The alarm on my phone pierced the serenity of the night.  It was early.  Or it was late.  3:00 a.m. does that to your brain - all you know is the only place you should be is wrapped up under the covers with your tattered shorts and “I’m Wearing My Twitter Shirt” t-shirt.  Instead, you find yourself filling up a travel mug with a poor man’s mocha of freshly brewed coffee and hot chocolate, pulling an old beach chair out of the garage and heading to the local elementary school to register your kids for kindergarten.

I arrive at 3:45 a.m. and there is already a group of 10 or so people waiting in front of the school auditorium.  They say the early bird catches the worm, but the early parent also guarantees enrollment in the area’s only full-day kindergarten.  There are 100 spots for kindergarten in this school and those who arrive after 7:00 a.m. will be out of luck.  They will also have to wait all day in the auditorium to register as it take each parent approximately 10 minutes to register.  That’s six people per hour. It’s gonna be a long day.

But for me, it’s a long night.  I settle into my beach chair at 3:45 and sip my mocha and make small talk with the lady to my right.  She lives in my neighborhood so we chat about home values, our kids and the fact that the school district really should change the way people register for kindergarten.  This. Is. Insane.

Before long, but long after my legs have turned numb, the sky begins to lighten and, thank God, the custodian arrives to open the restrooms. After a trip to the little boys room, I’m a new man. Soon after, the doors to the auditorium open and we are escorted into the warmth of a carpeted multi-purpose room that has a stage, basketball hoops and fold out tables. Being the newbie that I am, I did not realize I should have picked up the enrollment forms ahead of time. So, I quickly grab a couple of packets and furiously scribble all the needed information in record time. I am ready when my number is called at 8:30 a.m.

But, it turns out, I’m NOT ready. The first person I speak to is the school nurse who informs me while cringing that our shot records are not up to date. These are the same shot records that we scheduled an appointment in February with our pediatrician to make sure they were up to date. And now? After almost 5 hours of waiting, I’m about to lose what little sanity I have left. I know it. The Nurse knows it. Luckily, I ask, is there anything I can do? She summons over the head admin person, explains my situation, and asks if they can hold my spot. Once we hear yes, she tells me to go get my kids and go straight to the pediatrician’s office. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200 but also, do not leave without getting those shots.

So that’s what I do. And the kids? They deserve a frickin’ award after being unceremoniously plucked from daycare and ushered over to the pediatrician where they are given FOUR shots without a single tear. In fact, Swee’Pea actually giggled the entire time - which totally confirms my suspicions that no one will EVER figure that girl out.

Two hours after I’m told our shots aren’t up to date, I arrive back in the auditorium where they are serving number 23. I proudly show them my updated records and, duly impressed by my speed and determination, I am allowed to register the kids for kindergarten. Mission accomplished.

Now, they better get straight A’s or there will be hell to pay! (What? They don’t get grades in Kindergarten? Who do I talk to about that?!)

We are in the bathroom, brushing our teeth, when Swee’Pea and TheMonk begin discussing what they learned in preschool that day.  The preschool they are attending is a very nice preschool that happens to be run by a Lutheran church.  As a result, Swee’Pea and TheMonk are getting a daily dose of “Jesus Time” that they really haven’t received here at the old homestead.

For instance, after the first week of preschool, as I am driving them to school, TheMonk suddenly announces from the back seat, “Daddy! Jesus died on the cross.  And then he came back to life! [Short pause]  Why did he die, Daddy?”  “Um…” I replied, not really wanting to get into the whole For Our Sins conversation with a four-year-old, “Uh, ask your teacher, Buddy.  She’ll be happy to answer that question.”

Fast forward a couple of weeks and during their teeth brushing session it is evident that Swee’Pea and TheMonk are getting a better grasp on who Jesus is.

TheMonk: “Jesus knows everything.”

Swee’Pea: [Toothbrush waving in air for emphasis] “Yep,” Swee’Pea nods knowingly, “Jesus knows everything.”

TheMonk: “Yes… Just like Santa Claus.”

Once upon a time, I had beautiful hair.  The lady who cut my hair in high school even told me so. In fact, when I wanted a buzz cut my senior year in high school, she refused to cut it.  I had to go to a barber to do it.  In retrospect, if I had known that my hair would start thinning out soon after, I might have kept the longer locks for as long as possible.

Now, I wear my hair cut pretty short.  But I still have hair.  I like my hair and I would like to keep it.  In fact, there’s only one reason for me to consider my head without hair - raising money to help the families we serve at YMCA where I work.   So…

Starting today, I want to raise $1,000 via this blog.   On my YMCA blog, there is a “donate” button on the top right corner.  Click on it and make a donation.  In the “Comments” section, leave a short comment referring to my baldness.  Any amount - no matter how big or small - makes a difference.  If we get $250 dollars in donations in the next week then I’ll shave my goatee.  If we get $1,000 in donations by next week then I’ll shave my head too.  I”ll then post a video of me shaving my head for you to laugh and ridicule me.  Well, even more than you already do.

