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Morning confessions, afternoon daydreams, and evening wind-downs. |
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This is dedicated to my daughter, Azalea Paige Kraynak. You're half the cause of some of these entries, but that's why I love you. There's rarely a day that you don't surprise me with the things you do and say. I recall a line of an old video game that should refer to the goings on of my thoughts "The beast contained herein should not be set free." Trust me... it shouldn't but I've always been somewhat rebellious. |
| In the beginning, someone cursed me with a daughter. Alright, it's not really so much a curse as it is a blessing, but I have to say that girls are complex from the moment they show up until their last day. Growing up, I was surrounded by girls. I have a little sister, two aunts, and eight cousins, and all of them were girls. Granted I was lucky to have another two cousins my age that were boys, but trust me, we were outnumbered. We always had a difficult time trying to understand why girls would want to play with barbies and ponies rather than go outside and catch bugs. They all shared a collective disdain for us. Maybe it was the morbid fascination we had in burning ants with a magnifying glass or watching a slug melt under a few grains of salt. Maybe it was because we liked to sling mud around in a makeshift battlefield. Perhaps we were a bit rough, but that is beside the point, the point I'm trying to make is we were friggin fun! The girls... they didn't think so. Now that I have myself a little girl, I think about that stuff all the time. We've yet to learn the sex of our next baby that's now halfway done being a burden to its mother. Well, a burden in terms of giving her odd cravings and wrecking her emotions in to trees. After those nine months, they're still a burden but in a good way. At two they're not so much a burden as they are this unbearable load that rests on your shoulders from the moment you wake to the moment you fall back to sleep. You're eyes are ever darting back to them as they play with blocks or explore the shelf of DVDs. The shelf has since moved. I grew tired of picking up thousands of DVDs off the floor. Now that doesn't sound too difficult to the normal person, but I'm hardly normal. My DVDs have a specific arrangement, and though it may not make sense to my fiancé, it makes perfect sense to me and well... that's the way it is. These movies are arranged in genre, then alphabetical order. Naturally the first movies on the shelf are my sword and shield, big battle movies like Troy, Robin Hood, Lord of the Rings, Excalibur, and so on. I follow this arrangement with War movies, then action, and so and so forth until we get to the stuff I just can't watch... you know, like Rent, Steel Magnolias, P.S. I Love You... girl flicks. I just can't do them. They go on the bottom. Honestly though, we have thousands, it was a daily occurrence having to pick the pile up and place them in their right spots... it was a very tedious job. We have now moved them to a wall, and thank god she can't reach them because that would open up a whole new world of opportunistic catastrophe. At any rate, she's now taken an interest in my book collection which is displayed proudly at the bottom of my stairs, tucked against the wall in the Foyer. I don't have thousands of books, but I do have hundreds, most of them are Fantasy novels. Yeah... I just have a thing for swords. I'm extremely particular how my books are arranged. They are placed just as they would be in a big book store, organized alphabetically according to Author, and Series. Now, I was for the most part, fine with picking up DVDs and placing them back where they go, but DON'T TOUCH MY BOOKS! I've never in my life hit a kid, but I tell you, I often think to myself: "If you were an adult, I'd have definitely smacked you in the back of the head for this." Now keep in mind, whilst this destructive force moves about the first floor of our house, I'm working either on my renovation of the dining room, laying out my floor and spackling small holes and cracks in the plaster. This as you might guess is really hard to do while watching a two year old, but I've acquired spidey sense. Truly, I have that itching that just screams when I need to get up and see what is going on. Now, trust me, our house is pretty child proof, but there's only so much you can do. At two, this kid's brain is like a sponge. She can critically think through most of those gates, safety plugs, and latches. Seriously, I wish I could use that much of my brain all the time. Generally, if she's making noise, that means all is well. It's when she's quiet that I sense a disturbance in the force and go running. Silence is not at all golden, ever. Silence means doom; doom for