Nice Things

I resigned the notion of owning nice things a while ago...kids just destroy stuff. They can't help it. Not that I am just letting them galavant around the house with tennis racquets in their hands while I listlessly watch on. But something in their nature is destructive. Maybe it is the fact that they don't understand monetary value, or perhaps they just don't have full control of their bodies yet. I don't fault them for it, but I try hard to pad the damage as much as I can.

Here is a good example: Today we were walking to a park and Waverly stepped on my sandal. It broke. It was just an accident and may have broken tomorrow with someone else, but for some reason it broke when she stepped on it. Yeah, my sandals are a few years old and maybe this was just coincidental, but have you ever known anyone in life that this kind of thing just happens to? Like they throw a rock and it breaks a window, even if the nearest window is in the opposite direction? I have, and I'm not saying my kids share that curse, but I think all children have this problem for at least a few years, if not a dozen or so.

I hot glued this back in. We'll see if it works.

I am not immune. One time, in my teens, I was getting something in my garage and I knocked a ladder over that happened to fall on my dad's Mustang GT convertible, piercing the top like it was made of paper. It certainly wasn't on purpose, but it happened. Wasn't the first thing I broke either, and certainly not the last (just ask my parents).

So our solution is to just not have nice things. Not like super cheap stuff, but not really nice either. We got our last two couches from the clearance section of Wayfair.com, and you know what? It only took about a day or two for our kids to wipe snot or drool or grease on them. If we had paid a couple thousand dollars for those couches, you can imagine how upset I might have been at this. But we didn't invest much into them, and so it took all that pressure off of both us and our kids to keep them nice.

Again, not that we buy crap and then destroy it -- we keep things clean and try to buy durable stuff that lasts. But can you imagine the constant tension I would feel with my kids running around expensive tables and chairs, or riding their tricycles around a Tesla in our driveway? No thanks.

This is one of the nice things we have. It was a gift, and has swiftly been damaged multiple times.

I guess I'm writing this to share something we do that I think works, and also to give you encouragement if you do the same thing. I haven't always been proud of our living room sets (though right now I really like it), and sometimes our furniture doesn't match. But my mind is at ease when things go wrong, and that is worth more than any custom made solid wood coffee table.

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At the Show

Like many folks, I spent most of my middle and high school years listening to punk music. Christian punk music, really. Most people grow out of this phase and get into hippie jam bands or classic rock in college, and then move on to country or pop or something as they mature. My musical tastes have matured, but I'm just not one to leave a musical genre behind, and so I still listen to punk and ska like when I was a kid. (The one exception to this is rap-rock...I've pretty much abandoned that short-lived phase of my life.)

And so when Slick Shoes, one of my high school favorites, announced that they were recording a live record nearby, I had to go. The problem was, only about two of my friends still listen to this stuff, and they live out of the state. So I had to go alone. Now, maybe this isn't really a big deal, but it's just more fun to go things with other people, you know? Even something like watching a movie -- where you don't talk to anyone for most of it -- is better with friends. But I went anyway, because this felt like a once in a lifetime thing.

Getting ready for the show, my CD snapped in half. This is my favorite one from the band too... (yes, I still listen to CDs)

The hour-long drive wasn't very fun, sitting in traffic, feeling like a weird old dude going to a punk show. I thought a lot about what I was doing, and if it was worth sharing in a blog post or video (I guess it was, because here we are). I think during that introspective drive I felt that doing things like this is a big part of what I claim as my identity. This whole "Skater Dad," music-making and the such really sums up this blog -- pursing passions in parenting. Even though my free time is cut significantly, the things that made me feel more alive before kids don't necessarily have to change. And so to the punk show I went.

The great thing about shows is that it is easy to make friends. I met a fellow writer, as well as a frequent punk-show-goer who told us several times that punk was "in her soul." I also had a conversation with a guy who was in town from Texas for a Power Rangers convention (I had no idea there was enough content there to even have a convention, but it's been around since 2007). Ultimately, it was far less lonely than I expected, and I was surprised to find how many people go to shows without a companion.

Slick Shoes, still good after all these years.

The best part was that I saw tons of families there with their kids! One dad had his son with a killer spiked mohawk, and one of the opening acts even had his infant at the merchandise table (all had ear protection, of course). I had considered bringing Ellie to the show (her first was Family First 5 as an infant), but wasn't sure if the punk scene would be good for her. Then again, it's Christian punk, so people are pretty nice to each other. After seeing all those other kids though, I think I may take her to the next one.

All in all, I'm so glad I went, and I wanted to write this to challenge you to not be afraid to do something that makes you uncomfortable, even if it was something you were into when you were younger. It felt silly screaming the lyrics to a band I loved fifteen years ago, getting sweaty dancing in the pit, but I was with a bunch of other sweaty 20-30 year-olds doing the same thing, so it felt a little less silly and more like fun.

