The Duck

The bathtub duck's day may have finally arrived. No longer is it being used as a bathtub, for either bubs (especially not for Bubs 1 any longer). It used to be gold to both the bubs' mom and me. We loved the air cushion protecting from the cold, hard porcelain, which is typical of most washing areas.  Before the duck, both bubs made their way through the typical progression of bathing basins, including: a newborn tub, a few bathroom and kitchen sinks and even a large plastic bow.

The duck was the final watering hole before graduation to the final washing cauldron - the bathtub. This duck was even lent out to friends for their child, who's  age falls between Bubs 1 and 2. We weren't expecting it back, but after the arrival of Bubs 2, the duck made it's way back to our home. We were glad to see it too.

I remember my mother giving me baths in our bathroom sink. It was an abnormally large, rectangular sink. I remember a picture of me in this sink. I was likely 3 or 4 years old and I seemed to still have had plenty of leg room. I graduated to a shower stall, since we had no bathtub. My memory of this shower stall is scary. It had mildew riddled throughout the walls and floor. The step between the shower and the bathroom floor was an unfinished concrete step. Actually, I couldn't step on it since the top was not smooth. It was an edgy, unfinished top that would have hurt my foot if I did step onto it. My brother tells me that he remembers worms on the floor of our shower. I may have blocked this memory, because that would have freaked me out. My childhood bathroom was a strange one. The door, to the bathroom itself, had glass panes, from top to bottom. It was a bathroom door that you could see through. We had a white curtain that stretched from top to bottom, but not all that private.

I remember, in 2nd grade, drawing a picture in class. I may have written about this picture in a previous blog post. The class gathered around me and started laughing. I didn't know why. Then my teacher, Miss Karnas, walked over to see what the commotion was about. I remember her face expression. It was a hesitant smile. She asked if she could have it. I didn't mind, so I gave it to her. She walked away and that was it. Some time later (maybe even a few years later), when I was older, my mother told me about this picture. In fact, I remember seeing it again at home. Apparently, Miss Karnas called my mother in to talk to her about it. I remember my mother telling me how she had to explain my picture, which happened to be of a person with both female breasts and male genitalia... wearing a cape. My mother said that she had to think of something and told me, that she that Miss Karnas, that the picture may be a result of her and my father exiting the bathroom, individually after their showers, while tying together their bathrobes... and therefore explaining the cape thing. My mother was always quick to explain things.

Thinking back now, I'm wondering how you say something like that to your child's teacher without laughing. Couldn't she have just said that our bathroom door had glass panes? Maybe she did explain that too. My memory is fading. This was about 35 years ago.

Anyway, that bathroom door eventually have two sheets of quarter-inch plywood nailed to both sides of it. As for that duck, it now serves as a toy seat for the bubs. Both bubs are too big to wash in it, but they've apparently made room to play in it.

I'm Luke Skywalker

 Bubs 1 has lately been requesting to be addressed as "Luke Skywalker." He hasn't yet seen any of the Star Wars movies, but he knows all of the movie's characters. He plays Angry Birds Star Wars as part of his potty training reward system. His mom has been helping him learn about the movie's characters, i.e. Darth Vader, Chewbacca, etc.

On this topic, I recently found the bub's bubble wand in the trunk of the car. To me, this wand looked just like the Jedi vs Empire intergalactic weapon of choice -  the lightsaber. I showed it to the bubs. I should say, that I sold it to the Bubs. What do I mean by that? Well, instead of saying, "Hey Bubs! This bubble wand looks like Luke Skywalker's lightsaber," I sold it as, "Bubs! A lightsaber!" He bought it, and good thing too. He sometimes has a hard time grasping the concept that one item can represent two meanings. In fact, sometimes he gets downright argumentative and digs in his heels. His mom and I see him progressing in this area too. There are many variables operating here as he moves from a simply concrete-meaning world towards an abstract one. How does his ASD inhibit this? If at all? We'll likely never know, and frankly don't care as much either. We're seeing progress and that's all that matters. We're learning to see the bubs through the spectrum disorder, rather than the spectrum disorder through the bubs. 

As a kid, I wasn't big into Star Wars or science fiction. The culture I grew up in defined this area of interest as "uncool" and I was indoctrinated into this belief system. I gravitated towards sports, because that is what held social value. I was scared of being different, or considered less than.

