mirrorThis was going to be a different kind of post. I was going to write about how, come the middle of August every year when I was in elementary school, I got bored. How at some point during the dog days, summer ground to a halt and I got excited about going back to school. It wasn’t that I particularly liked school, just that I craved routine and the freedom and idleness of summer vacation started to wear thin.

I was going to tell you that after two weeks off for paternity leave/spring break, I was ready to get back to work. I do particularly like my job, but that’s not the whole reason. My ass was kicked after a fortnight of full time parenting. I was going to write that after a couple of days where things looked good on the Not Max sleep front, we were back to sleep deprivation and irritability. How, even when he was sleeping, Not Max grunts and snores and coos his way through the night. How I was out of patience for Boy Z and the incessant messing – little hands constantly groping, grabbing, pulling, breaking. And the whining. Oh my god, the whining.

I was going to write that I was ready to get back to my quiet little office at the university. To sit in blessed silence interrupted only rarely by a whining undergraduate.

musicI know all of this would have made me sound ungrateful, bitter and, well, whiny. That is one of the reasons that I decided not to write it. I know it would have made me sound like the very kind of parent for whom I have no patience, the ones who spend all of their conversational energy moaning about their kids. But that’s where I was at the time. I was broken. After Boy Z was born, I was jealous that Dr. O’C got to stay home with him while I had to trundle off to work every morning. After Not Max, I know that I’ve got the better end of the deal.

That’s what I was going to write.

And then the other night during one of Not Max’s 4 a.m. wake up binges I lay down on the couch and popped on an episode of “Six Feet Under”*. One of the story lines had the Fishers doing a funeral for a baby who had died of SIDS. And that episode hit me like a freight train full of shut the hell up. For some reason, since becoming a father I can be moved to tears by even the sappiest father-child story line. I think I started sobbing while watching “Father of the Bride 2″ not so long ago. I know I teared up during the Georgia-LSU game when they cut to Joe Cox’s Dad after what should have been his son’s game winning touchdown pass. And the other morning, as the story on the TV unfolded I was distracted, listening obsessively to my younger son’s breathing as he lay on my chest. I didn’t sleep well for the rest of the night and actually welcomed his snoring as reassurance that everything was as it should be.

And I realized I was being self-centered ingrate.

A self-centered ingrate that needed to shut the hell up and get on with the business of raising his kids to the best of his ability.

dummyThat realization hasn’t made life perfect. It is still really hard. There are still the tantrums and the messing and the whining from Boy Z. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing most of the time with Not Max. I’m still not rallying to the new family dynamic. I’m still throwing tantrums to rival Boy Z’s and doing a lot more shouting than I am strictly comfortable with. And I was pretty excited to be back at work today. I kept my door closed all afternoon to dissuade the casual whining student.

But I’m also grateful. Grateful that I’ve got two beautiful, healthy sons. As much as they can drive me right up to the verge of losing it, I don’t want to imagine life without them. I can’t think of anything worse. Because, as any parent knows, moments of wonderful completely erase hours of horrible.

Still and all, I am looking forward to work again in the morning.

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Due to my connection to the place, I’ll always listen with a tender ear to any band from Athens, Georgia. But Laminated Cat is pretty special, regardless of where they come from. There seems to be a bit of a resurgence of Sixties-esque garage psychedelia happening right now. I’ve been hearing a few bands that sound like they were the spawn of 13th Floor Elevators. These Athenians, however, are the best that I’ve heard, seemlessly blending psychedelia with fuzzy grunge guitar. Laminated Cat’s “Umbrella Weather came out last week on Garden Gate Records and is available from Laminated Cat - Umbrella Weather. If nothing else, Jeff Tweedy fans have got to love the Loose Fur reference.

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*Thanks to Courtney, Headbang8 and Kerry for this recommendation. I’m fully sucked in. Great damn television.

 
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