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Homemaker

I became a stay-at-home dad back in 2014, when our daughter Ellie was born. I worked for a few months and then got a job as a property manager, where I could work from home and take care of our baby girl. It suits me well, but to be honest, it was an adjustment, mostly because of societal norms. Being the only guy at the park, surrounded by female nannies and moms is difficult. Watching my friends succeed at work or in their businesses can be even more trying. At first I really struggled with my role in the family as a provider, not financially (though I have always worked freelance or part-time), but in other ways. Kids need a dad who is there and available, for fun, education, trauma. An emotionally available father is a powerful and rare thing I think, not because dads don't desire it, but because it is considered odd.

I went back to work for a year to give Katie the experience I had, but could never make enough for our family to live well. Talk about a blow to your masculine ego -- not even being able to provide enough financially. I felt lost and hopeless, the most depressed I had ever been. But I think the whole thing just pushed us to a point where we realized our family works with me at home and Katie at work. Her job is also pretty flexible, as a teacher with summers off and usually getting home by 4PM (as opposed to the 6-6:30PM, when my job had put me home). We settled back into these roles and our family has thrived since then. And though I still feel weird and deal with slightly awkward situations (again being the only dad at the park or not being able to make play dates with my daughters' friends), it fits.

Matching family outfits: another "Dad" thing that isn't always easy to swallow.

Recently, however, we filled out some forms for something and I had to list an occupation. Usually I would list one of my part-time jobs, but with our recent move, I am currently unemployed. Then I saw it down the list: "Homemaker." Essentially that is what I am, but something about it felt weird. Am I a Homemaker? I thought, as the pen wavered in my hand. It's true, that is probably the best way to describe it, but "Stay-at-home Dad" feels way more cool than "Homemaker." Something about that title just has a feminine connotation to it that doesn't sit well with me. It's all cultural I suppose, but I have to ask myself why that bothers me.

As I reflect on it, I think the reason is because "making the home" is an end in itself, and there are lots of other things I want to do for my "career." I also make music and write while raising my kids. Homemaker + Creative would make me feel better, but why is that even important to include? Is it a pride thing? A label I need to support my identity? What is wrong if the chief goal of my life is to create a stable house and a healthy family?

Homemaker responsibilities...

I ended up putting Homemaker on the form, laughing it off as I pointed it out to my wife. A few years ago, I would not have been so easy-going about it, but again, as we have gone down this journey of stay-at-home daddom, I know this is where I am supposed to be. I write all of this, not only to process it myself, but to hopefully give another struggling dad some encouragement. What you do is not who you are, and probably not the most important thing in your life. Who you influence is a far-greater thing to be concerned with, and though jobs are indeed important and add a lot to our identity and purpose, never neglect those for whom you do the job, as well as those with whom you do it. These are the relationships that make this life, and the next, worth living.

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Privilege

We recently moved to a very "urban" part of town, and I am constantly struck by how privileged I was growing up. It has been hitting me more and more, which is one of the reasons we wanted to raise our kids in the big city -- they need to see something other than middle-class white their whole lives. The process has been difficult in ways, and uncomfortable, but I think the benefits outweigh the struggle.

First, homelessness is rampant in Los Angeles. Tents are everywhere and our kids ask about them. "Are they camping in the park?" they ask. "They live there," I respond, prompting a gratefulness for our cozy apartment with a solid roof over our heads. At a recent trip to the DMV, a homeless man walked right up to the trashcan and pulled out a quarter-eaten hot dog, taking a few bites before walking away. I can't imagine that being a reality in my life, but it is to a lot of people, and we need to know that and relate to them in some way.

Second, our neighborhood is kind of dirty. I don't really like this part, and it is highly contrasted when we visit our friends that live in nicer parts of town. There, the grass is literally greener, not to mention perfectly manicured. Stay-at-home Moms walk their kids to soccer camp and pick up Starbucks for the whole family along the way, their children indulging on those stupid chocolate ice drinks that still cost $4 for some reason. Honestly, I don't blame anyone for wanting to pay more to have a clean place to live, where everything is nice and safe and contained. But I am also glad to expose my kids to something different -- not dangerous or filthy -- but just a little different. This is the reality for most folks that grow up in this city, and it's good to know what else is out there.

Who could complain with a room like this?

Apartment living in itself is an adjustment, one that has been frustrating for me probably more than the kids. We have been charged with the challenge of fitting a 1500 square-foot house into a 900 square-foot apartment. I always kind of prided our family on living minimally, but I am finding we still have a long way to go! The initial steps of moving in have been a two-week process of taking boxes out, finding a place for the stuff, often hanging shelves or moving things around to create that space, and then moving on to another box. We are almost done but still have to get rid of more to fit it all in! I guess it's good in the long run -- stuff weighs you down, right?