I remember a childhood, neighbor couple. They were a geeky couple. They were science fiction fanatics. They were also adults, so they operated within another social paradigm. I remember that they had this really cool projector television unit, which made watching t.v. like sitting in a movie theater. I remember watching Star Wars on their projector/television. This had to be around 1979, or 1980. They had no children of their own, but they had two dogs. These two dogs, Captain and Brandy, were this couple's children. My parents hung out with over there house and they hung out over at ours. Their names were John and Joyce Mier, or Meyer. John was an auto mechanic. His hands were always stained in oil and grease. My father got John to help rebuild a car engine. My father knew very little about cars, and had even less money, so John's help was so very valuable due to the fact that we couldn't simply purchase another vehicle. I always remember my parents having car issues. It was rare that we ever had both cars operating at the same time. I remember my dad and John working on that engine for months. I'm sure that it wasn't fun for John to have to work all day and then come home to work on another car, but he was a nice guy. Joyce was too. However, a year or so after my father left the house, I had decided to move to where he lived. Joyce was upset about this decision, which I wasn't aware of until the day I was to move.

I remember answering a strange phone call that day. "Hello," I said as I answered the phone. "You're a fool and you're making a big mistake," I was told by somebody on the other end of the line. The person then hung up. I stood there for a second, unsure if I had just heard what I thought I heard. Then, about 10 minutes later, there was a knock at the door of my house. I answered the door and it was Joyce. She handed me a book. She was crying. The book was about how to take care of your dog. My mother got me a puppy after our family dog died. Our family dog, Pierre, was a French Poodle and lived to be 14 years old. Apparently, Joyce wanted me to have a reliable resource when raising the new one.

Joyce walked into the house and told me that she was the person who had called. She told me that my father was not a very nice person and that my decision to move in with him was breaking my mother's heart. This was a lot for me to take in, and I somehow quickly developed a way to "store" poignant information like this until I was better able to process it... if I ever did at all. I had already lived through a year of my mother informing me of every negative act my father did towards her. I learned about his tax problems, which stemmed from him not paying them and how these legal issues began to impact her financial needs. She told me all about his extra marital affairs and of his recent decision to stop paying her alimony. She even disclosed family secrets about my aunt and uncle, who had provided a new job and space in their home for my father to begin anew, after he left us. There was a lot of negativity that I was steeping in. So what Joyce was telling me was nothing new. I just knew that my mother was moving too, and I didn't want to live in Roselle, NJ. My mother had already registered me in Abraham Clark High School (it had an eighth grade attached). I didn't want to go there. It looked like hell to me. So I had no other option, because the bank was taking our house. Therefore I abandoned my mom too. I moved to a new state and lived in the home of my aunt and uncle, cousins and father. My world had changed. I even had temporarily moved up a social class, because my aunt and uncle were relatively wealthy. It caused enough distraction in my life for me not to think about my other life. However, time always catches up. I regret leaving my mom in that situation.

I sometimes wonder where John and Joyce are today. I would enjoy re-connecting with them after all these years. They cared about my mother. They likely don't know that she passed away. I bet that they would love to meet my family. I also bet that they have a pretty cool television set-up, where ever they are.

So as this blog is designed, that's a little bit more of my upbringing weaved into both bubs' soon-to-be past memories too. To end this post in the positive spirit of The Force, I'm going to cut-n-paste a post that my wife wrote on her facebook page today, "Well I'll be. My 4-yr old, whom experts claim to be autistic, made a joke, based on his imagination, in front of a small crowd of people last night. When the starbucks guy asked my son what his name was, he paused for a good while (usually takes him a while to formulate his words), and then shyly yet clearly said with a smile: "My name is Luke Skywalker."

