I Got a Nook, Now I Have to Feed the Family Better

My husband got me a Nook Tablet for Christmas!  I asked for the Color, he got me the Tablet, and it is the shiz-ite.  It comes with Hulu installed, and one morning when I couldn't sleep, I fired it up and watched "Supersize Me."  Yes, I am a little behind the crowd here, having never seen it, and I've got to tell you, I found the movie horrifying.

 

Like the majority of Americans, I like fast food.  I don't eat it every day, but I do eat it more than I should.  A refresher for those of you who haven't seen the movie in a while: Spurlock ate McDonald's for every meal for a month.  He had to have everything on the menu once.  If they asked him, "would you like to supersize that?" he had to answer yes.  In the process, he gained 24.5 lbs (11.1kg), his cholesterol went from a very healthy 168 to 240 (!), his liver profile showed signs of encroaching liver failure, he started spilling protein into his urine, and he experienced decreased energy, depression, lowered sex drive, and general ickiness.

Another disturbing part of the film was how fast food companies and lobbying groups grab our children's focus from the time they are wee ones so that fast food becomes a regular part of their lives and one they crave.  In one scene, none of the children could identify a picture of Jesus, but all of them knew who Ronald McDonald was.  Brand imprinting and loyalty lobbying is scary stuff and adversely affects the health of our families.

After watching "Supersize Me" I made a series of resolutions.  First, when I take William out to eat I will look for restaurants with healthier food choices.  The other day we went to Panera.  On my little town, the only healthy fast food we have is Chipotle.  Guess we'll be eating a lot of burritos.

Second, and I'm not sure how this is going to happen, meal toys have got to go.  Rewarding a child for eating chicken nuggets and french fries has always seemed all higgeldy piggeldy to me.  Instead, why don't we reward kids for trying new, healthy things?  I gave William a Hot Wheels car when he tried apples.  He didn't like them (it happened to be a REALLY sour apple), but he tried it.  Then again, I can't bribe my kid to try all of his food, so again, I'll have to think this one out.

Third, when I cook I've got to go old school and get away from prepackaging or at least cut down on it.  It's easier to cook with prepacked stuff, but it's not as healthy.

Fourth, "meat and two veg" is going to be my new mantra.  This isn't going to be the easiest because there is very little meat that this family likes (we love beef, you'd think we were cattle ranchers), so on a lot of days, this will turn into "legume, grain, and two veg."  To that end, when I do buy meat I will buy grain fed, antibiotic free, free range meat.  Have you noticed how horrifying chicken tastes these days?  I suppose if you live in  a cage that you couldn't move in eating your own excrement and were pumped full of antibiotics constantly you'd taste bad, too.  Fortunately, we live near a lot of Amish people so Amish free range chicken isn't hard to come buy, but it is a wee bit pricey.

 

Why is it that we have to spend more money to eat well?  Why is it that Panera is SO much more expensive than McDonald's?  It's not that eating healthier is really all that more difficult, but it does cost more.

So there you go.  I've got my subscription to Taste of Home on my Nook and I'm going to see if they have any other healthy cooking with normal food magazines available.  No braised baby sweetbreads with capers and cilantro (wouldn't that be terrible?!) for this family, this Bon Appetite is out.

 

And all of this because I got a Nook.

Christmas and the Introvert.

This may shock you (and I am also being a bit facetious), but I am a HUGE introvert. I'm a Myers-Briggs INFJ, which is like the height of introversion. Christmas is not the easiest time of year for me. Please don't misunderstand me. I love to give presents and watch the kids rip into their packages. I Love celebrating the birth of my Savior. My nativity, passed down from my grandmother to my mom to me is one of my most valued possessions. I have an inordinate love of Christmas music (if you have Spotify, look up my Christmas list. It's not mixed well, but it has songs I love on it, there's a bit of everything, and there's 7 hours of music). I love the lights and decorations and fluffy snowfalls.

