Redneck Riviera With Kids: It Ain’t All Peace, Love, and Putt-putt

Redneck Riviera With Kids:  It Ain’t All Peace, Love, and Putt-putt

For ten years my husband and I endured enjoyed, the sugary sands of the Redneck Riviera with a kid aged five or younger.  

Each summer I imagined peace, love, and Putt-putt.  I wore a badge of twisted optimism like some sort of hazy, Kodak-commercial, rose-colored glasses.  I always forgot the misery and bloodshed of the previous year.

http://www.carolineghetes.com/blog/2012/01/17/best-of-2011-personal/

One kid loved the water.  One hated it.  And one was Zombie Baby, walking around crying with her arms straight out and chubby fingers spread because the sand was yucky. 

We hauled a baby walker and a plastic pool down to the beach in addition to the usual mountain of essentials.  We were hard-core parents, and we were determined to freakin’ have fun.

http://community.thebump.com/cs/ks/forums/thread/75236724.aspx

Once my husband had to fly out on business during the last few days of our vacation and suggested I stay a little longer with the kids.  I wasn’t on Prozac . . . yet, but was obviously hallucinating when I agreed.  

Being alone with the kids on the beach was stressful because of all the whining and crying, and sometimes even the kids whined and cried.  

We had just settled under the umbrella when my five-year-old son wanted to retrieve a toy from the condo.  I refused to go get it because I’d have to drag the other two kids also.  He began wailing and grabbed my phone to call Child Protective Services.  Naturally, I tossed him enough sugar to induce a coma, dodging that bullet.

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My three-year-old daughter could pull a dog bed full of a 20-lb. sleeping dog across the house and out the door because Max “need some fwesh aiwr,” but couldn’t carry a beach pail.  

On the last day my arms were loaded with gear, and when I asked her to carry the pail, she plopped down in the sand sobbing.  I bent over to pick her up and my beach bag swung off my shoulder and smacked her in the head.  With the weight of the bag hanging in front of me, I fell over her, head-first in the sand.  She was trapped face-up under a mesh beach chair and calmly asked my son to make another call to CPS.

My 18-month-old observed, shaking her head, and jotted something in a notepad.

http://www.goodtoknow.co.uk/family/144222/Six-things-you-never-knew-about-your-toddler

The morning we flew home, I frantically gathered toys, put back the pans my daughter slung out of the cabinets, packed snacks and drinks, put the pans back again, and retrieved the cordless phone from the trash can.  

We raced an hour to the airport and while boarding, the kids loudly asked me 500 times whether my “throat huhwt” and was I going to drink those little bottles of “cough seh-wip” on the plane like I did last time.  Don’t judge me.  It was “Pre-WWW.” (Pre-World Wide Web)  YOU try to keep an 18-month old occupied on a 1 1/2-hour flight armed only with books, stickers, and a straw.

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When my husband returned home, I immediately threw him the reigns, warning him that I felt sick. 

http://blog.consumerbell.com/2011/06/02/daddy-and-soon-to-be-survival-kit-tell-us-your-funny-daddy-story-2/

“In fact,” I said fighting some phlegm, “I might be contagious.  I should probably lock myself in the bedroom . . . and I could really use some “cough seh-wip.”

http://www.123rf.com/photo_12117515_girl-sick-with-the-flu-coughs-a-mug-of-tea.html

The Evolution of Dads

I am reposting this from last Father's Day.  ----------

The Evolution of Dads

What happened to the good old days when Dad came home from work and Mom handed him a newspaper and said, “Here’s your slippers?”  Nowadays after work, the kids are at soccer and piano, Mom works late, hands Dad a Lean Cuisine and says, “There’s the microwave.”  Poor guy.  The rules changed as fast as you can Google “Women’s Movement,” and Dad had to learn to change the baby’s diaper as well as change the oil in the car.  

But a funny thing happened.  The uninvolved Dad realized he really liked kissing chubby little feet as he changed diapers.  And he enjoyed playing Barbies and Pirates with his kids instead of watching the Cowboys on TV.  The modern Dad is solid as a rock—and rocks at Wii Hoola Hoops.

Mom may be better at handling girl drama, but no one is better than Dad at lining up army men for battle and initiating ticklefests.  He rides with you on roller coasters, but not the rides that spin.  And he sculpts cool sandcastles at the beach and lets you bury him in the sand. 

Regardless of family dynamics and the demands of his job, he’s never too busy for his children.  He’s there to teach his son how to throw a fastball and how to survive when life throws him a curve. And he’s there to kill bugs and blow bedtime kisses. 

The modern dad knows how to fix a flat tire and fix his daughter’s broken heart.

He makes tee times for his son and makes time for tea with his little girls.

He teaches his daughter how to bait a hook and how to determine whether her date to the prom is a bottom-feeder.

He tells his daughter scary stories at nine and scares her boyfriend half to death at sixteen.

He checks for leaks in the attic and monsters under the bed.

College football is something he lives for, but he misses the game because Christmas lights are something his kids can’t live without.

He sacrifices luxuries in his own world for his kids’ first trip to Disney World.

He paints the whole house and paints his daughter’s fingernails.

He knows how to call a duck and call his mother just to say hi.

He bounces his toddler on his knee and carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And he’ll never ask for a pat on the back for simply doing his job.

Whether he is old-school or modern, the moment a new Dad holds that squirming bundle in his arms for the first time, a powerful pride surges through his veins, calling him to be part of something larger than himself.  It awakens a protective and noble facet of his identity which first blossomed when he was a boy fighting fierce backyard battles with his trusty pirate sword.  He’s his daughter’s first Prince Charming and his son’s infallible Superman.

Dads have transformed through the years, but some aspects of fatherhood never change.  Dad never misses an opportunity for a little friendly competition.  Mom is the one who warns you not to take that jump on your bike, but she doesn’t know Dad is the one who dared you to.  Dad races you to the house but always cheats and takes off before he says, “Go!”  He always wins the “can’t-keep-a-straight-face” contests, but he helps you win prizes at the fair.   

Though Dads have evolved, two irrepressible DNA traits remain from the vestiges of the caveman.  #1—Dad is always right so do not bother arguing with him.  #2—If he doesn’t know an answer, he will make stuff up.    

Predictably, as his toddler morphs into a teenager, Dad’s tender love often evolves into tough love as he imposes sanctions on cars and cell phones.  From Ward Cleaver to Al Bundy, Dads have repeated the same mantra to their irreverent subordinates—“When you grow up you’re going to have a rude awakening,” “Nobody cares why,” and “If you don’t like it here, go find another family!” 

I have a family of my own now, and I have etched Dad’s nuggets of wisdom into the bark of our family tree. When I grew up, I DID have a rude awakening, I realized my boss DOESN’T care why, and everything Dad told me was true, except the stuff he made up.