Humor

Bubs 2 is officially walking. His balance is suspect, but he is choosing to walk, over crawl. He's even picking stuff up while working on his balance. It's amazing the see the differences between the two bubs. Bubs 1 waited until he was good and ready and simply got up and started walking around. Let's see, I found a note in Bubs 1's baby journal that says he didn't start walking until January 2010. Bubs 2 is just a few months ahead of him, but he also had more resources to learn from... like his older brother. Bubs 2 would have started even earlier, but he dabbled in his crawl-to-walk transition. He didn't wait until the task was nearly perfected (like his older bro), Bubs 2 took his time. Just about 10 days ago, he was cobbling together a few steps here and a few steps there. He's now putting many more steps together. He still has that old-man shake, but he's determined. This video was taken about one week ago (from the date of this post) and not only was I glad to see Bubs 2's progress, but I was also glad to see Bubs 1's cameo appearance. I saw humor. He is showing more and more humor. This particular humor, the more slap-stick kind with the towel on the head, etc., is still encouraging. I come from a family that loves humor. 

My grandfather, his great grandfather, left behind his "grandpop isms," which I've been teaching both Bubs 1 and 2 (check out embedded video in next sentence).

Perhaps Bubs 1 is carrying the humor torch? Time will tell. One thing is for sure, if he learns how to wield some witty banter, he'll have the ability to create bridges and cross any social gaps he encounters. His mom and I have been working with him on his interaction skills whenever he's with friends, larger groups especially. We essentially give him positive responses with whatever he says in his interactions. Sometimes his friends look at him as if they notice that he's not acting within a norm. It depends on the situation. We may say, "hey, that's cool bubs!" (so to always encourage his spirit... and confidence). Other times, we'll help him by directing his conversation. Maybe we'll tell him, "Ok bubs, that's interesting. How about you ask (so and so) about..." This last example implies that he can get a little self absorbed about things he likes and keep on talking about them... looooong after anybody is still interested. haha. His rigidness comes and goes, but his mom and I are consistent. For example, he'll tell us that the colors white and red make pink. However, we have to be ready for some flack whenever we use standard, social responses (that he'll experience out in the real world), like "smart boy!" or "you're a smarty pants!" He'll get upset with those comments, because he considers himself either a "good boy" or a "big boy." We can't allow him to limit our responses, because then we're simply perpetuating the problem. It's a battle sometimes. This is where his mom and I try to use more humor when breaking his bullheaded-ness. 

One of my first introductions to understanding the power that humor holds was when I entered the 8th grade, at Lounseberry Hollow Middle School. I was only there for a few days, before I moved out of state, but it was there that I realized the social benefits of "being funny." I have only a couple of memories of those few days and one was when I was sitting in a history class and the teacher was taking attendance. Mr Schmoltz. When he came across my name on the roster, he stopped. "Is your brother (brother's name here)?" he asked me, in front of the class. "Yes," I replied. My brother is seven years my elder, so I was impressed that this teacher made that connection. Although, perhaps not for good reason. "Now class," boomed Mr Schmoltz as he turned towards my classmates, "you have to understand my concerns here. His (while pointing his finger over at me) brother used to sit in the back of my classroom and quietly roar "Yaaaaa" whenever one of his classmates answered a question correctly. It was like being in a stadium." My fellow classmates laughed and I sat there feeling like I just had my social status increased among my peers.

I'm hoping that Bubs 1 can experience the same.

Making Cookies with Mom

 Ginger-bread-man shaped, sugar cookies. A rolling pin too. I haven't seen a scene like this since, well, since never. Neither Bubs 1's mom nor I have any past experience baking cookies with our moms. I should say that his mom and I don't remember baking cookies with our moms. One of the multiple childhood past times that we both are seeking to re live? Or, at least, imagine what the experience must be like from the bub's eyes.

He was interested. His interest lasted about 15 minutes and that's not all that bad for a four-year-old. In fact, that's pretty good. The bubs is pretty good at keeping on task. When he is interested in something, he'll absorb himself in it. This is especially true of his Angry Birds video game. His mom and I noticed this immediately the first time he played it. He didn't put the game down. Since we're focused on helping him fill his social gaps, we didn't want him to dive too deep into the video game world. There is a happy medium here. The bub's mom and I decided to use this game as a learning tool for other lessons. We moved this video game to the potty. This way he had stay on the potty in the company of a game where heckling birds are slingshot into a house of green, grunting pigs. Of course, it worked. We just wanted him to stay on the potty long enough to poop. However, this soon became too much. He was spending too much time on the potty. We then instituted a timer and set up a 10-minute potty time. We then had to teach him how to surrender the Kindle when the timer sounded, without a battle. That took a little time to learn. After a few weeks, he learned  this too. Unknowingly, we taught him to poop in ten minutes while focusing on teaching him to willingly hand over his Angry Birds when the time came. "Going poop" was the lost lesson here, but nonetheless, still the goal.

