I’m so off the Snow Days.

As a kid there was nothing more exciting than a Snow Day.  Unless it was a series of Snow Days.

God Bless a good blizzard (oh, how things change as we get older).

When I became a teacher, I continued my affair with the Snow Day (and by affair I mean… never mind, a hot and steamy relationship with a weather event is just weird).

As a principal, I began to see the Snow Day as an interruption in the educational process.  But I got over that about halfway through my 3rd nap of the Snow Day Day (say that fast 3 times).

Now I’m a Superintendent (unless you’ve heard something… and trust me, it’s just a matter of time) and the Snow Day is my enemy.

You might think I don’t like Snow Days because I have to get up early to check the roads and cancel school.

Nope.

You might think I hate Snow Days because it means we have to add days onto the school calendar in May (when it is warm).

Nope.

You may even believe that my newfound disgust for the Snow Day comes from the fact that I’m stuck in my house with the Evil Spawn and her creepy 3rd grade friends (who force me to buy them lunch and watch my TV).

Nope.

It’s Buddy the Dog.

This may come as a shock because on the outside, Buddy and I seem to have the perfect relationship.

He gets my unconditional love and worship and I get my ego stroked when he jumps around in circles and wags his tail whenever we haven’t seen each other for more than 2 minutes.

It’s magic.

But like all relationships, this one requires a great deal of work.

It’s all about give and take.

I give him food and then take him for a walk.  Everyone’s happy.

Until the Snow Day.

Don’t misunderstand me, Buddy the Dog loves a good Snow Day(s).

They are his free ticket to sleeping inside the house on a weekday.  A cold, snowy weekday.  Plus the creepy 3rd graders rub his belly.

He couldn’t be happier.

Me, not so much.

Turns out walking Buddy on a Snow Day isn’t as much fun as it sounds. 

Why?

Because it’s not safe.  It’s come to my attention that it’s slick outside during a Snow Day.

Plus, he’s rested, I’m not.

He has 4 feet and a low center of gravity.  I have 2, and I’m old with the reflexes of someone my age.

He likes to chase things (rabbits, leaves, trash) through the untouched 6 inches of snow in yards/ditches/fields.

I like to walk in the center of a freshly cleared road.

We could work through these differences except we are attached by a long thin rope (that’s a leash for you dog haters).

While Buddy is a good boy, he doesn’t seem to understand the concept of giving me a heads up before taking off in a dead sprint (when you watch him sleep, 21 hours a day, you would have no idea he’s got Olympic caliber speed).

Let’s not kid ourselves, we may have communication issues.

On 7 occasions (yes, 7) he caused me to slip, slide, wobble, topple, and about fall on my big white-collar job behind during our Snow Day walks.

While walking, I was a stressed out mess.

Every step could have been my last.

The first 6 times he tried to kill me, I caught myself.

The last one, I wasn’t so lucky.

As I lay in the middle of the street trying to regain my composure and catch my breath, Buddy seemed upset.

The only thing I’m wondering. Was he upset because I slipped and fell, or because I survived?

If Buddy was a trained killer… wouldn’t he have a middle name?

Comments: 7
Tags: Buddy the Dog, Evil Spawn/Daughter, Snow Days

It’s possible I’m not going to win the Father of the Year Award anytime soon.

Or ever.

Actually it’s not just possible, it’s pretty much a mortal lock.

It’s not because I call my daughter “The Evil Spawn” in a moderately well-read blog (although that certainly doesn’t help my cause).

It’s because I coach her basketball team.

One would think this would put me in the finals for the Father of the Year competition.

Actually coaching 3rd grade girls in anything should at least get me in the Fast Past line to Heaven (this would be a Walt Disney World/Religious reference… so it’s painfully obvious I’m so not a good person).

I’m trying to do the right thing.  I spend time with the Spawn.  I’ve taught her how to dribble.  I’ve taught her how to shoot.  She’s even scored several baskets (always followed by a slightly creepy celebratory dance she evidently learned from her mother’s side of the family).