But here's the thing about Christmas. The shops become overwhelmingly crowded. Everyone is out finding the perfect gift. Black Friday is positively frightening. The pace becomes more frenetic. Then there are the parties. If you are an extrovert it is important to understand that parties are a bit like putting a toe into the lake of hell for the introvert. We aren't especially good at the schmooze. We can't stand being interrupted, not because we are offended but because it makes us feel undervalued, and this happens quite frequently at gatherings. There are lots and lots of people, some who will probably be obnoxious and drunk. This is true even if you are friends with everyone who will be at the party. Parties are exhausting. I spend my time at the daydreaming about being at home knitting.

My daughter is the polar opposite of me in that she is the most extroverted extrovert in the world. She thrives on being surrounded by people and needs to be always busy. She can't be silent. And if she has to be, she texts. When Christmas rolls around and she gets to decorate she tends to go into overdrive. For the most introverted introvert this can be a bit overwhelming. This year, I let her do her thing with her boyfriend and William and hid in my bedroom.

Introverts need to take special care to make time for themselves during the holidays. This is a time of reflection, grace, love, and miracles; we introverts need to be still and quiet to appreciate the wonder of this season. The best Christmases I have ever had weren't rushed or over-scheduled, my shopping was done well in advance of the crowds, adequate time was spent in the morning opening presents and savoring the day before family visits were even considered, and, imagine this, I took a nap.

This time of year is too special to be dreaded. There was a time that I really didn't like Christmas because I was thrust into situations that are too much for any introvert. It wasn't until I realized how to be an introvert at Christmas and not compromise my needs that Christmas became alive for me.

Goodbye, Ellie Belly

This is going to be a difficult post.  Remember the puppy that I complained about having in our house because it was supposed to be my daughter's but I was the one taking care of it?  Well, she became my dog and despite being a bad dog I have never loved a dog so much in my life.  She just turned 18 months old.

She chewed up Everything she could get to.  She destroyed one of our chairs, countless shoes, many of William's toys, and anything else that seemed chewable to her.  She escaped from the house on many occasions and got into multiple neighbor's trash.  She domineered over our beagle, who completely gave up ever having a dog toy of her own.

But she would curl up in my lap and tilt her head just so.  She was a dachshund/cocker spaniel mix so was little, but I think she would have killed anyone who tried to do anything to any member of our family.  A few days ago when I was trying to get our beagle, Carly, to come to me, she looked at me, ran to Carly, chomped onto her ear and tried to drag her to me.  She was too smart for her own good.  She could jump up until her eyes were level with mine and was the fastest dog I have ever seen. She was soft and loved to have her belly scratched.  She loved to lick my nose.  I loved her.

On Sunday before church she made one of her escapes and ran right into the path of a van.  I saw the whole thing.  And there was nothing I could do.  She tried to pick up her head once and then she was dead.  The couple was so apologetic, but it wasn't their fault.  She just ran right in front of them.  I hugged the woman, who was horrified, and sent them on their way.  And then I wrapped up my Ellie in a towel and sat on the porch holding her and sobbing for about an hour.  A local funeral home took her to be cremated and the men who met me there held me while I pet and said goodbye to her.  My son sat on my lap and held me for hours while we both cried. He loved her, too.

I miss my bad dog.  I haven't been in this big of a funk about losing a pet in years and years.  Carly is confused and alternates between sniffing around for Ellie and looking at me like I can explain where Ellie went.  She wont leave my side.  She still won't go near the pet toys.  They were never hers.

I loved you so much, little Ellie.  Wait for me across the bridge.  I can't wait to scratch your belly again.

Thanksgiving Aftermath

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Thanksgiving dinner is over, my parents and aunt have gone home, all is well. We actually ended up eating with very little turkey as my turkey breast was quite on the pink side even though the meat thermometer said it was done. With all of the side dishes the lack of turkey wasn't missed.

