A Day in a Life

Being a dad is pretty cool. How cool? Very. Especially if you have the great fortune to be the parent of the most wonderful baby in the world. Here are some snapshots of this little miracle so the rest of the world can share in this blessing.

#1: Food is good. Food is a very, very good thing.

#2: Sleep is good. Sleep is very very good. OK, maybe this isn't #2, but I figured I'd skip #2 even though #2 is a BIG part of his day.

#3: Daddy time is a good thing. Especially for Daddy.

#4: Daddy has other wonderful things in his life.

#5: Bed time. I love singing to him, dancing with him, loving on him. Last night, during this pic, I sang...

Close your eyes,

Have no fear,

The monsters gone,

He's on the run and your daddy's here,

Beautiful,

Beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful Boy,

Before you go to sleep,

Say a little prayer,

Every day in every way,

It's getting better and better,

Beautiful,

Beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful Boy...

It rained a little last night. Distant thunder. I woke a few times, fed my son. Even did a little house work at 1:30. And when he began to fuss at 5:30, I had the privilege of sharing with him the morning air, fresh from the night showers. He ate breakfast on the back deck, feeling the breeze on his face, hearing the rustle of leaves...

Momma thinks I'm crazy, and threatens to take pictures of me tearing around the house with the dog in my shorts. Little does she know that such a threat doesn't bother me! HA!

"Honey Bunny.... Don't you dare! You're in big trouble mister!"
But she can't resist my silliness...
So.... after getting some coffee into her I talk her into going to the park... 6:00 a.m. is a wonderful part of the day!

See?! Very enjoyable!

Now for some breakfast!

Doctor Visit Today

There was a measure heading for the Fall ballots in San Francisco, but it was struck down by the courts.

Proponents of the measure decry male circumcision as barbaric, unnecessary, and a mutilation (circum meaning "around" and cædere meaning "to cut").

We are taking our son in for the procedure in an hour.

It makes me uneasy, the idea of inflicting any pain, or even discomfort, on my son.

So why do it?

I could point to a recent study which indicates that circumcision makes it more difficult to contract AIDS. That really isn’t a motive for me, but there are other health arguments and they do carry a little weight.

The measure was tossed because it virtually attacks those of the Jewish faith who are required to do this.

Though my faith does not require it, there is something about the way this practice was given to Abraham, father of three world religions, and he was instructed to do this not only to all male members (unfortunate pun there) of his family, but also those in his employ (and my son is ticked because a potential employer wanted him to cut his hair!).

It may not be a big deal but it does prompt a little introspection in me (doesn’t everything?).

So, partly from tradition, partly from spiritual/theological reasons, partly from health, and partly because I feel it to just feel right, we are getting my son ready for a trip to the doctor to get his pencil sharpened.

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Just got home from the doc's Everything OK. He didn't even cry, though he doesn't seem very happy.

Just before they worked on him I told him I wouldn't love him any less, even though he was. (Pediatrics humor)

Blessed

There has been at least four posts I have begun, but life has been going so fast, I have been so busy, things have changed so quickly, that by the time I had written but half of it, it was out dated.

I haven’t time to fully share, to fully explain the joy, wonder, growth, and change, but I’ll do what I can.

My son is nine days old.

He’s little. Born seven pounds three ounces, he lost a little over 10% of his weight in the first few days, which concerned me. From watching nature films I’ve seen baby deer born and they stand right up and suckle and all is good. Humans are different. The babies need to learn how to suckle, mothers need to learn how to feed. He’s gained a couple of ounces and I feel more relaxed and sure he is going to be fine.

He’s a very good baby. The most he’s cried was during the first ten minutes of his life. He makes little noises when he is hungry or needs changing. He might fuss a little indicating he wants to be held, but he can be put back down again and he does not insist he be held until he is asleep.

I whip out my phone and snap pictures of him all the time. It may be typical to believe my son is atypical, but I don’t care. I know he is the most beautiful child to have ever been born.