When I was the bub's age, video games weren't so personal yet. They were housed inside something called an arcade. I never had much interest. I do remember getting Intelevision for xmas one year, well it was for the family. I remember it had a handgun where you could shoot the bouncing dot, on the screen. There was also a tennis-like game, where you used a dial to chase the "ball" from the top to the bottom of the screen (in order to bounce it back to the other side). This system came out around the same time Atari did, but certainly didn't become as popular. I ended up losing interest in video games pretty quick anyway. I was never one that sought out a trip to an arcade. I just always followed my friends into one and didn't mind leaving when the time came.

I didn't have much interest in any one thing as a kid.

I never made cookies with my mom either. The kitchen in the house where I grew up was a hallway. It literally was a hallway. The dry foods closet shared room with the garbage can. My mother used to yell, "Get out of my kitchen!" whenever too many people congregated in there. Interestingly, I recently had a dream about this kitchen. My mother was showing me some improvements made to her hallway-kitchen, as if she were still living there today. I couldn't see her or hear her voice, but I knew it was her. One of the improvements was a bay window put in over the stove. However, everything else was eerily the same as when I lived there in the 70's. It was a dream that had a coming-home-good feeling combined with remorse for not still living there. There is a lot to analyze in this dream, but I'll just leave it at that. Who wants to hear about how a kid was pulled from his childhood before it was time. 

Am I beginning to sound like that old person who trumpets how they had to walk 12 blocks, in shoes stuffed with newspaper, just to catch their school bus as a kid?

No. I only had to walk a quarter mile to catch my school bus.

Mom out of Town

Bubs 1 playing with Bubs 2

Bubs 2 before heading to daycare

Mom left for a conference in New Orleans four days ago and left the three of us guys home to fend for ourselves. Now that I've been working for the past six months, I almost forgot that I am a well-qualified dad for this situation. I do have three years of at-home dad experience. My credentials include seasoned cooking skills and multi-tasking abilities

Bubs 1 before preschool

necessary for loading into and out of automobiles.

Last drop!

The last few days went well. Nothing changed too much except that we all missed mom being around the house. I also missed her half of the help. For example, the mornings now included getting two bubs ready, instead of just one. Mom normally handles one, while I get the other. This way we can both enjoy our cups of coffee - a necessity. However, I wasn't able to even finish one cup on either Thursday or Friday morning, because time was not on my side. Getting up earlier may have helped, but that didn't happen.

The past few nights have been a new frontier, because I typically am the "transporter" of the bubs, when he wakes for milk in the middle of the night. He cries. I wake. I then get him and bring him to mom, who nurses him in bed. Now that he's just over one year old, he does sleep through the night, but there needs to be an 11pm to 12am feeding in order for him to make it all the way through. We go to bed relatively early and this means that we have to wake up for that last feeding of the night. So as I was saying, these last three nights were different. I had to deliver the nipple. I did, but it was a cold, latex nipple connected to a bottle of cold cow's milk. It was organic cow's milk, at least. You know, the kind of cow's milk that we used to get before corporate agriculture began and started producing tainted milk... and then found a new market by returning to the old market by calling it "organic." Enough of my "fair" market ranting... back to the cold nipple. I had the bottle sitting in the fridge and low and behold, it worked. I got Bubs 2 back to sleep after he sucked down some milk in timely fashion. Very soon, mom and I will be pushing up the last-feeding-of-the-night to about 9pm and administering water for any pre-dawn awakenings. Life is going to get a little tougher for Bubs 2.  But that's how we operate around here.

Sharing Angry Bird Pillows

Ah... Saturday arrived. This morning, Bubs 1 walked into the kitchen where Bubs 2 and I were eating breakfast and watching a little morning news on the kitchen tv. Bubs 1 had each of this two Angry Birds pillows in each hand. He just woke. He was groggy. I said, "Good morning, bubs." He didn't respond. Then I asked him to say "good morning" to his brother, who was sitting in his high chair and smiling at his older sibling. Bubs 1 instantly smiled back and walked over to his chair-locked brother and in his Grandma Helen's voice said, "Where are my boys? Where are my kisses?" These words come from his grandma on a previous visit. Bubs 1 knows that this is humor. He loves it too. He'll even use the same voice and pattern, but change up the words/content. He's expressing wittiness.

