Ep 55: "You smell like chocolate"

"You smell like chocolate,"  Olivia Luz told me, after I kissed her goodbye this morning. Those four words lightened my step all the way to the train station and rightly set my disposition for the day.

My nearly-three-year-old had smelled the bite of sweet soy-infused chia on my breath that my wife, Chelsea, had made for me last night and Olivia had simply told me "like it was" 

On the flip side, she has likewise told me "You're stinky," at the end of a long day. So the unfettered truth of a child can cut both ways.

Regardless, I couldn't help but think "what if" we all simply impulsively paid compliments to others - friends, colleagues, and especially loved ones—whenever, at the moment, they came to mind - surely the world would be a better place—wouldn't it?

Albeit it seems like a simple enough axiom, after almost-50 years, I fully realize it is hard to execute due to all the fears we learn along the way: judgment, misunderstanding, mis-intention, rejection. 

Thus, to make a positive difference we must remind ourselves to embrace our original innocence on occasion—to be open to, dig for and discover, and simply acknowledge the gleaming little gems of interaction with others. By paying happiness forward, you are likely assuring its passage back to you.

Ep 54: Let's stop living in fear: The New York Times publishes its first front-page editorial in nearly a century, Dec 4, 2015 (Why lives matter more than "black guns")

Last night, Chelsea and I sat down to enjoy dinner (without the kids) at Julianna's, a local restaurant in Cortlandt Manor that we love.

However, within a few minutes of our arrival we were both distraught and literally fearing for our lives. Our trepidation proved "unfounded," but not without reason and not without consequence.

Across the way in this small one-room restaurant were a middle-aged couple with blue bandannas tied around their necks. The man kept putting the bandanna up over his face, up to his nose. However, more daunting was the t-shirt he was wearing that read in big capitalized white-against-black letters: BLACK GUNS MATTER.

This was a "nice" restaurant per se and so it simply didn't make sense to me why anyone would sport this shirt in public or have bandannas on. Chelsea and I kept nervously glancing at them, hoping they were leaving soon.

Chelsea leaned over and told me, "If something happens, the back door is right behind us." Having been trained for years by NY subway propaganda, "If you see something, say something," I contemplated calling the police to report these suspicious characters. But I balked, I bet on the notion that these people were simply expressing themselves, uncaring to the idea that they were stirring panic among patrons.

Being from Michigan, my wife reassured herself by saying it was likely more reminiscent of the culture she grew up in and not a reflection of the more liberal areas we live in. Her brother-in-law once told her "Only in New York and California do you have folk who don't equate freedom to the right to own your own gun."

Regardless, we were uncomfortable and I was perturbed and disturbed by the inciting. I suggested that maybe these were bikers, thus the bandannas. Alas, neither of us had noticed a motorcycle of any kind when we walked in.

Luckily, this out-of-place couple, soon left without incident and we tried to enjoy a rare night out when we get to focus more on being foodies‌‌ than parents‌.

Nonetheless, the moment made a great impact on me. It has compelled me to be more vocal about an issue that is stirring our nation.

I believe it is awful enough that I must be afraid of coming in and out of Grand Central every morning and every afternoon now. Thus, it is no strange coincidence that the front page of one of New York's most popular papers, the New York Post, reflected my emotions this morning reading FEAR ONLY FEAR.

Fortunately, The New York Times read my mind as well and published its first front-page editorial in nearly a century, calling for lawmakers to do more to ban the type of assault rifles used in the San Bernardino shootings and other mass shootings in the U.S. I couldn't agree more.

It's the least we can do. It makes me rather sad to know that we are so inept as a nation, so paralyzed by industry and archaic entitlement, and so utterly inane when it comes the question of what matters more—purported rights and materialism or life itself.

Here is an excerpt:

End the Gun Epidemic in America

BY THE TIMES EDITORIAL BOARD

DEC 4, 2015

It is a moral outrage and national disgrace that civilians can legally purchase weapons designed to kill people with brutal speed and efficiency.