I don’t mean to brag, but we’ve won most of our games (4-1 baby!!!).

It seems to me things are going pretty well.

Except there’s one small problem.

Or maybe it’s a big problem.  I’m really not fit to decide at this point.

When I coach her, I only see her mistakes.

And there are lots of them.

Again, I’m not really fit to decide this either (in fact, I really shouldn’t be around children).

I could write an entire blog about her inability to fight through a screen or be in good rebounding position, but then I would really look like an idiot (if you’ve never coached basketball please disregard this sentence as it probably makes absolute no sense… other than I’m an idiot part).

I expect her to play basketball like she’s taking a spelling test (stay with me… I have a point here).  I expect her to play an entire game and not make any mistakes.  None.  Zip.  Nadda.  And whatever the Spanish word for Zero is.

In my mind she should get everything correct just like I want her to do on a spelling test (I didn’t say it was a good point, I just said I had a point).

On the other hand, I recognize when her teammates make mistakes.  And that’s okay because they are trying.

As long as they try and do their best, what more can I ask?

Her?  Different story.

I’m not sure, but this may be a little something I like to call a “Double-Standard”.

By now, you are probably on board with my theory about not winning Father of the Year.

That’s okay because you would be right.  And just so my readers feel good about themselves, I’m about to reinforce this theory.

At our last game, we started the 4th quarter down by 6 points.  That’s not a big deficit unless you’ve seen 3rd grade girls play basketball.  Then you would realize it’s like being behind by 427 points.

Occasionally, our team struggles with “scoring” (as all 3rd graders do).

Basically the game was over.

But as luck would have it, our team battled back (in spite of my daughter… again, I only see her mistakes… I may have some issues and be in dire need of counseling).

With 37 seconds left we were down by 2 points, but we got the ball back.

I called a timeout.

This was the perfect opportunity to put all of my years of coaching knowledge to work.

I could diagram a play and we would win the game.

Too bad the girls were so excited they wanted to talk instead of listen.  Turns out during a timeout with 3rd grade girls, everybody has a story.  Or they are thirsty.  Or they need their shoes tied.  Or ponytails fixed.  Or they want to wave at mom and dad.  Or they need to use the restroom (who can’t hold it for 37 seconds???).

They want to do anything but listen to my ingenious explanation of the play that will win the game.

But this didn’t stop me.  I set up a play (or at least some controlled mayhem…). 

There were two girls I was comfortable taking the last shot.  Both are not related to me (the Evil Spawn is so writing a paper in high school titled “Bad Dad”). 

So what happens?

The play doesn’t work (who’s surprised?… not me).

But something odd happened.

The Evil Spawn evidently stay calmed and used her head (maybe we aren’t related???).

The Spawn scored to tie the game and send it to overtime (which we win!!!).

The crowd goes crazy.

A creepy dance ensues.

And I don’t remember any of it.

I didn’t even know she hit the last shot.  I have no recollection of it.  I thought another girl made the basket.

I was so focused on her not making a mistake.

It was only after the game when I realized she did something wonderful.  It occurred to me when other parents (no doubt better people than me) where high-fiving and congratulating her on the big shot at the buzzer.

Oh, it gets worse.

I not only missed the game-tying shot, I missed all of the shots she made.

Evidently, she was our leading scorer.  I had no idea.

I guess I don’t remember anything.  Except her mistakes.

I haven’t read the book “Good Dad/Bad Dad” (pictured above), but I probably should.

Comments: 6
Tags: 3rd Graders, Bad Dad, basketball, Evil Spawn/Daughter, Father of the Year, Good Dad, Heavan, Walt Disney World

It’s time.

Who am I kidding.  It’s past time.

This has been weighing on me for nearly 3 weeks.

I need to get this off my chest.  I’m tired of feeling like Mark McGwire (no, not juiced up with the strength of 7 men… sick to my stomach from the constant avoidance of the subject).