"Can you put (Bubs 2) down so I can play with him?" Bubs 1 asks. I oblige and place Bubs 2 down on the dining room floor and the two brothers play. I figure it's a good time to start prepping for some Wild-Card-Saturday-NFL-Football chicken soup.



I'm making some of my "famous" (self ordained) chicken soup.  The recipe is actually handed down from my mother. People loved her chicken soup, myself included. She used fat egg noodles and chicken wings in her soup. I use the same. In fact, I'll use chicken thighs (like today) too. The meat ends up falling off the bone anyway, so cutting it all up is not necessary. The secret to a rich chicken broth is to boil the skin in the pot. You have to bleed that rich fat from the skin into the water. I pull the skin out after. Onions, carrots, celery and garlic diced and frying in a little olive oil in the pot (before adding the chicken and water). I'm not sure how my mother prepared it since I actually never watched her make it. I've only acquired her recipe, which is in safe keeping with an aunt of mine. I don't have many pictures of her and no videos. She's been gone more than half my life now and that increases the value of any remaining artifact.


Bubs 2 is due for a nap soon. Bubs 1 will likely want to watch some Spiderman. He is into Spiderman lately. In fact, he's really into Spiderman lately. "May I watch Spiderman and his amazing friends, please?" he asked me. I replied, "Great words, bubs. Sure thing." Spiderman has the coolest uniform. We even painted a clothes hamper, which I just finished building for Bubs 1, in Spiderman's colors. I'll add some red spider web, when I figure out how to do that. For now, the hamper is operational so I brought it up from the workbench today, and put it in his room. After the bubs finished his bath, he saw the new hamper. He lifted the lid and closed it gently. He genuinely stood there and admired my work. It put a smile on my face.
Bubs 2 awakes. Let's have a little ice cream. I asked both bubs if they wanted ice cream. Bubs 2 hasn't the vocabulary, nor the mechanics to deliver an answer, but it's assumed. However, Bubs 1 gladly answered my question with, "Yes. I do need ice cream dad. I do. May I have some ice cream, please?" How can I resist that? Those are some impressive words for a four-year old. I don't know many 40-year olds who can speak that well.

Ice Cream today

Bubs 1 sacked out

Now we're chillin some more. I'm sitting here on the couch watching the AFC Wild-Card game (boring). I'm an NFC fan. Bubs 1 fell asleep on the other end of the couch. He doesn't nap in the afternoons normally, but he's tired today. Bubs 2 is mulling around the floor, which is swamped with blocks, stuffed animals, Matchbox cars and Thomas trains. He's moving from one toy to the next. Once in a while he'll even take a couple of steps before flopping back onto the floor where he's visibly more comfortable with crawling.

I'm going to get a bowl of soup.

Shoveling

I was expecting to bring Bubs 1 sleigh riding with our neighbors yesterday morning, but the driveway needing shoveling first. Roughly ten inches of snow just fell over night. The bubs graciously helped out (with a promise of an Angry Bird pillow, from his mom).

It's not automatic that Bubs 1 is always willing to help out. Bribery helps. We're still teaching him to be one of those people who offer themselves, when nobody else does. We still have some more road to cover, but he's getting there. His mom got him outside, "May I help you daddy?" he asked.

I handed Bubs 1 a smaller shovel. It was the perfect size for a four-year old. He used it for a few scoops of snow. I was able to capture his shoveling technique in a few photos. He then set it down. "It's too heavy. Can I use your shovel, daddy?" he asked me. I didn't explain that it was the snow scoop that made his shovel "heavy." Instead, I decided to let him discover that for himself. "My shovel's just as heavy, bubs," I responded. Bubs 1 ignored my response. "Can I use your shovel, daddy," he asked again. He has a knack for side-stepping information that he does not want to be told. 

Good use of knees, but also too heavy

So, I decided to let him use my shovel. I didn't say a word. I just handed it over. He took it and positioned it for a scoop of snow, but he seemed to realize something before even attempting to operate dad's shovel. It was too big.