Which means that I have a huge amount of leftover turkey. This isn't a problem that I'm used to dealing with and I'll be trolling the recipe sites for leftover turkey suggestions that go beyone sandwiches, tetrazini, and hash. Anyone out there have any great recipes?

The dessert was met with much enthusiasm. Yesterday was my mom's birthday and I decided that I would make her a strawberry bavarian cream cake. I saw one on $40 a Day with Rachael Ray and thought "I could make that" and the rest is culinary history. My son ate about half of it and everyone else raved. I'll share the recipe with you soon!

istock photo

I also served blueberry cobbler, which my dad took home, kentucky derby pie (super recipes for this are available all over the web; I left out the bourbon), and pumpkin pie (which didn't get eaten at all). It was nice to sit at the table with my parents and aunt chatting for hours, watching everyone enjoy my cooking. I really do enjoy hosting Thanksgiving, even though it is a lot of cooking.

I hope you all had wonderful holidays and to all of you braving Black Friday, Good Luck and Godspeed!

My Cowboy

I'm a little late on the Halloween post due to Dad Days, but here is my boy, all decked out in his cowboy gear.  He looks like he belongs in the 50s with Howdy Doody.  Do I have to tell you that I love it?

My Father Figures: My Step-Dad (but really my Dad), Mark Seelbach

My parents were divorced when I was 4. Bad divorce. That's all I'm going to say. After a few years we moved to the West side of Columbus, to the now super scary but then amazingly wonderful Lincoln Village, a huge apartment complex where my grandparents lived. Until I was 9 it was mom and me. I guess we were living hand to mouth, but I never knew it. My mom worked hard to provide for us and childhood was good.

She liked to eat at Bob Evans and one day a waitress that she knew introduced her to another diner. They hit it off and started dating. Then one day he came over for dinner and I could not get over this wierd guy that mom had invited over. Then I went with mom to his bachelor apartment where I noticed he had Omni magazine, which, at the time, I thought was like Playboy, and I was mortified. But he turned out to be okay (and for those of you that don't know, Omni is a now defunct but iconic sci fi magazine, which said a lot about Mark Seelbach, though I didn't know it at the time) and one day in November 1981 they got married and I had a stepdad.

Mark had no children. He wasn't used to shy, sensitive pre-adolescent girls but he did the best he could. In time, I figured out that he was pretty shy, too, and geeky. He liked jazz music, which I hadn't paid much attention to before then, and played the trumpet. We started going to the Methodist church because he grew up Methodist (in Youngstown, OH, which has an interesting population of Polish, German, and Italian people mostly, so I was introduced to Perogies, red cabbage, and all variety of German sausage). I now love good funky jazz, I still consider myself Methodist, and I LOVE brats and saurkraut.

When computers came to the forefront in the late 80's he started working for the software industry, which began a lifelong love of computers and technology. Yes, my dad is a geek. A big one. He loves Star Trek and Dr. Who, collects vintage toys particularly GI Joes and those with a sci fi theme. My mom loves the geek stuff, too, and I was being molded, so when we went to the Dr. Who convention when I was in Middle School it was quite a moment. Did I mention he loves computers? He currently works as an auditor (he has a degree in accounting), but the computer love is not going away.

He has been a wonderful father to me. He really would do anything for me. When I need him, he's there. I know that he's proud of me, even though he hasn't said it in so many words. He doesn't say things like that, those emotional type things, but with all of the caring and everything he's done for me over the years, I know. You know what I mean?

Time Sure Goes By Fast (A guest post by John Willey)

John Willey is the author of Daddy's In Charge? and one of this year's Parents.com Best Dad Blog Award Nominees. Check out his Lego movies (starring everyone from Chuck Norris to Spiderman) which record his singular views on fatherhood.

"Time sure goes by fast, huh Daddy?" - my son Tyler

Yeah Tyler, it sure does.