It’s time to discuss our “vacation” to Disney World.

I put the word “vacation” in quotes because it was no vacation.   There was nothing “vacationey” about it.  It was work. 

Hard work.

With just a dash of stress and a pinch of exhaustion thrown in for good measure.

In this age of full-disclosure, I think it’s important to say that nobody does theme parks like Disney.  Nobody.

The food, cleanliness, employees, fireworks, parades, and did I mention the food… all were great.

It is a wonderful place to take your kids.

I have to say this because I don’t want the Mickey Mouse Mob after me.

These people are crazy.

They are the ones who return to the park year after year.  They never ever vacation anywhere else.

Disney is their shrine.

The whole situation is very cult-like.

You can always recognize them because they wear those goofy mouse ear hats (who pays good money for those things and do they wear them at home?).

Actually all of their clothes have Mickey Mouse on them.

T-shirts, jackets, sunglasses, panties… you name it (don’t ask how I know about the panties because I’m still working through those issues).

Some even have Mickey tattoos.  Disturbing, I know.

The Mickey Mob Members are constantly talking about how things have changed over the years at the “Happiest Place on Earth”.  As in “On our first trip to Disney back in 1979…”.

They are so misinformed.

The “Happiest Place on Earth” isn’t a theme park built around two mice living together in sin.  It’s the empty hallways of a school on a summer day.

Actually that’s not true.

It’s the empty hallway and an empty lounge.

Now that’s happy (at least for a school administrator in June).

Disney wasn’t the problem (again, I don’t want to anger the Mob).

But there were some other issues.  Mostly brought on by our poor planning or total lack of planning in general.

1.  We went to Disney the day after school got out.  Get home, pack, catch a plane.  Bad idea.  I had forgotten how tired one gets at the end of the first semester.

2.  We flew over the Christmas break.  Why didn’t someone tell us the airports were busy during this time of year.

3.  We flew during the time some genius tried to make a bomb in his underpants.  Bad idea for him.  Added stress to us (although sadly security was NO different).

4.  We went to Florida to enjoy the warm weather.  I spent most of the time in a heavy coat (but not heavy enough) and a stocking cap.

5.  We had tickets for 6 straight days of non-stop fun at the various Disney theme parks.  The fun stopped about day 3.5.

Now I know people from the Mickey Mob will email me and say I just don’t get it.  And they will be right.

I don’t get it.

I just don’t get why it’s so much fun to stand in line for 90 minutes to ride a ride for 90 seconds.

I don’t get why adults run across the park to get the autograph from a 20 year old intern dressed up as a mouse.

I don’t get why parents take their 8 month old to a theme park when all they want to do is cry and sleep.

I don’t get why a bottled water costs $48.

And I’m tired of arguing with the Evil Spawn about whether Goofy is a dog or not.

It’s all very confusing to me.

I need a vacation.

If you have kids (over the age of 5) you should go once.  ONCE.

Comments: 8
Tags: Disney, Disney World, Evil Spawn/Daughter, Goofy, Mark McGwire, Mickey Mouse

Today I was awakened by the only thing worse than my maddeningly loud alarm clock (I will never understand why our friends in China couldn’t have added a volume setting… and they think they can rule the world… ).

The Evil Spawn marched into our bedroom and announced she just spilled (this is her nice phrase for… well, you can figure that out).

At first glance, that sounds bad.

On second glance it didn’t smell that great.

But trust me, it’s not as bad as it used to be.

If you have (or had) small children you understand what I’m about to say.

When kids are little they get sick.  A lot.  And worse than that, it happens wherever they are standing/laying.  Don’t even get me started on their ability to project yesterday’s dinner.

No matter how loud you scream “Get in the bathroom!”, they never budge.

They just stand there, look helpless, and cry.  It’s not a pretty picture.

Basically, they are a custodians worst nightmare.

As they get older, they gain the sense where they can actually anticipate oncoming sickness.  This will serve them well in college.

