As you may know, my wife works, (as a maternity nurse), every other weekend. When she does, it’s just me and my boys all day, from wake up to bed time, Saturday and Sunday. Many times when I take them out somewhere, like to a restaurant or something, I feel that people look at us like I’m a divorced dad with custody of his kids for the weekend.

That’s actually a depressing feeling. But I know exactly why I feel that. I remember being with my dad on the weekends, when I and my brother were the ages my boys are now. Our dad was divorced, and had custody of us only on the weekends, and we’d go out to a restaurant for lunch and/or dinner Saturday and/or Sunday. In those days, (70s-80s), that was the only reason you’d see a family without the mom on a weekend. (At least that’s what I thought, at the time.) That experience apparently permanently set my thoughts on seeing a dad alone, out with his children. So when I see a dad taking his kids out to a restaurant, that’s the first thought I have of the situation — I assume he’s divorced, and just with them for the meal together. So, since I have that thought when I see that scene, that’s what I assume others see of me when they see me out with my boys.

And that’s crap. I don’t think the same when I see a mom out with her kids. I don’t assume she’s a single mom. And I don’t add the pathetic idea that she has limited custody, just for the day or weekend.

I hate that. Both the default thoughts I have, and the feelings I feel because I assume everyone else thinks the same as I do. It’s just stupid. I feel guilty for my thoughts, and I feel guilty for what I assume others think, (even though they probably don’t assume what I think).

I’ve found myself explaining to total strangers that I’m not a divorced dad. I find myself mentioning to the waiter that, “Mom is working today.” or “We’re giving Mom a little break tonight.” It’s an instinctual utterance, most likely completely unnecessary. The person probably didn’t think what I assume they thought, and even if they did they don’t care.

It’s strange how something so stupid can bother me to such a core level.

Bullgrit

Last night, while lying in bed, suddenly everything seemed weird. Something was . . . wrong. It took me a few moments to realize what it was. The room was completely dark — pitch black —  and very quiet — eerily still. Our bedside digital clocks were dark, and the white noise machine was silent. The power was out.

It’s amazing how dark the house can get with no electricity powering the little electronic devices we take for granted. Normally it’s pretty easy to get up and walk to and from the bathroom in the night because the clocks or some little red dot on some device serves as markers for where things are. But when everything if off, the dark is complete blackness. Literally can’t see your hand in front of your face.

I got out of bed, and carefully and slowly felt my way to the window to look outside. I parted the curtains and blinds, and saw the glowing streetlight beside the road that runs past our neighborhood. On the other side of that road, I could see lights on in houses in the other neighborhood. Hmm. Is it just our house that’s without power? I slowly and carefully made my way across the bedroom and out to the hall to look out a front window. The streetlight in front of our house was dark, and all the houses down our street were dark. So, it wasn’t just our house. Wonder what caused this? No storm, nothing going on that I could see or hear. Just a random power outage.

When I walked back into the bedroom, Wifegrit was awake. I told her the power was out. She had to get up for work Saturday morning, so she needed an alarm. She opened her iPad. It was 11:35. While she set the iPad’s alarm, I made my way to my office to get my phone. I used it as a flashlight to get back to bed. I forgot that I keep a big Maglite in my nightstand.

While she had her iPad open, she checked Facebook. One of our neighbors had posted about the power outage. Wifegrit confirmed in a comment to that post that it did seem that the whole neighborhood was out. Then she closed the pad,  and we both went back to sleep.

A while later, though, I heard a strange moaning sound. My first thought was that the dog was snoring. So I listened to his breathing — easy to do when the house is otherwise completely silent. The moaning didn’t seem to match the dog’s breathing pattern. Then I realized it was one of our boys making the sound down the hall. I hopped out of bed and went through the blackness, (I forgot the flashlight again), to find that Calfgrit9 was trying to call for attention.

CG9 was spooked by the darkness and silence. His room has a nightlight and a fan, and both were off. I talked to him a minute, to explain that the electricity was out. He was trembling and his voice was cracking. So I got in bed with him and snuggled up with my arm over him. He calmed down after a minute, and we whispered a conversation for another minute or two. He asked what time it was, and I said I didn’t know.

He really wanted to know what time it was, so I left to go get my phone from my bedroom. On my way back to him, the power came back on. In his room again, I showed him the time on my phone, (1:10), and we talked another minute. He said he would be alright now that it wasn’t completely dark and quiet.

Soon I was in my bed asleep again. I dreamed of fighting zombies. Not a scary dream, but actually a fun and exciting adventure. I wonder if the power outage prompted that?

Bullgrit

Today, I become the father of a teenager. My oldest son turns 13. Oh boy.

Last night he had a sleepover party with 6 of his friends. Seven 12-13 year old boys can just fill a room.

The den floor was covered in sleeping bags and pillows, and the whole house was filled with loud talking and raucous laughter from 5:30 to well past midnight. After everyone arrived, we fed them pizza, then Calfgrit13 wanted to watch Ghostbusters. After the movie, it was time for cookie cake and ice cream. CG13 no longer wants to do the candles and singing part of a birthday party, but cookies and ice cream, that, no boy outgrows.

One friend went home at 9:00, then the rest of them spent the evening playing Halo 3. (CG13 got an Xbox 360 for Christmas, and his friends brought their own extra controllers.)

Although I watched the movie with the boys, I left them alone to play their games. (Wifegrit went to bed, exhausted.) I sat upstairs in my office, with my door open, surfing the Web and listening to their voices carry up the stairs. Everyone was talking over everyone else such that I couldn’t make out a word anyone said at any time. It was all just a constant cacophony.