It seems just like like yesterday I was sitting outside the operating room crying hysterically both scared to death and happy all in the same moment. Scared to death that your mother was having an emergency C section but also happy because it meant that you were on your way out. I was also scared to death because my life would change forever, I was now going to be a dad, and I had no idea what that was actually going to mean. Time sure does go by fast, I remember the first night you were home from the hospital, you were crying your little eyes out and we had no idea what the problem was. The only thing that we could think of was to put a binky in your mouth, it worked wonders. It still took you a long time until you slept through the night, but look at you now, you sleep like such a big kid, although you could go to bed on your own sometimes.

Time sure goes by fast, I can remember sitting in your bedroom late one night and you rolled yourself from your back to your front. It was just you and me and I thought that nothing could be better than that moment. Then you started to crawl, albeit like a wounded army man, and you could now get around on your own. You didn't need me to carry you everywhere. Look at you now, you are faster than a speeding bullet and you run everywhere you go. We have had a lot of nights like that one in your bedroom, a lot of great moments.

Time sure does go by fast, you used to need us to read everything to you. You didn't know your ABC's or how to count to ten. But you figured that all out, you turned into such a smart little kid. The smartest in fact! You used to just scribble everything, before you knew how to write or draw. But look at you now, look at what in incredible artist you are. You amaze me everyday with that little brain of yours.

Time does go by fast, you used to be the only baby that we had. It used to be only you, but then along came Carter. We had an idea that you would be a great big brother, but seeing how you are with him, you really turned into the best big brother in the whole world. He loves you so much! You have gotten to be such an awesome little kid in these past seven years and you grew up so fast, it makes me wonder sometimes where it all went.

"Time sure goes by fast huh daddy? I came into your room at 6:30, (fell back asleep) and now its already 7:45. How did that happen?"

I have no idea Tyler, I have no idea.

Stupid, Selfish, or Just Plain Silly (a Guest Post By Barry Silver)

Barry Silver's blog, A Life Well Lived Concludes With A Smile is not a Dad Blog, but he does speak about his children and family often. Instead Barry writes about a bit of everything, current events (as in the case of this post) to media and entertainment, with appreciation of life smaller moments thrown in.

Stupid, Selfish or Just Plain Silly.

My fall Sunday morning radio is usually dominated by one topic: the NFL and more specifically The Bears (please hold on to your snide comments, Monday night’s game was a season’s worth of penance). The Sunday was a bit different because the Bears were playing Monday night. In lieu of Bears talk the local sports talker provided wall to wall live coverage of the (insert sponsor’s name here) Chicago Marathon. If you’ve never heard a Marathon covered on radio it’s like listening to a magic show, except not nearly as exciting. This Marathon had something a little different, although I didn’t find out about it until Monday.

Life Is Not A Sprint, It’s A Marathon.

Amber Miller, a dedicated recreational runner finished the marathon in roughly 6 ½ hours. In itself that is a remarkable feat. I couldn’t finish a marathon in 6 ½ days. Even more astounding and dumbfounding, Ms. Miller was 39 weeks pregnant and gave birth to a healthy baby hours after crossing the finish line.

Before I jump into treacherous waters, I’m not a fan of men’s opinions of pregnancies. When my wife was pregnant, my two primary sentences were “How can I help?” and “Yes, of course dear”. As eyes roll at the previous sentence, I am not being flippant. Whatever help I provided my wife during pregnancy, there is no way possible I was sharing the responsibilities of pregnancy equally. Since % of opinion is guided by % of labor pains borne, I return to “I’m not a fan of men’s opinions of pregnancies”.

WTF?

When you choose to become a spouse and a parent you willingly put the needs of others ahead of your own needs. Since I am writing this post between my two kid’s bedtimes, I understand the delicate balance between the needs of family and the needs of self. So before I unsheathe my verbal stiletto, I want to point out some of the things that Amber Miller did not do wrong:

1. Amber Miller was never far from adequate medical care. In addition to the usual marathon medical accommodations the Chicago Marathon course is never more than ½ hour from a hospital. Children’s Memorial Hospital which can serve any manner of high risk pregnancy is either in close proximity or on the course.