Shovel too big

I captured a picture of his expression. Looking at this photo tells me that there would have been nothing that I could have said to explain/transfer the knowledge he just constructed on his own through his own discovery. He held onto the longer handle a few more seconds and then dropped it on the ground. He turned back towards the garage.

Bubs heads back to the drawing board

"I'm going to get another. I'll be right back, " he said to me, as he headed back to the garage. I assumed that he was going to retrieve the planter shovel. You know, the hand-held shovels used to dig in a garden. Sure enough, he came back with one. He used this shovel for a while, but he wasn't moving as much snow as he was with the larger shovel. Although, he worked harder with the smaller shovel. I thought this would be good for his sensory deficit needs. "Heavy work" is good for that.

He lost the little shovel in the snow, a few times. He asked me where it was each time he lost it. I said, "I don't know. Where did you have it last?" This helped him look for it on his own. He found it every time. "Oh, there it is!" he'd say, while pointing at it.

He's four years old.

All this snow spurred a childhood memory. I was 11 years-old and my mother brought me with her on a visit to her friend, Ruth's house. Ruth had a son named Billy. Billy was differently abled. Although he was about 5 or 6 years older than me, he operated at my level, mentally. I remember Billy had shoveled paths through some deep snow in his front yard. It was a maze and the snow walls were pretty high. We ran through them for hours outside while our moms visited inside. We all went somewhere after. I can't remember where, but I do remember being at a store where Billy was paying the cashier for an item he was purchasing. I specifically remember Ruth, standing behind Billy, as he slowly interacted with the cashier. Her eyes were smiling as she watched her son.

Later, in the car on our way home, my mother told me that that was Billy's first time purchasing anything. It was his first time exchanging money with a cashier. I remember feeling some sort of understanding when I heard that, but I was not a parent yet. I now look back on that moment with more empathy for Ruth and the concerns she must have been dealing with. Ruth was a warm person and she like my mother very much. I could tell. She provided some space for my mother to live in her home, after my mom lost our house to the bank. My mom slept on Ruth's downstairs couch for a few months, before my mother moved in with another friend until she got back on her feet.


During that time in my life, I had moved in with my father, who was living with an aunt and uncle of mine. Later, when he moved into his second home, I shoveled the driveway at that house. That driveway was not much longer than his car, so I never had a big shoveling job to undertake.

The driveway that Bubs 1 and I just cleared is much longer than any driveway where I've lived before. Now that Bubs 2 is beginning to walk, I may have to purchase a second gardening shovel and get him out there on the next snowfall too.

Kids and The Workplace

It's been over three months now, that I've been back in the workforce. I'm no longer the at-home dad I once was. Bubs 2 stays with a lady who watches a handful of kids in her professional, home daycare during the days. Bubs 1 attends a preschool in a district-funded pre-k/k charter school (The same school that initiated the concern about his ASD). Instead of working for the three-going-on-four-year-old Bubs 1, and his one-year-old sidekick, Bubs 2, I now work on a nearby community college campus. I work in an office full of moms. All of their kids are older than both bubs - much older. But they have great stories to share about their kids growing up.

The other day, one of my bosses was showing me how the college audits curriculum requirements for students who are applying for graduation. While going over the myriad of benchmarks to check, we got to talking about her kids. This discussion occurred after she received a phone call from her younger boy. While sitting in her office, and waiting for her to wrap up a quick phone call with younger boy. I realized that I was listening to a mom who loves her boy with all her heart. Her voice changed while talking to him and she never stopped smiling throughout the quick phone call. It made me think about both bubs and I then found myself quietly smiling to myself.