I got a series of pictures during his first set of hiccups. The look on his face is hilarious. He is so obviously baffled, and a little freaked, at what is happening. At a certain age every new experience is a strange one.

First Hiccups

Today was the first time we took him to church. My sweet wife says I was an obviously proud papa, showing him off to everybody who would hold still.

My wife had to have a C section. I’m glad it spared her the pain of child birth, but I wish she wasn’t so uncomfortable with the healing. I’ve given her strict instructions to do nothing around the house, but she still sneaks in a few small chores now and then.

That reminds me... My wife is pretty special. My first wife was a bit of a control freak. It was difficult for both of us many times. Now, my new spouse, my new best friend, my new partner for the rest of this life, is so different from any other woman I have known.

Part of what makes her different might be unseemly to those who fly the feminist flag. She insists I be the head of our home.

It’s a startling experience.

It means I must “man up” in lots of ways. It means I must lead, and I must put her first. I must make all my decisions knowing they must be for her good, and the good of my child.

It means I must have vision.

It means I must be gentle, kind, loving, be willing to sacrifice.

Somehow, in insisting on this traditional role, she helps me to be the man God created me to be.

I’ve been a little manic in working around the house. The orange paint I put in the living room to help my sons deal with the divorce has been replaced with taste... (Oh! The little stub on his navel just fell off!!! Life is full of these little milestones right now.) ...ful green and brown, the funky light fixtures replaced with something tasteful, grownup. The old wood stove was dragged out, and I hammered out the brick, removed the carpet, and put down a nice laminate. Did the same for the spare room. It’s now a tasteful yellow, or rather, “Banana Cream” with white molding and a laminate I got from a friend’s damaged kitchen. I went a little crazy trimming trees and bushes and have a huge pile of branches that I need to deal with. The list goes on and on and on. Feels good to sweat for my family.

So... my house has been transformed into a home. My marriage has been changed into a family.

My mind has been working over time. I’ve been reading scripture more than ever, praying more than ever, and looking up obscure facts more than ever. (For example, knowing that the visible universe is 13.75 billion light years in every direction, which means that it has been expanding for nearly 14 billion years, so... how big is it today? the breadth of it that cannot be seen because the distances are too great? Answer: at least 40 billion light years across. I like that. Another question answered! Example: what is that little divot under the nose? Answer: the philtrum. Who was the Ethiopian Emperor who shamed the League of Nations and is considered by the Rastafarians as the second incarnation of Christ? Answer: Halle Selasse.)

I feel like I’ve been supercharged.

I guess I have been.

I’ve been charged with being the best husband, the best father, the best man I can be.

It feels wonderful.

My ex has been in contact with me a little over issues dealing with our sons. (One son has had some more medical issues arise.) She has tried just a little to play the old mind games with me, but I am quite comfortable in drawing the lines wherever I please and I don’t mind if she finds them uncomfortable.

I guess I got used to being a little sad all the time. It has taken a while to relax, smile more.

There are a lot of challenges ahead.

The school I have taught at for 13 years has been closed so I am now assigned to something very different, it is going to be a challenge. I’m sure it will be invigorating, and a source of much professional growth, but it is still going to be a challenge.

My son is going to be a challenge. I have all the tasks ahead of me that a good parent faces.

My marriage is going to be a challenge. I intend to be the best husband I can be. Strong. Protective. Encouraging. Loving. Sacrificing. A good steward. Have vision.

My wife brings me such joy. My son brings me such joy.

I find myself filling more fulfilled than I have in longer than I can recall.

I am blessed.

Undeservedly, excessively, joyfully and totally, blessed.

Ants!

I discovered ants all over the pantry. I put some sweetened ant poison out and they swarmed to each drop, making little circles of feeding frenzy.

My wife came home and I pointed out the ants. She shreaked.

With great earnest she said... "Thank God they didn't get the peanut butter!!!"

HA!

Latest News

My Wife
My wife is beautiful.

She is sweet, generous, industrious, and she loves me. She is a gift and I am grateful. I fell in love with her swiftly, and received three affirmations to my skeptical prayers.