I went back down to check on them a couple of times, and found them watching Airplane!. Think about that a moment — 13 year old boys, left to their own choices, turned off a shooting game from 2007 and put in a comedy classic film from 1980. This supports my belief that boys would rather laugh with their friends than kill each other. It’s a good thing.

At midnight I went down to call for lights out. Surprisingly, the lights were all already out, and only the TV was on. They were just about to start another Xbox game, but they grudgingly turned it off.  Everyone got to their sleep places and continued talking quietly. I went back up to my office. I held no illusion that they’d go right to sleep.

At 12:30 I heard loud music downstairs. I tip toed down the stairs to see what the boys were doing. The TV was on again, and three boys were playing/watching Portal 2. The other three boys were playing on their smart phones. The phones were the loudest things in the room. Really loud. I stood behind them all, at the dark edge of the room. After a minute, CG13 spotted me. “Hi Dad,” he said.

“Hi son. Whoever, turn down the volume, OK?”

The boys with the cell phones turned down the music, but no one quit any game.

I said, “For the record, I told you to turn everything off at midnight. Right?”

“Yes,” they all said.

I went back up to my office. The talking downstairs continued, loud enough I could hear them upstairs. But after 15 minutes, it quietened enough. I could tell they were still up and probably playing games, but at least they wouldn’t wake mother or little brother.

I was tempted to go back down and shut things off, firmly, for the night, but a boy doesn’t turn into a teenager every birthday. I thought I’d let Calfgrit13 live it up a bit. So long as they didn’t wake Wifegrit or Calfgrit8, or me once I went to bed, (at 1:30am), I was fine with them “partying” all night :-)

Bullgrit

Wednesday, our sweet little family pet, Shadow the guinea pig, died. Calfgrit8 is heartbroken.

Back in mid 2011, CG8 started talking about wanting a guinea pig. He checked out guinea pig books from the library to learn about them and how to care for them, and he started saving up money to buy one from the pet store. We agreed that if he saved up enough for the pet, we’d help him with buying the house/cage. He was so excited when he finally had enough money saved up in his bank.

In November 2011, we took him to Petsmart. He picked out a cute little black guinea pig with some white and brown patches.

We all picked out a nice cage for him, and gathered up all the bedding and food necessary for a healthy pet. Calfgrit8 named his little guy, Shadow.

From his books, he knew all about guinea pigs and how to care for them. He did a fairly good job of keeping the little guy fed and watered. And although Wifegrit did most of the big cleaning of the cage, CG8 did help as he could. (The cage was nearly as big as he.) For almost two years, Shadow was a part of this family. His cage was in the loft area, central to all the upstairs rooms and activity.

We built a moderate-sized running area out of a big cardboard box, and CG8 created little obstacles out of shoe boxes and cardboard scraps. Every few days, and while cleaning his cage, CG8 or Wifegrit would put him down in the run for exercise. He loved having more room to wander around. And apparently he loved chewing the cardboard.

When all was quiet, we could hear him moving about in his cage, hear him drinking water, and occasionally he made adorable little squeaks. And when in his run, you’d hear the pitter of his little clawed feet running this way and that over and through the obstacles.

He loved Calfgrit8 as much as my little boy loved him. When CG8 was away for an extended period, visiting grandparents or off on a sleepover at a friend’s house, when CG8 came home and went upstairs, that little guinea pig would squeak to get his attention. He’d also squeak for Wifegrit. (Who doesn’t love Wifegrit?)

Almost two years with us. Then Tuesday, we noticed he wasn’t eating or drinking. Tuesday night I was sent to the grocery store to pick up a cucumber, (Shadow’s favorite vegetable), to try to entice him to eat something. But even placing his favorite food in front of him, he just wouldn’t eat. It was decided that Wifegrit would take him to the vet the next day.

Wednesday morning, the vet diagnosed Shadow had a respiratory infection. She gave the little guy some medicine at the appointment, and gave instructions on how to care for him to help him recover. But then that evening, about 5:00, Calfgrit12, big brother, called me.

“Hi Dad,” he said, sadness in his voice. I could hear crying in the background. “I don’t want to ruin your day, but we think Shadow is dead.”

“Oh no!” I said. “I’m on my way home right now.”

It was that quick. He went from seeming normal one day, not eating the next day, to passed away one day later. When I got home, the crying was over, and everyone was in bed with Wifegrit watching some cartoons. They were trying to get past the sadness. I found Shadow laying still in his cage. I petted him gently and felt his stiff, cool, little furry body. Awe man. That sucks. He was such a sweet little thing.

We all talked about what we needed to do. Calfgrit8 wanted him to be buried in the backyard, under a tree. I scooped little Shadow up, placed him on a paper towel, and took him out to the backyard. It took me several minutes to dig a grave through all the roots and rocks under the tree. Both boys came out to watch over Shadow while I dug. At last I had a hole big enough. The boys watched as I carefully lowered the pet into the grave, and then they left so as to not watch me shovel dirt on him. When digging the hole, I scooped up a small pine tree sapling in a big chunk of dirt. I made sure that marked the spot when I covered the hole up. With luck, that little sprig will grow as a marker for Shadow.

Wow, this all happened so fast. Just out of the blue. We lost a very sweet pet that our 8 year old son really loved. Over the past couple of days, he’s had a few sad moments. One time he just went from happy to crying, putting his head in his hands, sobbing, “My guinea pig died!”

Today he’s talked about wanting another guinea pig, which he’d name Shadow II.

Bullgrit