Paul's Heart

Learning Laundry 101

One thing that I know Wendy has always appreciated about me, is my independent nature.  We do not have gender stereotypes in our house such as who will vacuum, who will mow the lawn, who will split firewood,  who will clean the bathrooms.  I do many of the chores, for myself, or for all, without complaining.

One evening while at karate class, Madison is quite stressed about something, franticly scratching her leg and upset.  I asked her what was wrong, and she explained to me in a panic.  Long story short, at nine years of age, my oldest daughter has begun to physically change.

Tarzan is a story about a human being raised by apes in the wild.  And there are countless stories of people being raised by wolves.  The theory?  That man would pick up on the animal characteristics hence acting or blending in with that group now involved with.  So it should come as no shock that by being raised in a house with all females, each dealing with the hormonal periods at different times of the month, as well as stages, I should be in perfect condition or training for “the change” with my daughters.

I know that there will be a lot more that I have to deal with now that this time has come.  Eventually, boys will become an issue.  Decisions will get harder to make for my daughters and for Wendy and I.  The time is changing from “talking the talk” to “walking the walk”.

A friend of ours, who happens to be a parent at the karate school that our children go to, mentioned a book published by the company “Americanl Girl” to help young girls as they grow and develop.  The book is called “The Care And Keeping Of Me” and is meant to be a self-help book for girls to read at their own pace, and discuss with their parents.  I am hoping it will also be able to take the sting out of some issues that would be uncomfortable to discuss between father and daughter.

So I am up in Manhattan visiting some doctors, and as I usually do in between appointments having time to kill, stop in at the Barnes and Noble for books for the girls.  And of course, I look for the American Girl Book Of Girls Stuff.  There is one copy which I purchase along with the other books.  I still have some time to fill and head up a couple of blocks to Johnny Rockets to grab a bite.  While I am waiting for my food to come, I decide to scope out the AG book to glance at the subject content and how things are handled.

Okay, the first part is okay as the book talks about changes and emotions and stuff.  Then the book gets into the actual physiological stuff, things I am no way prepared to even want to think about my little girl growing up.  As I flip through the pages quicker as if to get through the book quicker or at least skp certain sections that I am hoping Wendy will take care of, I hit the very graphic pages.  Just then I realize the waitress is standing over me waiting for me to my out of the way to place my food on the table.

“It’s not what it looks like.  I have a daughter who is entering puberty…”  Holy CRAP!  Major embarrassment, and then throw the cliche out with my pride.  So, I non-chalantly close the book, and slowly slide it back into the bag, never to be seen in public in my hands ever again.

Like I said, I was raised in a house with all women, still living with that concept, just different women, and clearly at different stages.  This time the stakes are going to be much higher.  Unlike my grandmother and aunt who had already lived through their lives, and my mother in mid-life and sister, well, do not even want to think about it, Wendy is of no concern with me as far as women issues go, but now Wendy and I have two little girls to prepare to be women.

I now make Wendy do the majority of things for the girls that require any modesty, like the girls getting showered or anything of that nature.  And it will only be natural that Wendy will be the one taking the girls shopping for um… their personal wear.  Shit!  I cannot even say the word anymore.  After being a neandrothal for so many years, now I was going to be considerate and destroy anyone who would disrespect my daughters.

As I mentioned earlier, I am fairly domesticated, and never complain about doing any chores.  But I have put Wendy on notice, I will no longer be doing their laundry.  I am going to stop somewhere in the near future, because I do not even want to be told, when Madison starts wearing her extra articles of clothing.  The last thing I want is to start pulling laundry out of the dryer and start tugging at some strappy thing, and then drop into some emotional breakdown.

I received a very cruel reminder a few weeks ago.  As we cleaned up our back patio for the summer (putting away towels, toys and such), Wendy had thrown swim suits and towels into the washer one last time, and it happened.  Evidently one of our sitters was using our pool (which was not unsual) but because she had been at the house daily, she had left her swim suit at our house.  And I realized this as I took things from the washer to the dryer.  I have known this girl for many years, and consider her like a daughter to me.  Which only seemed to bring the reality home.  It is time to teach Madison to do her own laundry.

Another Holiday “Massacre”

In our house, I am known as a bit of a buzzkill when it comes to holidays, pretty much all of them.  It is not that I have anything against them.  It is just that from my teenage years through nearly all of my adulthood, holidays have usually brought one form of tragedy or another.  Even my birthday is not off limits as back in 1976, while lighting my birthday cancles, a spark from my aunt striking the match, flew into a stack of newspapers which then caught on fire.  While I understand everyone deals with sad events in their lives, my 7th grade year in school would set the tone as I would lose three relatives between Christmas and New Year’s Day.  My cancer diagnosis came over Thanksgiving weekend and my heart surgery occurred just before Easter.  When I reflect on the many more examples, it is quite overwhelming for me.