It’s strange to be expecting a child this summer. I’m 55 and this is the age of being a grandpa, or a great grandpa. Heck, my dad’s new wife is 33 and she could be my child.

There’s an interesting journey ahead of me.

The Ex
B likes M. She’s been feeling shame and guilt ever since the divorce, and I’ve kept her at arm’s length. But, I see now she is truly happy for me, truly likes M. She has changed some. But the anger she feels toward herself and the world is still there and we pray for her healing.

Staying Informed in a Digital World
I get most of my news on the internet. It’s fast, though often superficial. The internet is a useful tool. I can read a story, check facts, compare one source to another. For example, last week there was a NASA announcement on the data collected from the Gravity B Probe experiment which has been going on for seven years. (Astounding device!) I was able to refamiliarize myself with the probe and the physics behind the experiment.

I’m disturbed at the vitriol I see there. People rant over every topic. Somehow it is easier for folks to grab a digital pitchfork and torch and attack each other. Very uncivil. I worry the anonymity which allows such attacks promotes this anger and that it spills into our lives through politics, bigotry, and perhaps road rage.

Self Compassion
When I learned my wife was pregnant I was excited and extremely nervous. She drew me in slowly, touching her abdomen, feeling the changes of her body. I was quiet regarding my disquiet.

My self reflective nature ferreted out my unease. It is something irrational. Something I need to take care of. Soon.

My sons are grown, adopted when they were very little. They are doing well. There’s a third adoption in my past. He’s buried on the edge of town.

My head tells me I did nothing wrong, that I did not fail him, but my heart holds three sins against me. When I laid him down to sleep that day, laid him down to die, it was the first time on his tummy. I’d been told that position was an increase risk factor for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The second sin my heart holds against me is I let him cry himself to sleep. Lastly, I haven’t forgiven myself for not breathing life back into those blue lips, that my thumps on his chest failed to restart that tiny heart.

These packages of guilt are irrational. I’ve read enough about crib death to understand that what I did and what I didn’t do were not things I can blame myself for. But, when I think of another new born, when I thinking of the joys of having a baby in my home, my heart beats fast and in it’s hammering I hear accusations.

I need to somehow wrestle with that irrational part of who I am until it no longer struggles, and offer compassion and forgiveness to myself. I don’t know how to do that.

Professional Life
Like most school districts throughout the country the one I work for is in trouble. So much so they have laid off many teachers and other staff, even closing the school I work at.

I am sad to see that exemplary school die.

But, I have a job and I am grateful for that. I was on the RIF list (Reduction In Force) and was given the position of teaching Language Arts (English) to Alternative Ed kids (a broad term which includes all sorts of students who don’t fit into the usual class room).

Spiritual Life
I’ve taken to reading scripture and prayer at scheduled, and unscheduled, times.

The connection and disconnection I see between science and faith is clearer all the time. The ideas I’ve been chewing on are finding their way into that novel that I am tinkering with.

Loving the Hard to Love
I’ve made progress in loving everyone more. It seems easier to care about folks, even those I’ve had trouble with. I pray for them more, and I’m sincere. It feels good.

Humility
This is a subject I’ve given a lot of thought of late. It isn’t something people talk much about, read much about, write much about. Which makes sense. How can one find a book in which the author speaks authoritatively about humility? It isn’t the sort of thing one brags about being good at.

Which is odd, because it is a virtue worth understanding and seeking.

My Lord was good at it. Good enough to set aside ultimate glory and permit cruel abuse.

In dealing with the close call of losing my job, and in understanding how I must set my wife ahead of myself (we are to love our wives as Christ loved the church), I find a gentleness coming over me I enjoy.

Spring
It has been a long, cold, wet winter. The flowers are busting out, despite the chilled soil, figs and cherries are growing on my trees, frogs croak over sized love calls to each other and the promise of warm weather is most welcome.

So... That's how things are with me of late.

:)

Raised Eyebrows

Oscar was a long legged hound who’s blond eyebrows must have come from a touch of doberman somewhere. Mostly black he’d run around Huntington Beach with that loping gait looking in bars for my dad.