2. Amber Miller is in great physical condition. Additionally she walked the 2^nd half of the course avoiding the body’s self cannibalization during the last miles of a marathon.

So exactly what was wrong with Amber Miller running a marathon pregnant? It was an awful decision!

Q: Don’t we all make silly decisions from time to time, especially when faced with a new situation?

A: Yes we do. This was the third marathon Amber Miller had run while pregnant. She was pregnant twice before (albeit at earlier stages of pregnancy) and ran marathons.

Q: Did she have a contingency plan if she couldn’t finish the marathon?

A: She actually didn’t plan on finishing the marathon. So why start?

Q: Why register for a marathon when pregnant?

A: She didn’t know she was pregnant when she signed up for the Chicago Marathon. Obviously calendars, calculators and medical advice are in scarce supply in Ms. Miller’s home city.

Q: What did her husband think about Ms. Miller participating in a marathon?

A: He was participating with her every step of the way. Husband and wife finished the marathon together.

You Decide.

“Judge not, lest ye be judged.” I’m familiar with the quote. Still, being a parent is a series of seemingly endless decisions. I’m sure there are parental decisions I’ve made that many would consider awful. But, running/walking a marathon in the final weeks of pregnancy? What’s the upside? How about the downside? I’m sorry but the decision was selfish. I can’t see it any other way.

What about you? Do you think the decision to participate in a marathon at the end of the third trimester was stupid, selfish or silly? What would you do? How would you feel about the comments that follow your decision? Do you have any examples of parents making head scratching decisions at or near a due date?

Making Up for Lost Time (a guest post by Justin Mannato)

Today's guest blogger is Justin Mannato of Daddy Knows Less. Justin's inspiration is is daughter (known as "Peanut" on the blog) and he strives to catch parenthood in real time. He captures the moments, large and small, that make up parenthood and family. Daddy Knows Less is Circle of Moms #12 Top Daddy Blogs.

Making Up For Lost Time

Sometimes the smallest thing will stop you in your tracks. And break your heartd

Another day started way too early as my alarm sounded at 4:24 in the morning. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled downstairs, towel and razor in hand. I shower downstairs to ensure I don't wake everyone up.

There it was: frozen in time

Then, I saw it. Sitting there on one of the stools under the counter. One of the Peanut's books.

And that's when it hit me. Smacked me in the face, in fact.

Yesterday evening the Peanut ran into the kitchen holding that book. Did she want me to read it? No. She wanted to show me something in it. It's a book with a different dog on each page, and when you turn the pages each different dog takes on the same big googily eyes. She wanted to show me which one looks like Luna.

But I was too busy. To my defense, I really was very busy. I had to delay getting dinner started because Luna once again crapped in the living room. So I was annoyed and busy.

And it grosses me out to have to clean up dog poop and cook a meal. The hand washing knows no end.

Standing there in the kitchen ten hours later, guilt consumed me. I remembered telling the Peanut to please wait. I wasn't nasty. I nicely explained to her that because Luna had an accident, I couldn't look right now. But I will in a minute.

This is the daily struggle we as working parents endure. Sometimes I stop doing what I'm doing and pay attention to her. If not, I will follow up in a minute, when I have a minute. (But who ever has a minute?)

That minute never came. I felt devastated. I felt I had disappointed her. I showered, soaked in sorrow.

When I came home tonight to start dinner, I saw that book again. Forgotten again. By me. By the Peanut. Now 24 hours later, it still sat on that same stool.

I hadn't even taken my bag off my shoulder when I announced to her, "You know what I'd like you to do right now? May you show me what you wanted to show me in this puppy book?"

She immediately ran in from the playroom, as if no time had passed. She grabbed the book, turned the pages, and showed me.