Of course, if they get sick in college, it’s most likely their own fault.

So today after 2 weeks of Winter Vacation and 2 additional Snow Days, she is ill.

How does this happen?

Why does this happen?

Why doesn’t she get sick on a Saturday morning (preferably during soccer season, but I digress).

This means on very short notice at 5:30 am, we had to implement the Alternating Parent Plan.

This highly structured and detailed document is basically mom and dad taking turns staying home from school when the Spawn is ill (I hate to call her Evil when her belly hurts).

At times like this you realize how great it is to be an educator.

They don’t have subs at the factory you know.

Under Section 2, Paragraph 7 of the Alternating Parent Plan it stated very clearly that today was my day.

My first though was “Ugh”.  Suddenly, a Monday at school didn’t sound so bad.

While the bad news piled up on me, so has the laundry.

Plus, as a father I’m not qualified to make the tough medical decisions that come with an 8 year old and her arch nemesis… the flu.  Turns out my high school guidance counselor was right when she told me becoming a doctor was a great career for the smarter kids.

But we are getting by.

Primarily because mom emails on the hour and came home at lunch to check on us (yes, both of us).

The good news is I’m not at work.

Which strangely enough means I can get a lot of work done.

Even with the constant cry of “Dad” in the background (sometimes I even respond), I’m able to whip through my School To-Do List.

No interruptions.  No phone calls.  No angry ________________ (feel free to fill in the blank with just about anyone).

Computers  are great.

There’s no way I could get all of this work completed 15 years ago.

On the other hand computers can be bad.

While I have accomplished a lot, I didn’t have time to watch the Price is Right.  Even though I’m not at work, I’m still working.

Progress is good.

But it hasn’t improved sick days.

Comments: 1
Tags: China, Evil Spawn/Daughter, price is right, sick days

A single meeting can drag on for hours.  Days last forever.  And weeks seem like they will never end.

How is it that a decade can fly by so quickly?

By my estimation decades are about 10 years long (feel free to double-check my math).  That means the last ten years accounts for approximately 1/8 of my life (if all goes well).

I’m starting to get the feeling that I’m living on borrowed time (my life is half over… I hope it wasn’t the good half).

Before the inevitable happens (I’m crossing my fingers that my Evil Spawn doesn’t put me in a nursing home… or a crate), I want to acknowledge how things have changed for me since the good old days (the year 2000).

Back then:

I was a punk teacher who thought I had all the answers.  Now I’m a punk school administrator who realizes that I don’t have any answers (and barely know all of the questions).

I coached a high school varsity boys basketball team.  Now, I coach 3rd and 4th grade girls.

In 2000, I didn’t own my house, truck, a suit, or have any investments.

I believed athletes were honest (steroids), hard-working, and good people (sorry Tiger, but I’m still heart broken).

I trusted politicians.

Buddy the Dog didn’t rule my house (that I didn’t own).

I was a year away from meeting the Evil Spawn.

And hearing my wife curse like a sailor during childbirth.

I didn’t have a Master’s or Specialist’s Degree.

I had never been to Florida, Texas, California, Colorado or basically anywhere.  Mainly because I had never been on an airplane, in a cab, or on a train.

I didn’t have a passport.

Or a cell phone.

We had a computer (that was huge), but it was slower than the phone I now carry around in my pocket.

I used to read the newspaper and look forward to the mail arriving.

Google, Twitter, Posterous, and thousands of other technology things were yet to be discovered.

I was newly-married (and yet my wife hasn’t aged a day in the last 10 years… yes, she reads the blog).

I hadn’t written a blog, read a blog, or heard of a blog.

My big concern back then was Y2K, not the Swine Flu.

Gas was cheap, but I never thought about it.

I spent my evenings watching TV, not working on a laptop.

I had a credit card, but no money to pay it off (because every cent went to student loans).

Any maybe the biggest thing… in 2000 I had absolutely no concept of time.  I didn’t think about the future.  I didn’t think about anything. 