After the call, she apologized for the interruption. This was when we began telling me about her younger son, whom is now in his late twenties. Although to me, it sounded like she was talking about a much younger boy, but that's because parents tend not to recognize the fact that their kids become adults. She told me how different her youngest was from her older boy. She said that she loved them both the same, but that she had "different" relationships with them. Her younger one is gentle and thoughtful. However, her older one is much more independent. He had some troubles during his teens/early twenties, she said. My boss (I have three bosses in the same office, by the way) went on to tell me about her older boy's troubles as I watched tears build up in her eyes. I listened to her voice quiver at certain points during her story, I mean, his story. I was amazed at the love she poured out while discussing the fears that she had for her older guy. He certainly pushed the envelope many times in his early life. But after a few rough years, she said that he seems to have made the transition to managing himself better. He's healthy and is even talking to her about proposing to his girlfriend, of seven years. She told me that she could not be prouder of him. After her story about her older boy, I realized that the relationships are quite different, but her love for them is the same. I felt myself getting a bit choked up as I listened to her describe his obstacles. Listening to her made me miss Bubs 1 and 2. Part of me doesn't want them to grow up and leave his mom and me for the world. It's selfish, I know.

Listening to my boss, talk about her boys, also reminded me of my mother. Coincidentally, I just had received some pictures of my mother, who's been gone for over 22 years now. I received them a day after talking to my boss about her boys. It made me think about how much my mom loved to talk about her boys, and how much she loved us. Pictures of her always stir me up inside. As random thoughts connect, one from another, I began thinking about when I accompanied my mom to work. This thought led to when I recently brought Bubs 2 to work with me. In fact, it was just last week that I brought Bubs 2 to work with me. Bubs 2's daycare provider had come down with a fever and couldn't take in the bubs for a couple of days. So I took a sick day on the first day and brought him to work on the second. I'm relatively still new at my job, so it was hard for me to even consider taking two days off in a row. I didn't want to be labeled a "slacker" by my peers. I found it hard to transition from a guy who never took a sick day (pre kids) to a guy who now takes a sick day because his kid is sick, but that's the way I'm evolving.


I had a presentation to give on that second day and didn't want to miss it. It was a short presentation, but I still didn't want to miss another day of work. Before I presented my portion of the meeting, I addressed the group by saying, "I apologize for the disruption in bringing my little boy to the meeting this morning. Before I had kids, I would occasionally see a coworker (in previous jobs) bring their kid into the workplace and I remember thinking how unprofessional that was," I said. I continued, "I remember thinking how I couldn't believe that they actually thought that bringing their kid to work was 'ok'." I then stood there for a moment, in silence. I then ended with, "I know better, today."

 Everybody laughed in approval. I was talking to a bunch of moms.


These moms knew what I was talking about. Not only could they relate, but they all gawked over Bubs 2's presence. In fact, the same boss, of mine, who shared her story with me (above) came down to the podium where I was standing with Bubs 2 and asked to hold him while I presented my part of the program. In hindsight, she might have not even asked, but rather just took Bubs 2 from me. He was asleep and I could tell that she wanted to hold him. She held him while I did my part of the presentation (and continued to hold him even after I was done). She didn't want to give him up just yet. I really appreciated that. I appreciate all the moms that I work with.


I appreciate them, because they "get it." They understand that kids spend their parents sick days. They don't frown upon my absences and they don't frown upon me bringing my kid(s) to work. In fact, they support me. "Scott," they say, "we're all moms here. We've been there. Don't sweat it," they tell me.
So, back to "accompanying my mom" to her work. She worked as a secretary in a high school in Sussex County, NJ. She was in the Guidance Office. Although I work in the Registrar's Office at the college, the environment there is interestingly similar to the office environment at the school where my mom worked, over 30 years ago.  While at work with my mom, I remember hanging out underneath some couches. Two couches, to be exact. They were positioned back-to-back in the center of the Guidance Office. There was just enough room below the couches for me to scootch around down there and watch people walk by. I felt safe there; hidden. I could also clearly see my mother's feet at her desk. I would try to guess who's feet belonged to who, as the feet walked by the couches. I would hear my mother's laugh as she interacted with her coworkers and students. She had a distinctive laugh, like all mom's laughs.

Perhaps there's a connection that I'm working in a similar environment as my mother. I think there is. There are laughs that I hear coming from distant offices while at work. I hear these laughs over the discussions going on nearby my desk. I seem to zero in on those laughs too. I think it's because a few of them sound like my mother's laugh. It's a comforting feeling. At those moments, I could close my eyes and pretend that I'm under those couches again. I think it is a big part of why I enjoy my job and my colleagues, that much more.

Thankfully, there are no couches in my office, because I'd likely would have already found myself underneath one.