Remember! It’s for the kids and families we serve.  Your donation helps us fulfill our vision of never turning anyone away due to an inability to pay.  You can read some of the past few stories on this blog to get a feel for the type of need we encounter on a regular basis.  Then, donate. To help a child - and to see me bald.

Deadline is Wednesday, March 3rd at 5:00 p.m. PST. Hurry up and make me bald!

He pads into my room in the early dawn, clutching his stuffed monkey. As he makes himself over to my side of the bed, he pauses for his obligatory morning hug and kiss before climbing into bed between me and his mommy.

As part of the routine, I grab the iTouch charging on my nightstand and hand it to him to entertain himself while I try and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Before long, he is sitting on the bed, legs crossed in front of him, with his face buried in the iTouch.

When this routine first started a few months ago, the iTouch was all about the race car video games. But recently, after I showed him the music and set up a playlist just for him, he’s been enthralled with the music. And today, he is sitting in his familiar cross-legged position with his back to me. He is slowly rocking side to side in time to the music. And then, I hear him singing…

He is singing Taylor Swift’s Teardrops On My Guitar. And he knows the words. And his little 4-year-old voice matches Taylor’s note for note. From behind, I can tell that he’s looking down at the iTouch. I wonder what he is looking at so I rise from my bed slowly and make my way around to the front of the bed. I glance at the iTouch resting in TheMonk’s lap. He is oblivious to me so I can easily see what he’s looking at. Gazing, actually.

And there it is. TheMonk is gazing at the lovely face of Taylor Swift.

I’d say he’s smitten.

Recently, while playing with YouTube on my iPhone, I decided to search for some School House Rock videos to play with the kids. Only, after watching a few, I realized that the twins are probably at least a couple of years away from really benefiting from some of the classics like I’m Just a Bill, Conjunction Junction or Interjection!

But then, I found an old, long forgotten favorite. It’s a Public Service Announcement from the American Broadcasting Company featuring Yuck Mouth - a disgusting dude with awful teeth singing about how his name is Yuck Mouth because he doesn’t brush his teeth. I showed this to Swee’Pea and TheMonk and while both enjoy it, Swee’Pea has taken an instant liking to it. After just a few viewings she had mastered the song. Now, when we brush our teeth, Swee’Pea likes to begin with a round of Yuck Mouth. Enjoy.

So my blogging pal Renee at But Why Mommy whose birthday, you may recall, we celebrated here a few months ago is about to adopt a beautiful baby boy named Lion and our mutual friend Issa (who I adore and you should too) thought it would be a great idea to throw her a virtual baby shower.  Seeing as how I’m probably the only guy that’s been invited to this party, I thought my gift should be to both Renee and her husband Scott about how raising a boy is different than raising a boy - and how it’s not.  So, happy adoption Renee and Scott! Lion will be lucky to have you.

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Raising a boy in this day and age is a challenge. On one hand, you want your son to be strong and confident enough that he doesn’t get his butt kicked out on the playground on a regular basis. On the other hand, you want your son to move beyond age-old stereotypes of caveman-like proportions. This means letting your son dress up in his sister’s princess gowns and try on fingernail polish whenever he gets the urge. It also means letting him play with dolls and fire trucks and dolls with fire trucks.

Raising a boy means you will have to answer questions Lots of questions. Some of these questions you will know the answer to and some you will have to make up. This includes questions like “How fast is that race car, Daddy?” or “Why do boys have penises and girls have vaginas?” or “Why do you keep saying, Sssshhhh?!” Questions. Be ready.

Raising a boy means messier meal times and a totally different rule book than the one you started creating for your lovely daughter. Rules that made your daughter cringe in fear will be laughed at by your son.

Raising a boy means really boring outfits. Remember all those incredibly cute outfits you couldn’t help but purchase for your little girl? Yeah, those don’t exist for boys. The biggest thrills you will get shopping for your son is deciding between jeans and corduroy pants.

Raising a boy means longer potty-training battles (”Point that thing down, son. Down! I SAID DOWN!!”). It also means dodging streams of pee shooting toward your face when changing his diapers. It will happen. Let’s hope your reflexes are up to the challenge.

Raising a boy means teaching him how treat the women in his life and the responsibility that holds. It means showering him with love and affection from both dad and mom so he has balance in his life when he goes out into the world. It means teaching him to express his anger with words, not with his fists.

Finally, raising a boy isn’t all that different than raising a girl. Love him and hold him close to your heart every day of your life. In the end, that’s enough.

I remember the way you looked the very first time I met you. I remember what you were wearing. I remember the way your hair framed your beautiful face. I remember that you were on the phone and were distracted enough by your call that I could look at your incredibly tan, incredibly muscular legs and think, “Wow.”