Dad would go from bar to bar, working on his daily drunk, and they’d tell him that Oscar had been in looking for him. He’d laugh and eventually that dog would catch up with him and spend the latter part of the day visiting bars with his tongue flappin’ in the breeze provided by Dad’s GMC pick up.

He was a character.

One of the funniest things that dog did was his reaction to puppies. Someone’d pull out a puppy and present it to Oscar.

His eyebrows would arch in surprise, his eyes widen, and he’d stand straight and stiff, his lip curled in horror at the mewling’ little one, and he’d back up as far as space would allow in the darkened rooms where drunks got a laugh out of startling the poor ol’ hound.

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There are times in our lives when we naturally look at where we are, who we are, what we are doing and what we might be doing next. Puberty is one. I see that in my students. Their bodies are changing and suddenly their minds change as well. They can abruptly reinvent themselves.

Graduation from high school, moving out on one’s own, is another time.

And marriage, of course, is another. Even second marriages. Perhaps especially second marriages.

In my first marriage there were many difficult times which colored the way I saw the world. Readers of this blog might think I see that marriage as a wholly negative experience, but I don’t.

She was intense, controlling. Though that shaped how I lived my role as man and husband, and later, father, there were many good things about that relationship. She was my best friend. Which is one reason why her repeated betrayals hurt so deeply.

Still, there were good things, even in, and sometimes because, of the challenges.

Children, and the desire for children, fueled the engines which pushed us into and through those challenges. Failed pregnancies. The death of our first child. The realization of the mental handicaps of our next two adopted children.

At the death of the child I started reading the book of Job. I read commentaries and wrote notes and began a blog with the intention of discussing the book. That blog promptly turned into a journal about my life, my take on things spiritual, physical, scientific, marital, paternal... the works.

I felt a little awkward at times with the disconnect between the intention of the blog and its reality because it seemed pretentious, as if I was comparing my life, my challenges, to those of that biblical patriarch. But I pressed on, disregarding the obvious hyperbole.

There were times, three of them, in which I am certain the Creator came to let me know I was not alone in my small struggles, miniscule in the history of an earth which had rolled through scores of thousand of years of human experience, rattling around in a corner of a universe greater that 30 billion light years across. A heady experience in which I found the nature of a supreme being was so large He could be aware of the tiniest of souls in the smallest of places.

Those experiences meshed with my understanding of physics and astronomy in a way that puzzles me as well as those who believe there must be a conflict there.

When the papers had been filed, when my divorce was final and the house was transferred to my name alone... When my sons were under my care (though my first wife did her best to help as she could under the new circumstances), I began to become a me who was independent.

That independence brought with it the coarse lifestyle of the unattached male. I fed my sons from easy to fix meals which came from boxes and cans that required only a pound of ground beef or some grated cheese to make them palatable, possibly even nourishing.

I painted the living room orange, a color my sons thought cheerful and my friends (especially those of the gentler gender) thought typically male, and while crude and a touch bizarre, an obviously male attempt at creating a new life.


When my spirit had healed enough I began to date.

I looked around a bit, dated a few, and then got serious about searching for someone who was just right. Unlike Goldilocks, I prayed about the choices, I simply didn’t just taste and judge if they were too hot or too cold, too hard or too soft. I prayed I would find someone perfect for me and I for her.

I met Marilyn.

It is not hyperbole to say it is a miracle.

There is physical attraction. I find her beautiful, wonderful.

There is much, much more.

With her I feel I have found not only a friend and a helpmate but someone who makes it easier for me to be who I am meant to be.

She hasn’t the need to take more control of life than is good for her. She lets me lead in a way that is good for me, good for us.

I feel good to step up to the plate, learn to hold the bat properly, and swing hard at what life throws at me.

For so long, long enough for it to seem normal, life hurt. Disappointment, physical injuries, disillusionment over my life partner, unfulfillment for kids, I found solace in God, found God in dark places, found deep realities within my knowledge of science and my deep sense of my own soul.