Tolkein, Hobb, Rowling, Eddings, Jordan, Goodkind, and whatever else she gets her hands on before I get there... and I must say, there's nothing I hate more than a creased page in a book. It just bothers me. Now having said all that, I ask myself the question, why is my kid not like the girls I grew up with? She has no interest in ponies, barbies, or any other girly thing other than Frozen. She's more interested in moving, breaking things, and getting dirty, which believe me, I'm completely fine with this, but I wanted a girl first because I thought I had them figured out... God I was mistaken. I will say this though, she's figured me out. Of course, this isn't that hard of a task for a girl. I'm pretty transparent for the most part. I'm a man after all. We're not all that complicated in general, and I tend to follow the concept of the classic depiction of what defines a man. I own tools, I fix things, I yell during a Steelers game, I appreciate a well brewed Porter, I enjoy the occasional cigar, and I hold the door open for a lady. I think that sums me up pretty well. But there's one thing that my daughter has figured out, that I try so hard to hide. You know what it is? The one thing I just can't for the life of me do like a proper man... I cry when the dog dies at the end. Seriously, it gets me every time. I cry when William Wallace is beheaded, I cry when Charlie Bucket lives happily ever after, and I cry when the two dogs and the cat are reunited with their owners after braving the chaos of the wilderness and the city. Yep, I'm a crier when it comes to that sappy stuff, and you know what? My daughter likes to remind me of it... and her mother. Now, her mother has seen my cry one time in the five years we've shared, and that was the night my daughter was born. Seriously, I cried my eyes dry, even after resolving that I would be that hard-ass dad. I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I balled for hours. Now in a situation like that, I think it is excusable, but crying at the end of Willy Wonka? Really? I noticed this affliction following the great scene with the Wonkavator... and yes, my daughter finally let me watch something other than Frozen. Well at any rate, it was roughly around my Fiancés lunch hour, and she calls during this time. After exchanging our daily, 'How is your day?' 'What are you thinking for dinner?' 'How's pregnancy treating you today?' I put her on the phone with our daughter. At first, my daughter is always shy on the phone, until she hears who it is. Without even saying "Hi Mommy" or something like that she get's right into it with, "Daddy's Cwying!" All I can do is roll my eyes and facepalm myself a few times until she gingerly gives me back my phone. There's a moment of silence at that point, followed by, why are you upset? Explain yourself out of that, I dare you! You can't. I bit the bullet and admitted to her that I cried at the end of Willy Wonka... This has led me to realize something. Children have this absolute and glorious gift of profound honesty. Even if you don't want honesty, they are still happy to deliver it. You know what I mean. You get comments like, "Daddy, you're sweaty." "Mommy's belly is big," and of course, "I pooped." Particularly, I don't mind being told that I'm sweaty, or that she pooped, but Mommy isn't a fan of the big belly comments. Mommy isn't usually a fan of anything that might suggest that her body has changed at all during this pregnancy. Now, she's more than aware of it, but its just not something you bring up. Naturally, she can't just unleash that maelstrom of emotional chaos on a two year old, but do you know who she can unload on? Me. Yep. Everytime. I understand, truly I do. I can only imagine the turmoil of hormones blasting through a pregnant woman, and that "What to Expect When You're Expecting," tells the man to support her with her emotions. You know how hard it is for an Irish, Scorpio to support the emotions of a woman who is currently pissed, and yelling at him? It's as hard as eating spaghetti with a spoon, but I do it, if anything its because I love her. It's a good thing she hasn't tried to stab me or anything though. I don't think I could support her emotions if she tried to stab me... But at the end of the day, all I can do is plop my head on the only pillow that isn't claimed by my fiancé. Keep in mind this is the one pillow that does your body no good at all, I honestly don't even know why we have it, or the twenty two other pillows on the bed that are square, round, and frilly. Really, who has a need for decorative pillows? You know what though? She uses every one of them... I can kiss her good night, and plug my phone in, take off my watch and wish myself godspeed for whatever chaos awaits me in the morning. Really, if you're a dad and a husband in training, that's all you can do, because in the world of Dadhood and Fiancéhood, there's little to no similar days. There may be similar events, but every day is something different. Really, that sun has risen too many times to be surprised that often, but every once in a while, I'll awake to the sound of my kid who somehow managed to escape that "Childproof" lock on her crib, running about as she chases the cats from room to room on our second floor, but really, there's no surprises except for that thought that somehow my fiancé tolerates my compulsive habits. That will never not surprise me. To you Dad's, and Husbands in training I wish you godspeed! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, someone decided to give me the ability to overthink everything. Well, if you're reading this that means that you've got nothing else better to do than listen to me... well read my rambling and venting, and I must say that I pity you. Trust me, you should stop reading this now... No? Suit yourself. Well, first I have to warn you all, I'm a novice at blogging. This here is my very first blog, and this is its very first entry so as the virgin may say to the experienced, be gentle with me. Ok, if that hasn't gotten you to turn away then you are probably a bit like me; an overworked, yet enthusiastic adult. You likely have a child or children, and if you don't that is fine. For those of you who aren't parents, well, I can tell you it is an experience more rewarding and frustrating than anything else in the world. Truly, it is a rollercoaster of emotions, good mornings, bad mornings, arguments, and above all else... repetition. When I say repetition I don't mean to sound as though it's routine. Trust me, there's nothing routine about a two year old girl. On the contrary, everyday gives new challenges, but there's still repetition, and well... I guess there's some routine. Now before I get too deep into this rant, please allow me a moment of history. I'm a thirty year old who decided to have children in my late twenties. We're currently expecting another in April of next year, and during this emotional time that is her pregnancy, I work a lot more than most people should. When I say a lot more I mean to say, I work 180 hours every two weeks. Yes... 180 hours. You may ask how that is even humanly possible, and all I can say is Maxwell House gets a lot of business from my coworkers and I. We are utility workers who spend our days crawling into dark holes and working around mud, water, dead fish, and a very long list of other terrible, disgusting things that you'd just have to see to believe. Our lives are spent in Pressure Vessels inside of the world's power plants, and those power plants require our services 365 days a year. As such, we spend a lot of our days away from home, out of town, out of state, and out of the country on many occasions. You might imagine that this is pretty difficult on my lovely lady at home and you would be right. Honestly, I don't know how she gets on without me some times, but she does. When I come home, however, I get right back into the rhythm of cooking dinners and filling sippy cups. It just so happens that I arrived back home last night from a 48 day haul between Enrico Fermi 2 in Detroit, and Three Mile Island in Harrisburg. Before I came through the door, I took a trip to Walmart to pick up a birthday present for the wonderful mother of my child. We happen to share a birthday and unfortunately I was away for the first time in five years. I decided to surprise her by not telling her I was coming home. Now I know where you think this could lead but don't worry, you won't find us on the next episode of "Cheaters." I came through the door, a box of Megablocks in one arm, and a Diamond necklace in the other. A familiar tune chimed along as I snuck in; Let it Go, from that awful movie, Frozen. Now, before all of you get upset with me calling this movie "awful," keep in mind I have a two year old daughter. Frozen is my bane, my kryptonite, my evil hellspawn, and the totality of day to day life at home. I honestly find myself wishing that I had a share of stock in this brand, as everything we have is Elsa, Anna, and Olaf. I am surrounded by these two princesses and this one snowman. I often times feel myself thinking these toys are going to come to life and kill me like that scene in Tommyknockers. Thankfully, we live in reality, but there's just too many nowadays, and the misery starts the moment I wake up. The first thing my daughter and I do is our daily brushing of teeth, eating of breakfast, followed with a rigorous cleaning of everything she may have spat out or dropped on the floor. At the conclusion of this little morning ritual, I get that terrible, awful, broken record of a demand, "I want to watch Fwozen." It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like I was electrocuted, but I submit