"This one is Luna:"

Then she turned a few pages and said, "And this one is me.”

Maybe she didn't think anything of it. Maybe she did. Either way, I felt like in that one little moment, I saved her a trip to the therapist. I righted a wrong.

And in that moment, we both felt better. All it took was a little time.

9 Great TV Dads

These days you'd be hard pressed to find a wonderful TV dad. They are out there, but really, where are the Cliff Huxtables and Andy Taylors of today. Cartoons give us bafoonish examples like Jimmy Neutron's completely lost father, i Carly's dad is absent and she's more mature than Spencer, and where is Victoria Justice's dad on Victorious? Our kids are being exposed to some pretty bad examples.

Back in the day we had amazing father figures to look to. Here is my list, in no particular order, of great TV dads.

Ward Cleaver

He is my prototypical TV dad. Always a wise word, loving with his wife, great with his boys, he knew how to take his shoes off, put his slippers on, and read the evening paper before dinner. He got mad at the boys when they were bad, but not too mad. Just angry enough that the Beeve and Wally knew they'd disappointed the old man, which was just something you didn't do to Ward Cleaver. He was too good to be someone you'd want to disappoint; instead, he was the type of man you aspired to grow up to be.

Steven Keaton

Always the wise word, because he used to be a hippie. Which made him cool, even though he was now a sort-of-yuppie. Also, he lived in Columbus, OH, and NO t.v. show was set in Columbus, ever (although us Columbus kids couldn't really figure out where he lived, in his lovely Victorian house and safe neighborhood, a combo that wasn't as common then as it is now). His son Worshiped at the alter of capitalism and Ronald Reagan, something he was totally opposed to (remember, hippie), but he loved him and listened to him just the same. His daughter brought home a scary looking artist dude and he accepted him. He got angry, and the kids didn't want to disappoint him, either, because at the heart of it, he was a good man who loved his family and he wasn't afraid to say it. And his son was Michael J Fox.

Dan Conner

Dan was an every man. He worked on motorcycles. His business failed. He worked hard to keep his family supplied for. He didn't like his life at times and at others loved it and everyone in it. He threw angry fits at times, but usually saw the humor in life. Dan took things as they came at him and handled them the best he could, which was usually pretty well, given that he was poor and had a crass, domineering wife, rebellious, disaffected kids, and an absolute mess of a father, sister-in-law, and mother-in-law. He gave funny yet insightful advice to his family and was as protective as he could be. Blessed with a big belly and a big heart, we all loved him.

Andy Taylor

Probably one of the moral people ever on TV. The town sheriff who wouldn't let his deputy load his gun (for obvious reasons). He raised his son in an authoritative yet gentle manner; you were never in doubt of who was in charge. When Opie killed a bird, he didn't like it and let Opie know it, but he let Opie work out the ethics of it all on his own. He was always there for his son, Aunt Bea, Helen, and everyone in town. The handsomest man in church, he ate the kerosene pickles just to make sure Aunt Bea was happy. If every boy aspired to be an Andy Taylor, just imagine what a fabuous, Mayberry of a world we could live in.

Charles Ingalls

Frontier dad who built a log cabin, could dig a well, and saw his children through a life threatening illness practically every episode. Could deal with tragedy better than any human being ever born, and had the authority to get his family (and everyone else in town for that matter) through it as well. Strong, silent, loving, godly. Was Charles Ingalls perfect? Maybe.

Steve Douglas

Widower, aeronautical engineer, and understanding father to Mike, Chip, and Robbie, and later, Ernie. A family of boys who grew into men, accompanied by grandfather "Bub" and housekeeper Uncle Charlie. Along the way, the boys got married, had a few kids, they moved from Illinois to California, and Steve ruled the family along the way.