Wow. That word still applies, you know. Probably not in the same way it did in July, 1998 but it still applies. Back then, the wow was superficial. I didn’t know you yet. I didn’t love you yet. I didn’t yet know that you were the love of my life. All I knew was that I wanted to get to know you better.

Getting to know you wasn’t easy. You were skeptical of me. I can’t say I blame you but I was determined. I wore you down. I kept loving you until one day, you couldn’t help but love me back. Then, one day, in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant, I asked you to marry me. I asked then and there because I couldn’t wait for the next chapter to start. I couldn’t wait for the “perfect moment” because the only perfect thing was being with you.

But even then, I didn’t know how much I could love you. Through the years we’ve grown up together. Through incredible highs and incredible lows we’ve had each other and that, my beautiful wife, is something I never knew could be when I first laid eyes on you so long ago.

Of course, becoming a parent with you has made me love you even more. I love watching you interact with the kids. I love that our kids have turned out so well all because of you and your vision for what you wanted our kids to become. You help me become a better father and, I hope, a better husband.

Here’s to another year of love, my beautiful wife. May you always know how much I love you and how much Swee’Pea and TheMonk love you as well.

I’ve been known to be competitive.  I don’t like to lose.  So when UndomesticDiva started talking trash about what a great cake decorator she is, I had to chime in.  Smack talk led to smack talk and eventually a throwdown was discussed.  For the record, I didn’t get to choose the theme: Mario Brothers.  But, I rose to the challenge, figured out the fondant thing and put my best effort forward.  The video below shows the process.  The first minute is me talking about the cake and then… 3 and a half minutes of cake making - at lightning speed.  Skip to the 4:30 mark to see the end product.  And all I ask is, when deciding which cake is best, notice my integration of technology.  Yes, that’s an iTouch with Mario Brothers games being played on it.  Leave who you think is better in the comments section. (Check out her cake here.)   This isn’t about any tangible prize - just pride.  Lots of pride.

It’s a Saturday.  Saturday is a day of frozen waffles, fresh brewed coffee, the morning paper, the Disney Channel and… Gymnastics.

Gymnastics is pink leotards, bare feet, nervous kids, summersaults, dancing and lunch at McDonalds.

Normally, we go as a family - our morning ritual of family time and lunch.  This particular Saturday, however, Mommy has a cold so I am tasked with taking the kids on my own.  This isn’t a problem and I hustle to get the kids ready to go.  It is during this time that Swee’Pea announces she doesn’t want to go to gymnastics.

Now, Swee’Pea is a someone who fights her shyness whenever she’s in a public setting.  Lately, I’ve been very proud of the fact that she seems to be beating that shyness more than losing to it.  We have talked a lot about being brave and trying even when you’re scared and she often takes those talks to heart.  It’s been so heartening to see that growth.

But that growth didn’t manifest itself on this Saturday.  Her early grumbling about not wanting to go to gymnastics lasted the entire drive and continued as we took off shoes and got ready for class to start.  TheMonk, who at this point has been going along just fine, sees an opportunity and begins to whine about not wanting to go to gymnastics too.  Suddenly, I’m outnumbered.

Class begins and they become shy and begin clutching my legs.  The 15 other boys and girls make their way to the room and mine continue to clutch me out in the hall.  I explain to them that I’m not going to play this game and that if they don’t want to participate then we will go home.  No summersaults. No dancing. No McDonalds.

I can tell that TheMonk could be persuaded by this argument and he starts to head into the room.  Until he noticed that his sister wasn’t budging.  Then, he dug his heels in too.  Neither of them would budge even after several attempts and warnings that we would go home.  So at this point, I called their bluff.  Or maybe they had called mine.  I’m not sure.  Either way, I was done.  I started to head over to the cubbies to get their shoes and announced that we were leaving.  That’s when the screaming commenced.

TheMonk, realizing that his Happy Meal was now slipping from his grasp began a full-scale tantrum.  Swee’Pea began crying.  She let me put her shoes on but she knew that I wasn’t happy.  I couldn’t get TheMonk’s shoes on with all the kicking so I grabbed his shoes in one hand and I grabbed TheMonk with my other hand and threw him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he kicked and screamed.  Swee’Pea followed at my side, tears streaming down her face as we made our way into the car where I strapped two crying four year olds into their car seat and started the drive home.

Upon arriving at home about 8 minutes later, I took them upstairs and sent them to their room where they continued to cry for another five minutes.  It wasn’t until after they stopped crying that I made my way inside.  I asked them to join me on the floor and we sat facing each other.  I calmly explained that what they did today is not okay.  That if they are feeling scared or unsure of something that they have to use their words and not their tears.  I told them that their behavior was very disappointing.  I was disappointed in them because of their behavior.  Upon hearing this news, both of their heads dropped and I could tell that what I was saying was making an impact.  We ended the discussion with promises to try harder and apologies to me for their behavior.

Apology accepted.