Oh, how life has changed.  So quickly, in such a short time.

It makes me wonder what I’m about to face in the next decade.  What we are all going to face.

In the world.  At school.  In our personal lives.

For me, the next 10 years means I will celebrate my 50th birthday (how is that possible?), my 25th anniversary (what was she thinking?), and my daughter’s high school graduation.

My biggest hope for the next decade is it goes a little slower than the last one.

And I don’t end it in a crate.

Note from wife… Newly married?  We got married in 1995.  A half a decade prior to 2000.  Does that still qualify as “newly married”?

Comments: 3
Tags: basketball, decade, Evil Spawn/Daughter, Google, Posterous, swine flu, Travel, Twitter, Y2K

My Evil Spawn missed 3 days of school this week.

Much to our surprise she wasn’t suspended.  Just sick. 

Maybe the suspension will come later.  Or maybe she will just be incredibly sneaky and not get caught.  Either way, any chance of her having perfect attendance is gone.

Someone will undoubtedly email me to let me know that I’m way too negative when I blog about my Evil Spawn/daughter (odds are the email will be long, angry, hate-filled, use abusive language, and question my ability to parent… and it’s 50/50 that it will be from her mother).

I’m not negative.  I’m a realist.

While she is a very good little girl (even though she thinks she’s 37 and my boss), there is no doubt in my mind that she will have some ups and downs as she makes her way through what will no doubt be several school systems (some she may leave… some she may be asked to leave…).

I’m the exact opposite of those parents who think their kids will never do anything wrong.

My job is not to make excuses for her.  It’s to help prepare her to deal with the mistakes (and trust me, they are coming… between the ages of 12-18… in bunches).

At least for this week, no suspension.  Just sick.

Much to our surprise she didn’t have the Swine Flu.  Not that we would know because we are way too cheap to shell out the cash to have her tested for H1N1.

So we just decided it wasn’t the Pig Disease (really no different than people deciding they have it…).

She had a sore throat, headache, high temperature, and was really lazy.  Although it’s hard to tell if the lazy thing was part of the illness or just regular behavior.

Since she didn’t feel well, it meant one of us had to stay with her.  Evidently, the government has some sort of rule that says little girls can’t stay at home by themselves and watch 72 straight hours of Nickelodeon unless they are accompanied by an adult.

This makes no sense to me, but neither did all of the financial bailouts.

We have a system at our house in which we take turns staying home on the spawn’s sick days.

Since I lost the coin flip, I got days 1 and 3.  My wife got day 2.

I learned a lot during my 48 hour stretch in sick prison.

One Regis Philbin has dyed his hair a disturbing color of dark brown.  This would have been appropriate about 60 years ago (when he was 18).

Secondly, thermometers have come a long way.  I had no idea the ones with batteries were so easy to us.

When I was a kid, my mom stuck a cold glass tube that was filled with mercury in my mouth.  I then had to hold it under my tongue (while gagging) for 37 straight minutes.

That’s if I was lucky.

If I wasn’t lucky she stuck it someplace besides my mouth.

I would blog about these incidents, but I’ve done my best to suppress most of those memories.

In today’s world of technology, kids can take their own temperature.  Which mine did about every 8 minutes (during each and every commercial break).

While her temperature went up and down, she wasn’t sick sick.  I was very thankful for that.

I want to be a good dad, but I’m not overly interested in the throwing up process.

Evil Spawn calls this “spilling”.

The very first time she got sick (at the age of 2… or 7… if you need to know the exact time line you will have to ask her mom… I’m just the dad), she was so apologetic for “spilling” and making a mess on the floor.

And on her pajamas.

And the couch.

And the windows.

And the ceiling.

You have probably figured out why I’m not a big fan of the “sick” sick.

The third and last thing I learned was even when you aren’t at work, you are still at work.

While technology has made thermometers better, it hasn’t improved some other parts of my life.  Like making things simpler.  I thought the ability to access information, email, and be in constant contact was supposed to help.