But I have two small children who love the holidays.  There is no way that I would make them suffer from the countless celebrations because of my issues.  I enjoy the Christmas mornings with their enthusiasm opening gifts.  Last year, Madison finally got into “decorating” the house for Halloween with detail to being scary.  We hide Easter baskets in our house for the girls to look for every year, just as I did as a little boy.  My personal feelings for the holidays have not changed, but at least I can enjoy them.

That is, I can enjoy them when they are occuring.  Not when they are promoted eight months before they occur.  I will decorate the outside of the house for Wendy, while she concentrates on the interior.  Comparisons have been made to our home looking like the Griswald’s in Christmas Vacation.  Last year however, a new threshold has been crossed. and even if my views of holidays had not been tainted, I would be 100% against the following behavior, yet it is happening, and now any wrong doing associated with it, leads Wendy to accuse me of some sort of conspiracy.

Last year, on the day after Thanksgiving, or when I officially relent and allow Christmas lights to be turned on, Wendy picked me up after work.  Being at work on a holiday is hard enough when I would rather be enjoying the time with the family.  But with Halloween being over be nearly a month, I was not expected to be horrified as I saw the car in the parking lot.  In the past, Wendy has actually put Christmas decorations in the car including miniature Christmas trees that stick to the window and light up.  I try to be a good sport.  But not today.

On the grill of the car is some sort of red thing.  Not sure what it is as I am not close enough to it.  But as I see the rest of the car, on each side of the front doors, at the roof of the car, are a pair of brown sticks.  No, they are antlers.  Oh my God, that red thing is Rudolph’s nose!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!  Absolutely not!  I get into the car and slouch down below window level feeling completely immascualated.    Wendy’s outlook is very simple, we are a family.  This is a family car.  We have two small children who think the Rudolph-car is very cool (well at least one of them accepted it).  An no matter my protest about when I have to drive the car by myself without the kids in the car… very creepy, a 40 something man driving around with a car looking like a Christmas cartoon.  But as the saying goes, “A happy wife is a happy house.”  Every year, it is Wendy’s goal to visit as many Christmas displays as she can.  Unfortunately, one trip took us on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  Evidently, Rudolph was not made to travel 65 miles per hour.  And so it happened, snap-crack, snap-crack.  Both antlers had snapped off.

Not to be deterrred, and thinking that Wendy could not make me feel any more uneasy, she is ready for the next big holiday. after Valentine’s Day of course, Easter.  Yep, you guessed it.  A nice pink button on the grill and where the antlers once were, are now a pair of white fuzzy bunny ears.  I will never think it cannot get worse or creepy, and now Madison is starting to agree with me.  One particular sunny day, the weather was quite warm, so I had been driving with the windows down slightly.  The ears were slightly more sturdy than the antlers, however, they were less wind resistent, and just like that, even at only 35 miles per hour, the one ear slipped off the window.  Realizing that it had happened, I made an immediate U-turn to retrieve it.  But as I pulled up to where the ear had landed, Wendy let out a gasp when it appearted the ear was in worse condition than Evander Holyfield after a Mike Tyson fight.  It had already been run over so many times, that the bracket holding the ear had been crushed and the white fuzzy cloth was now black with tire tracks.

I kept quiet knowing that Wendy would be really upset by this, even with my own personal relief.  But I had not expected her reaction or response.  “You are happy this happened.  You never like them.  The least you could do is apologize.”  Almost as puzzling as the need to decorate the car, I was even more confused as to how the loos fitting ears flying off the car were my fault.  Wendy explained to me that I needed to be remorseful that I disliked them so much, that karma actually pulled them off and destroyed.  And there it is, the beginning of the great holiday conspiracy.

Our house is decorated for Halloween.  And no, the car is not spray painted orange to look like the Great Pumpkin.  But Wendy has put more decorations out than in the past, and to Madison’s satisfaction, a good amount of scary things too.  Trick or Treat night with my DJ speakers blasting Halloween’s greatest hits (Werewolves of London, Ghostbusters, Spooky, etc.), I am ready to go.  Having unusually warm weather for October (last year we had over six inches of snow), I decided to mow the lawn and mulch the leaves.  As I cut the lawn along the outer perimiter of the yard in front of the house, I see a black “thread” start wiggling.  I have run over the lights that Wendy has strung out in the grass instead of placing them in the mulch beyone the grass line.  Her response to my confession of the light massacre did not disappoint me in that it made no sense that I have lived here for ten years and should have realized that there would be a light cord in the grass.

The conspiracy continues… I cannot wait to see what this year’s Christmas season brings me, or what I “might do to it.”