Then I met her. Three times I felt, heard, saw, encouragement from the divine that I had found the woman I was meant to share my life with.

I met her in September. I dated her for a few months and fell swiftly (is there any other way to fall?) in love. I fell swiftly into a life that was different than any other I have had (and I’ve had many strange adventures). By November I proposed. By mid December I was married. Now we are expecting a child in mid August.

The idea of being a father at this age (I turn 55 in a few weeks) makes my eyebrows go up, my eyes widen a bit. I had long ago given up on that dream and thought myself too old.

It’s amazing.

It seems the old Will is gone. Though I see many challenges ahead, the future seems to be on a fresh road, a path I’ve never tread.

I worked this past month on the living room (I have already stripped and redone the bedroom this past summer). The orange is gone. The wood stove is gone and the carpet is soon to follow. In their place is an elegant fireplace, tasteful wall colors, and soon a new floor.

Just as the transitional work I’d done to make my sons feel OK about a life (without their mother) has been replaced with decor reflecting a feminine influence, my emotional and spiritual life has been remade to reflect a life filled with prayer, times of devotion, and a fresh breath of life.


The last chapter of Job showed the protagonist with a new life, a rebirth. So too this life seems to me.

It feels as if my pre-Marilyn life was Will Vol. I. Now I am in the first chapter of another new book. Welcome to Will Vol. II.

A new work... Father, man, servant of the Lord God.

A miracle I could not have imagined.

I am a blessed and happy man.

A Little Thump

“Oooooh! I can feel Joshua moving around in there!”

I smiled at my beautiful bride.

“I wish you could feel him, but it’s too soon.”

Last Friday the ultrasound gave us a tour of our little one. The round head, corneas reflecting the ultrasound brightly. Spinal column, pulsating heart. The correct number of fingers and toes. And, a little appendage between the thighs indicating the baby’s gender followed Pop’s not Mom’s.

Joshua Joseph Greenleaf.

They said it would probably be a week or two before his kicks and punches would be visible and felt by anyone from the outside world.

Still, my sweety suddenly grabbed my hand placed it on her abdomen.

“Feel right here!”

Nothing.

We waited and nothing.

At least a minute and a half.

And then it happened.

A little thump beneath my thumb.

“Oh!,” we said together.

What a thrill. I really am going to have a biological child.

This whole relationship has been swift. It has been a blessing.

Partly I attribute that to the thorough screening system of eHarmony. Their matches were good, and though I went through hundreds of choices, and emailed scores, and dated dozens, when I met her it was perfect, swiftly, wonderfully, perfect.

I’ve had friends who questioned that.

That doesn’t bother me. I know from the outside it may see sudden.

Perhaps they forget I am not impulsive, that I think deeply about everything in my life.

There were cautions about divorce, which I found amusing. I stuck by first marriage long after most would have quit. Six times I forgave my first wife and gave her another chance.

I’ve one friend, someone I care about, who is so angry about this “hasty” marriage that there has been a refusal to talk to me, or even make eye contact. I regret that loss but I understand that those outside cannot know what I feel on the inside.

There is the emotional aspect of this. I don’t mean the heady infatuation of new love. I mean a deep contentment that comes from doing a very right thing. And the deep contentment of having someone in my life who calls on me to be myself in ways I’ve never felt free to be before.

I feel I am growing into who I was created to be. I am feeling a growing solidness to my personality, a sense of identity, of maturity, of stability that is more natural than any stage I have felt in my life before.

I also feel my Lord’s presence, His guidance, His assurance.

That is the real point I wish to make here. I may be well versed in matters of science, yet I have no doubts that there are spiritual truths (which we are simply ill equipped to measure scientifically) and that these things of the Spirit are true, are real. A personal relationship is what I have with the divine, and that this marriage has been given to me.

This past week, during Spring Break, I replaced light fixtures and repainted in the living room. It feels so good to sweat for someone I love.

And now, I feel a little kick beneath my thumb as I press my hand against my wife’s swelling belly.

I feel joy.

I feel gratitude.

I feel a contentment I have never known before.