It doesn’t.

A sick day used to mean I was totally cut off from the world for a day (or in this case, two days).

There was something peaceful about that.  It made you slow down.  And rest. 

And enjoy the Price is Right uninterrupted.

It today’s world, you just keep going.

And going.

And going.

It’s almost like there isn’t time to be sick.

Comments: 4
Tags: Evil Spawn/Daughter, Nickelodeon, price is right, Regis Philbin, Technology, thermometers

It’s official.

My daughter’s 8th birthday dream has come true. Her dream…a dog.

Not clothes, or a new bike, or even a vacation to Disneyland in Orlando… or Disneyworld… I can’t remember which is which.

Of course, this is her dream, not ours.

Her mom and I have lived through the dog stage(s) in our lives and now enjoy the freedom that comes with not having a dog.

Our only child doesn’t seem to understand these freedoms.

Kids these days.

My dreams are simpler. Like more naps. Or more time to nap.

She seems to think that she has her whole life ahead of her and wants to experience different things (including smooching on a dog).

I am happy to help provide her with these things; I just need to know if I will be able to work in a nap before, or at least after these experiences.

My daughter is very patient, but she wants a dog. And she wants it now.

Me. I want her to have a dog, but when it’s warmer outside. And soccer and softball are over. And as soon as we have finished our vacation.

And when she has graduated college and lives in her own home.

After much discussion, she got her way. I am starting to see a pattern in our discussions, but that is another blog.

She says she deserves a dog, because she is an only child. I have offered to get her a brother and a sister, but she doesn’t want them touching her stuff.

Evidently, she prefers a dog laying, slobbering, and shedding on her stuff.

She also wants a dog that will watch TV with her, walk her to church, and lay on the driveway while she shoots baskets.

Oh, I about forgot. She really wants a dog that will lie beside her bed when she is sick.

She doesn’t want her mom or dad when she isn’t feeling well, she prefers a 4 legged beast with big ears and questionable hygiene habits.

After searching (and procrastinating) for several months, we have finally found our new family member.

And when I say family member, I really mean new King of the Household.

I think we have made a good choice. We debated on saving a dog from the pound, which we have done in the past, or buying from a registered breeder.

Turns out we got the best of both worlds.

We found a year and a half old beagle through a breeder. He needs a home because while he was a show dog, he outgrew that job, literally.

So to go along with my unemployed daughter, I now have an unemployed dog.

Little does he know that he has hit the doggy lottery.

He is leaving a kennel of 40 hard-working show dogs to move in with us. He will now spend his days watching Nickelodeon, eating treats, and getting his belly rubbed.

This is one lucky boy. He is about to live the life I used to have.

The only downside for him (there are lots of downsides for me) he has to visit the vet before he can move in with us.

For the “procedure”.

Yes, that procedure.

The vet is going to rip his manhood away from him.

As a guy, I feel badly for him. Not the best way for us to start our relationship, but I can’t have him spreading his manliness all over the neighborhood.

So in 2 weeks, the new man of the house will be here. Well, part of a man.

And I will be moving down the family pecking order. That’s the bad news.

The good news… MY manhood is still fully intact.

Comments: 11
Tags: dog, Evil Spawn/Daughter, parent

Cute Baby.

Mostly you learn that you wish you didn’t learn so much.

Playing a small role in raising hundreds of students is a challenge. But it doesn’t hold a candle to raising your own child.

That is a challenge of almost indescribable proportions.

Being a school administrator makes you think twice about reproducing. Isn’t it about time the government steps in and helps decide who gets to have children and how many?

Oh yeah, the government has its hands full messing everything else up. Never mind.

As an educator it makes you mull over how many evil spawns you should bring into the world (and please don’t think my concerns were with my wife… it was my half of the baby that worried me…)

As an added bonus, when you have kids it is terribly difficult to choose a name that hasn’t been ruined by kids you had in school.

