every year since then. Same place, same transaction. Each Christmas Eve when I call I experience a brief feeling of anxiety, bracing myself for the news that she has moved on to other things. But she is always there, in that dark room, with my ham. Waiting.

There are some Christmas traditions that must never be forgotten.

-Matt

Another Christmas Tradition should be buying something at our online store, RedSparks. Don’t you agree?

I have a thing about heroes. We all want to be something we’re not, at least I think we all do. That thing may manifest itself in a road not taken somewhere years ago that now lingers in the depths of one’s memory as a faint, but persistent “What If”. For others, it may take the form of a fantastic escape from the reality of The Real, such as a glamourous red-carpet hollywood starlet or a lottery winner. For me, it’s a hero.

It’s funny how my definition a hero keeps changing. When I was a wee lad, my hero was Tommy Herr, second baseman for the St Louis Cardinals. He wasn’t a particularly memorable player, but he played the same position I did for the best baseball team in the world, and that was enough. Then, as I grew a little older, it was Wonder Woman. Actually, now that I think about it, puberty and the gold-winged red corset might have had a bit more to do with my interest in Lynda Carter than her actual heroism. Either way. After that, it was basically every lead guitarist in every eighties metal band that rocked. George Lynch, Nuno Bettencourt and Eddie Van Halen, to put a finer point on it.

Now I am a grown man. With children and a wife and a mortgage. The wistful daydreams of screaming solos, cheering crowds, wild backstage parties and chugging Jack Daniels out of the bottle have faded, and I am faced with the actuality of what a hero truly is. I struggle with it on a daily basis.

Losing my job has been less than awesome. Luckily, my neighbor runs a pretty succesful construction business and I have been helping him out, which has allowed us to stay afloat for longer than we would be able to had he not been around. This is fortunate for two reasons. The first, and most obvious, is income. The second, however, I did not expect to discover on the very first day I dropped my daughter off at school and drove to a job site in Beverly Hills; an introduction to humility.

Not even a month ago I would come home after an eight hour day and complain to my wife about how tired I was from having sat in my office all day staring at a computer screen and attending very important, earth-moving meetings. I would note how my eyes burned and my back hurt, and would self-righteously plop myself down on the couch with a loud, ever-so-exhausted sigh. Boy, was I beat.

Then I started helping my neighbor, and I was reminded, once again, of why my much sought after hero status continues to elude me. These men work. Hard. It is not rare to see their trucks absent from the driveway at 5:30 am, only to return briefly at dinner time, then disappear again into the night, not returning until well after I am in bed. They demolish, lift, saw, strain, hammer and sweat all day long, seven days a week. They do not complain, they do not rub their eyes, they do not stretch their weary muscles and they, most definitely, do not sigh. They do whatever it takes, whatever is needed, to provide the best possible lives for their families each and every day. That, in and of itself, is heroic. But it goes much farther than that, and I never would have realized this fact had I not been given the opportunity to work with them. It is this additional phenomenon, I believe, that has finally provided me with the correct definition of the word “hero.”

I find it difficult to explain. I believe the best way I can decribe it is “mindset”. It is how, when they are worn to the bone, aching and exhausted, they approach others and their loved ones. Somehow, through it all, they manage to be loving and supportive husbands, fathers and friends. Any time I find myself in a patch of adversity in my life, I work to get things “back on track,” and in doing so become frustated, angry and selfish. I feel as if I am owed something better and, when things do not go exactly my way, develop a large chip on not one, but both shoulders. These men are different because they have learned that, in life, there actually is no “track”. It’s just life, and they do not waste a second of it. They work harder than anyone I have ever known, yet still come home to their friends and families with a smile on their face and a bounce in their step. They do not lash out, become frustrated or mistreat anyone, and there is no doubt in my mind that if I asked my neighbor at 10:00 PM on a Sunday night (practically the only time he has to see his children) to patch the hole I put in my wall in an attempt to put up surround speakers myself, he would be over in less than five minutes to help. Smiling.

A true hero is one who puts his entire self aside for the benefit of others, whatever the cost. A person who works impossible hours at backbreaking job in order to proide for his family is a hero. A person who forgets about his own situation and provides support, patience without strings and a shoulder to a close friend during trying times is a hero. A person who, no matter how dire the situation or how bleak the outlook, can not only say, but prove to his family that everything will be just fine is a hero.

I am not a hero. I am, however, fortunate enough to recognize that this time in my life may not actually be a terrible time at all, but rather an opportunity to learn from those who are. I am almost certain that I have been somehow guided to this very point, and would be a fool to consider it anything but a blessing. And, if I work hard enough at it, maybe, just maybe, one day someone will write something like this about me.

-Matt

As many might already be aware, I lost my job a few weeks ago. Even though I had a strong suspicion it was coming, it was a shock for the whole family, and things have been a little tense. Fortunately, friends and family have come out of the woodwork to help me out with some graphic design and consulting projects, and that fact should help to get us through the holidays until people begin hiring again. In addition, I have been helping out another friend of mine in a field most marketers don’t typically find themselves in, construction. Granted, most of my days are filled with a lot of waiting around, running errands, filling out pricing spreadsheets, shopping for materials and a lot of people yelling “Get away from there!” and “Don’t touch that!”, but the experience has, suprisingly, been fairly enjoyable. I have color on my normally pale face from time in the sun, and have noticed an incredible change in my body composition.

I felt a swell of pride as my wife ran her hands over my bulging, shaved pectorals the other day day and said “Build me something, baby.” Who knows? Maybe I’ll keep doing it.

Apart from that, the only noteworthy news is that we finally took my daughter to an appointment that we have been guiltily putting off for some time. Her four-year vaccinations. Having watched shots administered to our six-month-old son recently, I can say without a doubt that taking a four-year-old is a considerably different experience. They know. And they remember. They are little people who experience pain the same way we do and, as we dragged her into the doctor’s office, our hearts were aching. She was to get four shots. How in the world were we going to get through it? After the first, I suspected, there would be no way she would let them do it again, let alone another three times, and my mind was filled with visions of her tiny body strapped to an operating table bound in leather restraints, screaming madly.

But she amazed me. Not only did she not cry, but she watched; each and every one. She stared, unflinching, as the needle pricked her skin not once, not twice, but four times. After the third, she looked up at me, unblinking and stated “Daddy? I don’t think it’s that bad.” I couldn’t believe it. She was an absolute trooper, it almost frightened me. But I was prouder than could be and my wife’s eyes welled up with tears as we congratulated her and headed off to the market to buy candy canes and ice cream.

Seeing her get through that experience, possibly one of the most traumatic things a four-year-old can edure, without so much as a flinch got me thinking. My daughter is strong, stronger than I even knew myself. She must have gotten that from somewhere, right? I’m thinking her parents. She’s watching us, every day, and learning from how we handle tough situations. At that very moment I vowed not to undo what we had instilled in her. We’re not backing down in the face of adversity, we’re rising up. We will get through this, and we will pervail on the other end. I’m too proud of her to be scared.

-Matt

Now’s as good a time as any to pick up something for your kid for the holidays at our online baby boutique, RedSparks. Know what I’m sayin?