everytime, if anything because the way she says it is adorable. There's also that possibility that she will spend the next thirty minutes repeating herself, while occasionally shouting, "I told you!" Now after so much repetition, I cannot keep going, so I let her have her way. To be honest, she doesn't even watch the movie. Generally she will run about the living room, toting an Elsa doll or a bag of megablocks screaming a phrase here or a verse there, but generally it is just, "Do you wanna build a snowman?" I almost wrote a response to this song entitled: "NO I DON'T WANT TO BUILD A FRICKIN SNOWMAN!" An hour or so into the cheerful exclamations of a two year old girl I will generally be requested for a sippy. This is no simple task, as my kid is difficult. We have an array of sippy cups all bearing the heads of Elsa, Anna, and Olaf, and all with Grape, Orange, and Apple juice. Generally I just grab one and hand it to her, but that never works. She will stand there, looking at me like I'm the kid and point at the "Odder one." She never wants my first choice. As such, it's generally Olaf and one or two sips in, after I've closed the refrigerator, I get the request for the previously established sippy cup; my first choice. Now most parents would say I let my kid walk on me but that isn't the case. We have rules and she follows them to the letter. I am simply a sucker for a little girl's demands because they're either hilariously cute, or strikingly evil. Both of these qualities appeal to me, so in this world of Disney's worst invention, she gets her way. All of this has led me to realize one thing - kids this age never grow tired of something. I can watch Frozen maybe once, maybe twice before I'm over it in its entirety. Not her... no. My first time watching it, I thought to myself, yeah this is a good Disney movie. Two hours later I was thinking I could do without so much singing. Six hours later I can say with a straight face I hate snowmen, and eight hours later I realize to myself that winter is coming... Oh the Starks are always right. Winter is coming, and that means Christmas is coming, and that means going to the store. I'm not much for going out, especially during the holidays. I've always been a kind of indoor person, but I travel for a living... I get out enough. Going to the store with a two year old is an ordeal in and of itself. The supermarket is one thing, as I have no trouble avoiding the cereal aisle, unless I'm out of Shredded Wheat, which leads to buying a box of that and a seven dollar box of 'Frozen' cereal. Really... seven dollars?! The box isn't even that big! We can afford it though, so hey if she eats it, that's good enough for me. Now going to Walmart or the Mall on the other hand, that's an all day event. Unlike my two girls I live with, I'm an in and out type of person. I make my list, check it twice, and buy what I wrote. If I can't find it where I think it would be, I cross it off the list. Not these two... they could content themselves with searching through the hustle bustle of holiday shoppers, and those people lack all forms of decency. I'm not about to have an argument because I just hate shopping, so I go along with it, and going along with it involves the Disney Store. I hate that store. I could also go into great detail about Yankee Candle, but I'll just say, who in their right mind is willing to spend twenty dollars on a candle? I can buy a candle at Dollar General for ONE DOLLAR! Of course, with four nieces, three nephews, and now four new additions to the immediate family on their way, that means the toy store. Did you know there's two whole aisles of nothing but Frozen? Well if you don't, you're not missing anything, and if you do, well I'm sorry that this movie was made. You, like me, have fallen to that Disney Empire. I do love Disney... I really do, but Frozen, oh how I hate you. Happy Holidays everybody! For all you who aren't yet parents or are expecting, don't let this scare you, as with or without Frozen, I wouldn't have it any other way. Even when winter finally comes, and we're all curled up on our couch listening to "Do you want to build a Snowman," for the hundredth time, I'll be sipping my Maxwell House with a smile on my face. Trust me, on the inside I'll still want to smash that stupid snowman with a log, but I'll be happy nonetheless, because parenting is probably the single most enjoyable thing I've ever had the privilege to experience. And with that, I leave you to your own thoughts and I'm kicking you out of mine... honestly, you should have stopped reading when I told you to. NaNoWriMo 2015 Here we go! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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Thanks! Life is good, frustrating, but funny. I try to find humor in my day to day world and I'm glad you enjoyed it.