There are several guidelines to this process.

If you have given a detention to a student, that name is out. If you have ever yelled down the hallway at a student, the name is out. If have stuck your name in a bathroom and screamed a name, you can’t use it.

Also, if a name you are particularly fond of has been involved in a fight, arrest, or expulsion… you cannot use it for your child.

Since the first 6 years of my teaching career involved junior high lunch duty, about 84% of names were already on the NO List (this list should not be confused with my wife’s list… the Hell No list).

Plus, as a teacher/coach you get very good at knowing what nickname your child will be burdened with if you make an unwise choice.

You have to stay away from any name than rhymes with anything that is funny to a 7th grade boy. And sadly, everything is funny to a 7th grade boy.

Mulva and Delores just weren’t options for our baby girl (Seinfeld reference… if you don’t get this you need to watch more TV).

My wife and I are now proud owners of a 7 year old. Sounds fun, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

She is a good girl, but when we picked her up at the hospital we quickly figured out that she came with baggage (and I am not just talking about her endless supply of clothes, stuffed animals, and blankets).

She thinks she is 37.

She also thinks her parents are walking banks, housekeepers, cooks, and chauffeurs.

This can be very demanding as we try to raise her and hold down full-time jobs.

As her father, I feel extra pressure.

Since she is an only child (and loves it), I am not only her dad, but coach, brother, and when she is a teenager… her bodyguard.

These are roles that I try to perform successfully, but I am not going to lie… it’s a big job for a middle-aged man who would kill for a nap.

I have learned something during my 7 years as a parent. I have truly come to appreciate how challenging it is to raise a child.

Or 3. Or 5. Or a liter. (I am not even going to mention the horrific scientific experiment know as the Octomom)

I honestly don’t know how people do it.

The discipline. The homework. The jam packed schedules. The endless eye rolling, sighing, slamming of stuff, and the stomping off.

Raising a child (or worse, children) is stressful and time consuming. Some days I am happy to be able to get back to work (at least we have a discipline handbook at school).

Don’t get me wrong, most people would consider my daughter low maintenance. But that is because they don’t live with her.

Even the best kids need some redirection and discipline from time to time.

If you visited our house in the last couple of months you would hear “You’re a CHILD!” screamed loudly… a lot.

It happens at least 3 times a day. More when behavior is an issue.

And the worst part?

It’s what my daughter yells at me.

She is evidently counting the days until I grow up.

I hate to tell her, but once you take on the responsibility of having a father… he is yours forever.

Comments: 5
Tags: Evil Spawn/Daughter, Parents

For some mysterious reason, there seems to be more interest in my blog when I write about my family than when I write about educational issues.

I do my best to write different types of blogs in the hope that I can keep all 12 readers interested (yes, the PrincipalsPage.com Blog continues to grow by 2 or 3 people a year).

My writing style seems to make “editor” types nervous (and by style I mean… actually, I have no idea what I mean because I have no idea what I am doing).

They tell me that the posts for PrincipalsPage.com Blog are “all over the place.” One is about my distaste for soccer, another about New Year’s resolutions, then it’s about NCLB, and finally I am giving advice to new principals (unwanted and unasked for advice….but advice none the less).

This blog seems to confuse people with English degrees. I think they would understand it better if they didn’t spend so much time reading books.

While they are confused, the truth is…so am I (maybe I need to read more books… or any books for that matter).

But that’s okay because total confusion is all part of life in education. When you work in a school and you are trying to help raise hundreds of kids, life can get hectic.

But, it’s manageable.

Just as long as you take the job seriously, but not yourself.

Just when I think my life couldn’t get any more hectic, my wife schedules 87 more workshops, my daughter wants to invite 34 girls to her birthday party (bowling… what could possibly go wrong??), and I find myself cruising the internet late at night for cute puppies (this is not a metaphor… my daughter is getting a dog… or I am, time will tell).

Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining. Lots of families are busier than we are.

They just don’t have a blog to complain about it.