Howard Cunningham

A man who found his calling when the toilet overflowed. Local hardware store owner, devoted husband, lodge brother, and bowling league member. Let a greaser live over his garage and eventually became the closest thing to a father that greaser ever had. Raised a superb son of fine moral fiber (even though he barely tolerated his goonie friends) and a spazzy girl in a poodle skirt (even though she eventually ran off with the greaser's cousin to live over a pizza shop and sing cheesy duets). Had it going on long before "had it going on" meant anything.

Tim Taylor

Sure, he was a TV handy man who couldn't fix anything. That didn't matter when he got home (well, it did, but there was always Al to fix what he broke). At home, he was a manly man, raising three boys to become honorable men, drinking a beer here and there, and restoring his series of amazing hot rods. He and his wife had IT going on, even though they had a fight here and there. Slightly befuddled but spot on where it counted, he knew when to ask his sage neighbor for advice, and always seemed to get it right in the end.

Cliff Huxtable

When Americans were asked which TV dad they would most like to have, all of the above men made the list, along with Ben Cartright, Ozzie Nelson, Mike Brady, and, inexplicably, Peter Griffin, but Cliff Huxtable was #1 by a landslide. And lets all face it, Cliff is the best dad on TV, ever. He's funny, smart, likes to play with kids, love his wife, may not get what he wants all the time but can laugh his way through it, and will go to unending lengths to teach his kids a lesson (such as when he cleared out Theo's room, created a fake job, made him rent his room back, buy all the furniture, leaving him, of course, with nothing at the end of the day to have fun with, all the while enlisting every member of the family as bit players in Theo's lesson in economics). Who didn't love his wacky sweaters, his love of jazz, and his attempts to eat whatever he wanted despite Claire's watchful eye. I really could write an entire thesis on Cliff (and I'm sure a few people have), but I will end it here, wondering "Will there ever be another Cliff?"

Who are some of your favorite TV dads, and who did I forget?

Parent or Friend? (a Guest post from Ben Moffat)

I’m so pleased to be including a post from our next blogger, Ben Moffat, author of The Angry Scot. Ben moved to Järpås, Sweden from Fife, Scotland after he met his partner Marie. Together they have three children, Mikaela, 14, Alexander, 6, and Maximus, 6. He started blogging in July 2011 “because my partner Marie thought i would be pretty good at it, because im the type of person who normally tells it how it is or at least how he see’s it. But now I’m just blogging because it’s fun and i have met loads of awesome people through doing it and can’t wait to meet more.” To his credit, he seems to have built a large following in a small amount of time as every dad blogger I’ve met seems to know him. Give a warm welcome to The Angry Scot!

Parenting is quite possibly one of the hardest jobs any mother and father have to endure in their lifetime, it is a job that never ends, you are a parent 24/7, 365 days a year. However since moving across to Sweden (and by all means this is not a post about how bad parents Swedish are because for the most part they are fantastic) but as I have noticed a growing trend over the last 5 years since moving here.

"Now what is this trend?" I hear you ask. Well what I am talking about is the amount of parents I have seen neglect their parental duties and favour something that for the most part is good but has extremely bad consequences and this is friendship. Before anyone decides to go on a rampage, I am not saying you shouldn't be a friend to your child (by god no), that is something you definitely should be but when you are favouring being a friend to your children over being a parent that is where you see the likes of what I have seen over the past few years.

My twin boys used to attend the local daycare centre here in Järpås where we live. They didn't really need to be there since I am a stay at home dad, but it was something that both myself and my fiancée thought would be a great experience for them. I remember the first week I began to take the boys up to daycare, there was always this young boy up there already who was a little bit older than my two boys and always walked around like he owned the place, jumping on the furniture, bossing people around and such likes. I thought nothing of it because you know that some children are just like that. But a few weeks later I finally noticed the real reason behind his behaviour and attitude.