All decent people feel sorrow and righteous fury about the latest slaughter of innocents, in California. Law enforcement and intelligence agencies are searching for motivations, including the vital question of how the murderers might have been connected to international terrorism. That is right and proper...

Read the full front page article:

End the Gun Epidemic in America

Ep. 52: “It’s so beautiful outside” 3-year-old Milodeus teaches Papa a lesson

The first thing our three year old son, Milo-Milodeus, said this morning as he was peering out from our bedroom, "Pop. I was just looking out the window. It's so beautiful outside."

And here I thought I was supposed to be teaching him how to live large.

Alas, in response, I thought, “Actually, it’s kind of overcast..”

Ugh. The contrasting POVs was a poignant reminder that every once in a while we must be reminded to shun our tainted perspective as adults and embrace things simply as they are and not how we (over)think them to be— skewed by our anxious agendas, the fears of what is or is not to come or disappointingly never was.

Albeit I risk banging on the drum of an old cliché, my son’s words at sunrise summarize an important chapter of a bestselling memoir I wrote ten years ago. It is not until now, after two marriages, almost 50 years and 5 children, that I realize that it was and is perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned, if only because it belies another maxim, if youth is wasted on the young, wisdom is wasted on the old. Perhaps.

And perhaps it is a child’s perspective that intertwines the two.

Here is an excerpt from that ever-important chapter of 25 Lessons I’ve Learned about Photography…Life!

Lesson 4:  Take the Long Way Home

No matter where you live or work or go, there are treasures to be found everywhere. We only have to make an effort to look for them; sometimes it is simply a matter of opening our eyes and senses to see the beauty that envelopes our daily lives.

     A good way of achieving this is by trying to see the world through a child’s eyes. To do so, you must let go of all the things you must do, and simply explore without an agenda, without the compulsion to keep track of time and place, without a care to divert you away from appreciating all the glorious details of the environment that glimmers around you.

     On occasion, we must remind ourselves to think and run and play as freely as we once did, when we were kids, when, as children, we often took the long way home or spun in circles and made odd noises until we got so dizzy that we could no longer stand up straight, so that we spilled ourselves silly onto the grass, and with our arms splayed apart we watched the clouds congeal into giant animal crackers up above, until we caught our breath and our equilibrium again—if only, so that we could do it all over again without a second thought as to how sick we might feel afterward.

     I am fortunate to be a father of two wonderful boys who inspire me on a daily basis in this manner. As much as parents serve to guide their little ones via their own errors and experience, children likewise serve to prompt us to let go every once in a while, so that we might truly enjoy and appreciate life. Watching my sons play, I am constantly reminded that kids get in trouble mostly because their organic way of being does not naturally fit into the rigid outline of an adult agenda imposed upon them.

     For a number of reasons, I am particularly fond of a photo I once took of my youngest, Dominic, when we were crossing the bridge one late afternoon from Lambertville, NJ to New Hope PA. Not only do the spray of the sunshine, the two levels of depth with the railing to the left and bridge frame to the right and the shadows cast—cumulatively make a richly textured picture, but my son's rattling of fingers against the rail reminds me to "relax."

     For the first thing I thought when I saw him doing this was, "You’re going to dirty your hands, son!" Immediately realizing how inane my worries were, I let him be and let myself enjoy the moment.

     Reviewing photos of my children often reminds me of the adage that, indeed, our little ones become big ones all too soon. It is impossible to over-appreciate every minute of their blossoming, especially when, as adults, we are so eager to regain that blissful state of ignorance and freedom.

     Ironically enough, it is the inherent qualities of a child that lead us to the wisdom we often seek as adults. “Wisdom begins with wonder,” Confucius once said. Thus, it is through my boys that I am often reminded that it is curiosity that puts us on the path toward such enlightenment.

     Far too often, as adults, we forfeit the precious traits that are inherent in us as children—all in the name of fear, conservation, propriety and apathy.

     And often for good reason.

     But just as often, we do not risk enough, we are not willing to step out of our safety zone, to try something new, to just waste time in the name of frivolity—to take the long way home.

     As a result of succumbing to the requisite pragmatism of adulthood, we stay stagnant, we diminish our potential, we stop growing, and we proceed down the straight and narrow path until we become bored and unhappy.