I could go on and on, but as I meet more and more people that grow up in this world, and as we immerse ourselves in it now, I can't help but feel so lucky to have grown up the way I did. For me, college wasn't a far-off dream, but an expectation. It would have been weird for me not to go to college -- I'm finding that isn't the case here. Leaving home to pursue dreams? Not an option with these folks; it is just get a job that helps you survive. We can afford a two-bedroom with enough space for a cool bunk bed with a slide for the girls -- a lot of families here cram four, five, six people into a one-bedroom. How lucky are we?!

You could argue that all of this is a result of decisions we have made in our lives, but even those decisions were planted by the families we were born into, and then supported by those same folks. The whole thing results in an increased attitude of gratitude, and sucks the life out of complaining. How can I complain about anything when I have so much? And in the privileged Western American world we live in, gratitude is so lacking and complaining is so rampant, that I can't help but be thankful even for the experiences we are having right now.

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How to Take Your Kids to the DMV

One of the most difficult parts of stay-at-home life is taking your kids on normal errands. Going to the grocery store or Target are big productions, as opposed to single life, when you just went when you wanted, ran in and got out before your meter ran out of time. Now it takes about 15-20 minutes just to get the kids in the car, making sure you have water, snacks and diapers. You search for that cool shopping cart that looks like a race car and has two seats for both kids, otherwise one has to walk, which is another thing to think about while shopping. You pray the whole time that no one has to go to the bathroom, because that is not only an interruption, but getting a shopping cart in the stall and keeping your youngest from playing with the toilets are no easy task...

And so you can imagine that a more difficult task, something arduous for even a single person with loads of time on his or her hands, is nearly impossible with kids. Well, recently we moved to a new state and had to go to the DMV to get our licenses. I learned some hard lessons that day, which I will generously share with you here:

A happy father at the end of a tremendous wait. Ellie took this picture, which kept her entertained while I was doing paperwork.

1. Come prepared: Bring your normal provisions -- snacks, water and diapers -- but in increased supply. Our DMV visit this day took a whopping four hours, which we were hardly prepared for. Bringing an iPad or Kindle Fire for something to watch, with some books and toys is also a necessity.
2. Pick the right DMV: This was our biggest mistake. We went to a DMV where we had had good experiences at in the past, where people were even happy sometimes. It had good reviews online and had been a pleasant place to visit, all things considered. Well, that was two-to-four years ago, and I guess in that time something has changed. As I mentioned, what I thought would take a couple hours turned into four, and this whole thing was highly avoidable thanks to the internet! In Los Angeles (and I'm sure in lots of cities nationwide), you can see live updates of DMV wait times on their website. After standing in line for an hour, we decided to take a look and realized that another location just twenty minutes up the road had a 45 minute wait posted, while ours had 2 hours 45 minutes! Why didn't we look beforehand?! I am usually not a proponent of technology, but this instance had me floored. Look ahead if you can.
3. Again, pick the right DMV: I listed this twice, not only because it is crucial, but because this particular DMV had a huge park right across the street. Given our wait time (we received number 120 when 32 was currently being served), we went across the street and played for an hour to keep the girls entertained. You may not have a lot of choices in your city, but even mid-size towns often have multiple DMVs available. Sometimes a drive across town can make all the difference, and a DMV located right next to a coffee shop can provide some much-needed relief during a long wait.
4. Make friends: The girls made friends with a girl that kept them entertained for a little while. Later, when they were starting to lose it for thinly stretched patience, talking with the folks around us made it a little better, and again kept the girls entertained. The older I get, the more I see that connecting with the people around us is the most important thing we can do, even if it is just for a quick minute at the DMV.
5. Go as a family if you can: Thankfully my wife is a teacher and off for the summer, so we were able to all go together. This enabled us to take turns with the kids while the other waited in line. If we were unable to do this, I have no idea how we would have made it! Keeping two restless children in line is difficult for twenty minutes, much less four hours! If you don't have this luxury...God help you. Maybe hire a babysitter.
6. Don't give up: As we neared the end, time seemed to slow down. Each number that passed, bringing us to our own glorious resolution crawled on slowly, like an earth worm across hot pavement. Would we make it? Would the kids make it? They were reaching their limit, acting wild and dancing around, running into walls (literal and figurative) and people -- this was as far as they could go. Then, just before our number was called, Ellie had to go to the restroom! What if they called our number while she was going?! What bad timing! Thankfully, we were together, so this wasn't a big deal, but the thought of waiting four hours and then missing my number sounded like a nightmare I would rather not experience.
7. Come prepared: This is written again because preparation included not just snacks and water, but all of our documents! A family next to us were missing some documents, and so their half-day of waiting was all for naught. Can you imagine this?! Waiting four hours only to be told you don't have what you need! Look online and figure out everything you can about what you are doing to prepare! Bring back-up documents, extra IDs, fill out forms beforehand, anything you can do to expedite the process will help both you and the fatigued DMV workers. 

At the end of it all, we left with two California licenses, thank God. And though we all may have lost some form of sanity, we made it out alive. Follow these steps, and you too may just have the same result.

The park that saved us also had a skatepark attached. Sadly, I had no board...

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