The reason behind it? His mother. Now I am not saying she is a bad mother, she is probably a good mother and does the very best she can, but the way she spoke to him and the way she treated him really annoyed me so much that I really wanted to say something. I decided not to say anything, because well my thoughts and opinions are exactly that mine, and it is certainly not my place to go around criticizing people's methods of parenting.

But this one day I went up to pick up my boys and was sitting on one of the sofa type benches they had just as you walked in the door, waiting for my kids to finish eating their afternoon snack and the same little boy who I had been seeing everyday was sitting on the one in front of me (or should I say jumping around and jumping on top of it). Not only was he doing that but his mother was standing right there in the doorway to the cloakroom.

As she turned around she must have got a glimpse of the look on my face (It was the look of "hello can you please tell your child that he shouldn't be doing that") but instead she just laughed and shrugged it off with the look off ("well what you going to do eh? Boys will be boys"). Eventually she had finished getting her other child dressed and ready to go and told her other boy who was performing acrobatics on the daycare furniture that it was time to go, but instead of the boy getting down and going with his mother he just completely ignored her request and continued with his antics.

But instead of being the firm parent, directing her child with what she wanted done she opted to go for the sad puppy dog eyes and come out with "Oh come on now son, let's get moving. Your dad will be home soon and i need to make dinner" in the most gentle voice you could possibly imagine. Of course like you could imagine the boy once more just completely ignored his mother and just continued doing what he was doing, but once more instead of taking the firm approach and telling the boy that it was time to go and to get a move on she opted for the bribe approach with "Please come now, when we get home we can have dinner and then some ice-cream and candy and cuddle up on the couch and watch some cartoons".

This to me is not on, he is the child and you are the parent at the end of the day and what you say goes, there is no point being all friendly towards your children if they are just going to completely ignore your requests and directions.

Safe to say the boy has grown up now and his behaviour and attitude has not changed one bit. He still does what he wants says what he wants and gets away with it, he has attempted a few times to try and speak to me like I was nothing but a piece of dirt on his shoe and I have just completely ignored him. I could have replied with something like "Listen, don't you speak to me like that" but seeing as I am not his parent I don't feel it is my place so I opted to just ignore his remarks and continue with what I was doing.

This story is a prime example of many things I have seen over the years that prove to me that I am teaching my children the correct way to be in life, some might say that I am strict parent and if that is their opinion then so be it, but I refuse to let my children get away with anything they are not meant to and I will definitely not let them talk to people without being respectful.
You might think that this has nothing to do with being a friend to your children but in my eyes it is, the mother instead of being a parent was being a friend to her child and in return she was ignored and disrespected not only that it was done in front of a complete stranger.

So if you take anything away from this post, then it should be to watch that fine line that we as parents have between being a parent, and being a friend to your child. Cherish the children you have but at the same time teach them the right way to act and to speak to people. Manners cost nothing in this world and I believe that it is the duty of every parent to teach their children that.

My Father Figures: Pierson Gilliland

Grandpa Gilliland. The name conjures up warm fuzzies and massive feelings of love. He was actually my great grandfather, my paternal grandma's dad. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, so my earliest memories are of Grandpa Gilliland.

I worshiped him. There is just no other word that explains my feelings for him. I remember eating Cheerios with heavy cream with him because that's what he liked to eat. I remember just being with him. But the truth is, as the years have gone by, I've forgotten more and more about him.

He died when I was still very young. I think I was 8 or 9. Someone took me for a walk and told me he was dead and that I would never see him again. It took a few days, but it was the first time that I was completely, totally devastated by a person's death. At one point I wrote a letter to God asking for Grandpa Gilliland back. There was a large part of me that was sure that God would give me my wish. When he didn't I think I truly understood the finality of death.

But the most important thing that Grandpa Gilliland taught me was that I was loved. He loved me entirely and completely. And I felt the same thing for him. I still feel it all these years later when I think of him.

Look at that little girl. She loves that man. She will forever,

but she just doesn' t know it yet.

When I think of Grandpa Gilliland, I think about love.