     This is why we need to nudge ourselves off the road every once in a while, to take a detour without fearing to get lost. If anything, we must welcome the opportunity to see new things, meet new people, have adventures, and most importantly, learn.

And by learning, grow wiser via youthful ignorance, precocious restlessness and relentless inquisition about this and that, and this again.

Ep 49: The Terror of The Toddlers (at a restaurant, in Cold Spring)

Last night, Chelsea and I took the toddlers to the Tots playground in Cold Spring, and then to Whistling Willies for dinner.

All was going quite well until the very end when both our toddlers had to go to the bathroom. 

I should have taken it as an omen, but I dismissed the fact that my sandal strap broke as I got out of the car right before entering the restaurant as merely the inevitable. They were my favorite abused sandals from Walmart in Atlanta that I purchased almost ten years ago, so the time had come.

Anyway, I was wrong. The broken strap was definitely a sign that something else would snap later on.

They were small restrooms, kind of grungy, especially the Men's room, so I thought best that Olivia go with Mama and Milo with me. Of course, neither would have it. Each wanted to go with the other parent. 

Acting quickly I deceived Milo into seeing "the BIG" porcelain urinal. Alas, I could hear Olivia screaming as if her mother was torturing her, so I opened the door and took them both in. Crouching on bare knees to hold Olivia while holding onto a broken sandal with my toes and simultaneously ensuring Milo did not touch anything was a stretch for my multitasking-ass. 

Of course, Olivia did not really have "to go," so I tried to put on a new diaper while she was standing (not easy) and then had to scrunch each kid under my armpit, one at a time, so they could wash their hands - another challenge, especially as each child became impatient and upset and began screaming to demonstrate that they were not happy. 

Now, it was apparently the parent abusing our kids. 

By the time we had emerged, Olivia was a raging mad toddler and she made sure that everyone within the town limits of Cold Spring knew. 

Chelsea asked "Did you pay yet?" Perplexed, I simply nudged Milo to his mother and tried to dig out my wallet as I handed it, more like tossed it, to Chelsea, while I tried to escape with Olivia, so that her screaming tantrum would no longer be amplified by Willes four walls, but rather be complemented by the breeze of the temperate summer evening. 

Once outside, the fresh air seemingly only invigorated Olivia and gave her the oxygen she needed to take her lovely tantrum a pitch higher. 

With my ears ringing I quickly opened the car door and strapped her in her car seat, while hushing her with promises of a big stuffed bird we had in a big box of toys that we had just acquired from Tamsin. 

Still sobbing, with cheeks wet with the frustration that her parents could not meet her needs for whatever mysterious reason, the big bird saved the day. She half-slept on the twenty minute ride home.

Relieved, Chelsea and I ignorantly thought it was over, as we plotted, agreeing to each take a sleeping child up to their beds. 

When Olivia awoke she announced in no clearer terms that our troubles had only begun, and began to scream bloody murder as her mama tried to put on her princess pajamas. 

After seeing that Milo was placated and ecstatically preoccupied with playing with his new noisy monster truck from the hand-over ("here, now it's your turn to clean up the clutter") box, I ran upstairs to see if I could help tame the beast.

Upon opening the bedroom door, Olivia came over to her Papa and placed her weeping head on my shoulder, as I carried her over to the bathtub to rinse off the residual playground sand and dust, and more importantly, to run warm soothing water over her. 

It worked. Yay. We got her dressed, brushed her hair and teeth, while Chelsea did the same for Milo. 

Finally, I rocked Olivia in my arms, while Chelsea laid down next to Milo and we sang the nightly Christmas songs that the kids require as lullabies (Santa, Rudolph, Frosty). 

Within in a minute of the last refrain, both of our little monsters were out cold and we escaped exhausted ourselves, although, well knowing we could not yet go to sleep, because there was much work to be done, even though it was 10 pm on a Sunday night and we could barely keep our eyes open. Ugh. Double-ugh.

Hence, this presentation of a very special Toddlers edition of parenting memes. Parental discretion advised.