It has taken me 13 paragraphs to get to my point of this blog (maybe the “editor” types are actually on to something).

Lately, I have been busy. So when my daughter told me I was going to spend a Saturday night taking her to a Daddy-Daughter “Main Man” Dance, I did what every clear thinking father would do.

I lied.

Said I was busy. She said I wasn’t.

I said I couldn’t go because I would have the flu that night. She said I was going.

I said I wouldn’t because I am not her real father. She said that since she looks just like me, I was her father and we were going.

My wife didn’t say anything. She was too busy planning her free Saturday night without either of us.

So I gave in and decided to go. I really didn’t have a choice since she had already picked out my suit and tie (black suit, silver tie… I was a vision of handsomeness…).

When we arrived at the dance, I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t that bad. Plus as an added bonus, lots of dads looked far more miserable than I did.

We had dinner, desert, and danced.

Slow danced, not fast (I have the rhythm of a middle-aged white guy… actually, it isn’t that good).

As we danced she thanked me for taking her.

If I was sentimental, this would have warmed my heart.

As we concluded the last slow dance, she started to cry. I asked her what was wrong but she wouldn’t tell me.

I chalked it up to a little girl being tired after a long day.

As we headed home, she finally told me what was making her sad.

She thought the dance went by too fast. She said she wanted to spend more time with her “Main Man”.

I am still not sentimental, but that was nice. Very nice.

Now I have a feeling that in the not so distant future, I will be the one thinking that things have gone by way too fast.

And I will be wishing I was still her main man.

Comments: 10
Tags: countdown, Evil Spawn/Daughter, father, main man, parent

Presents.

I have come to realize that I only have these responsibilities for another 11 years. After that she is society’s problem.

Actually, I hope she is never a problem.

Hope is the key word here.

Time will tell how I have done at my part of the job as a parent (by my calculations I am responsible for 37.98% of the child rearing… the rest is all mom).

I only get one shot at this.

From learning to ride a bike, to hitting a softball, to keeping her room clean, to clearing the dinner table, to boys (ugh… I think I just threw up in my mouth), to changing a flat tire… the list is long of things I have to teach her.

I have no previous experience in raising a young lady. No qualifications. I didn’t take any classes to learn the skills of fatherhood. I haven’t passed any sort of standardized test. And I am not even required to have a license.

The state makes me buy a fishing license every year. But when it comes to raising a child, they just turned me loose. However, putting a worm on a hook and throwing it into a pond…. that takes $10 and two forms of ID.

Even with this lack of experience, my hope is she doesn’t grow up being a complete mess.

And I don’t mind saying, so far so good.

She will be turning 8 this spring and has never been convicted of a felony. Key word here, convicted.

And she doesn’t have any tattoos. That you can see.

By all accounts, my child rearing skills have to be rated at least average.

As a father, my original plan was to look back at my childhood for guidance on how to raise her.

But, I decided that might not be the best idea.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining about how I grew up. It was great.

I just want better for her.

Isn’t that what makes a successful society? Our kids (our replacements) being better than us. If we are being honest, they are already smarter.

I have settled on a plan that is focused on giving her opportunities. Not gifts. Not money. Not stuff. Just the chance to see and do many different things.

Lots of things.

All sorts of things.

Sports, movies, books, museums, travel, piano, skiing, swimming, playing pool, going to historical sites, crafting, exercise, politics, and this list also goes on and on.

Most of these activities don’t cost a lot of money, just time.

My master plan includes exposing her to different things and all kinds of people. With these experiences she will be in a better position to figure out what she loves.

Then maybe she can help make society better, not worse. And hopefully, at the same time she finds happiness.

And with that I will consider her successful. And me a slightly above average dad.

But who knows. Like all parents, you get one shot per child and you hope for the best

Truth be told, I don’t have a plan.

I am just winging it.

And counting on mom.

Comments: 11
Tags: Evil Spawn/Daughter, father, parenting