Category Archives: Dad Advice

“This is The Life We Chose,” or Your Birthday isn’t About You

Happy Birthday!There is screaming coming from the basement. Both my wife and the 8 year-old are irate with the process of undoing her cornrows. I can’t help, because the 5-year old and I are washing her hair. This has a 50/50 chance of ending in tears and we still have nail clipping to conduct, not to mention actually styling her hair, which she wants me to understand that I will have no part in doing. This is fine by me, but given my wife and oldest are 45 minutes into what will be a 2+ hour ordeal, I’m thinking I might have to jump in, which will ensure that there will be crying. This is far from the relaxing day I had in mind.

We, using the royal “we” here but I mean me, still need to get dinner prepared, since my wife and I are going out for the evening, and although it’s only 11 am, I can see that we are rapidly running out of time. The sitter, that is my mother, has to be picked up. We have to eat a preemptive celebratory meal a sing and “Happy Birthday” with her, my sister and her kids, whom will probably be running late, because it’s my birthday.

An hour prior, I was eating home-made buttermilk biscuits, marveling at the craft birthday cards from the girls, and modeling my new watch. We hadn’t made any firm plans for Sunday morning, but my wife and I discussed taking the girls out for a bicycle ride, maybe going to the Smithsonian Folklife Festival or just walking to a park for a bit. Our evening plans won’t start until 6 pm and, while I need to swing by and see my dad, it could be incorporated into the sitter/mom pickup (they live less than 5 miles apart). It was going to be a picturesque vision of a Dad’s birthday. Adoring family, loving parents, and an opportunity to be seen by people hither and yon, awash in that birthday glory.

Fast forward 2 hours, I’m in the kitchen frying chicken (because the girls like fried chicken and rarely get it) and roasting veggies. The 8 year-old walks past me crying, with ¾ of her hair free, but a painful looking ¼ still bound tightly to her skull. Her mother curses under her breath. The 5 year-old, reading the tea leaves, decides to do her own hair and makes a half-way decent bun. Initially, I offer assistant. But I still have to shower, visit my dad, pick up Grandma, rush through the birthday crap and get back in time for a 6 pm show. “The bun looks good,” I say and I keep moving. At this point, my alternate vision of maybe an hour to myself with a cigar on the porch while the ladies run an errand is shot to hell, too.

This is the life I chose, that my wife and I chose when we decided to have children. Their hair and grooming don’t care about our birthdays, nor  being “Easy like Sunday morning.”

After another tearful visit from the 8 year-old with accusations of sadism, the rest of the hair goes quickly—washing, conditioning, and braiding are done by 2 pm. It’s apparent that my wife won’t be joining us for the family expedition. In a moment of clarity, I texted my dad and my sister to move back our anticipated arrival time. The passable job the 5 year-old did with her hair has been lost to multiple bun/ponytail attempts and now it’s all about the Doc McStuffin headband containing the lion’s mane. It’s Sunday afternoon now, and we still have to hit the road. And no sooner than we get into the car, both girls fall asleep.

Breathe Easy, Dads, That Sunscreen You Didn’t Use Sucks Anyway

sun-protection-filter-spf-word-cloud-illustration-related-to-skin-care-sunbathing-53388965I was camping at the beach this past weekend with my daughters and another dad-daughter combo for what has become an annual tradition. Did we put sunscreen on our girls? Nope, not until the latter part of day 2, after multiple hours in the sun and on the beach. Were there 3 types of sunscreens with us? You betcha!

If you’re like me, you might say something like “Who needs sunscreen any? I never used it as a kid.” This sort of logic drives my wife crazy, who would have the girls in lead shields with visors if she could. It also masks the fact that I had forgotten to apply it, not that I chose not to protect my daughters. And that my parents were a bit lax about such things–it was the 70s, they didn’t know. Please raise your hands if this sounds familiar.

Good news! It probably doesn’t matter because the Environmental Working Group just safe-chemical-free-sunscreen-kids-e1371854837383shared its list of best and worst sunscreens, with 80% of sunscreens rated as not effective at their prescribed task, protecting your skin from the sun. Chances are, you are slathering your pride and joy with one of the products in their Hall of Shame.  If you can spray it (causes damage to young lungs), if the SPF rating is over 50 (doesn’t account for the dangerous UVA rays that cause cancer), if it has oxybenzone (causes allergic skin reactions and acts like estrogen in the body), or if it has retinyl palmitate (may speed development of skin tumors and lesions on sun-exposed skin), make like Steph Curry and shoot it into the basket. The wastebasket.

Then trying telling your wife, “See, I told you.”