What’s the good word?

Sleeping in my arms at a family event;
April 20, 2014

To be completely honest, I don’t remember the first words of either of our daughters. It’s not that I wasn’t totally excited or involved at the time and I am sure we’ve written them down somewhere…maybe. But back then I didn’t have a stay-at-home dad blog, either. And it just so happens that this particular medium is the perfect way to mark the momentous occasion of Dimitri’s very first word.

What’s the word? The word is: “No.” More precisely, the word is “No! NO! NOOOO!”

At first I thought I was mistaken. I mean, how can such a happy, happy child start speaking on such a negative note? He started saying “neh-neh-neh” about a week ago and we weren’t quite sure what to make of it. “Nai” is Greek for “yes,” which was somewhat encouraging (since he hears Greek a lot from my wife and father-in-law) and “nero” is Greek for “water,” and that was a distinct possibility since he’s drinking from a “big boy cup” at meals now. But…no. Dimitri put all questions to rest earlier this week as I was putting him down for his morning nap. As he twisted and turned in my arms and resisted any of my efforts at getting him to sleep, the word welled up from the tips of his toes, through his lungs and straight out of his mouth: “Nooooo!”

Yeah, I thought it couldn’t be, but it was absolutely true. It wasn't wishful thinking, conceptual bias or my 40 year-old ears playing tricks on me. For the rest of the day, whenever I put him down in his playpen, Dimitri would immediately bust out his first – and unmistakably favorite – word, usually in triplicate, and as Arlo Guthrie might say…“with feeling.”

Hey, I guess we’re in good company. I suppose that if I had it my way, the little guy’s first word might have been something lighthearted and jovial like "huzzah!" The armchair intellectual in me might have even preferred a whopper along the lines of “neutrino” or “industrial proletariat.” But an unscientific poll from the “Circle of Moms” ladies indicates that “no” is one of the top 15 first words for the babies in their sample. They share a bit of consolation in their postscript, adding: “…if you're chagrined that your baby's first word was no (#7), you may be comforted to learn that yes is far less common.”

Of course, my wailing and gnashing of teeth is all strictly tongue-in-cheek. We’re all thrilled that Dimitri is an early talker and it’s a promising sign that he’s developing skills and intellect faster that we can teach him. It’s going to be an interesting journey, for sure.

Adventures in technology

This is what it was like back when
cameras were far less complicated.

“I wish I had a camera,” said my father-in-law as he sat behind me in the minivan.

“What do you want to take a picture of?” I asked.

“The baby,” he said. “He took the bottle from me and he’s drinking by himself. He’s also wearing my hat!”

I glanced back and saw my father-in-law laughing at the sight of his seven-month old grandson wearing the International Harvester hat that we bought for my father-in-law when he retired from the plant somewhere around a decade ago.

As luck would have it, I did have a camera with me at the time as I was carrying my iPhone. Now, my father-in-law typically hates all digital devices and he’s made no secret that he wants to gather them all up and throw them down a well. But when I gingerly offered my phone to him so he could snap the picture, he was all for it. Of course, there was a significant problem to overcome in that he’d never actually used an iPhone before—not to place a call and certainly not to take a photo. But he wanted so badly to take the picture himself that I decided it was high time to show him how to do it…even if I was driving along at 40 miles per hour down a busy thoroughfare smack in the middle of the lunch rush.

“Just point it at Dimitri and press the white button on the screen,” I said.

The instructions were more or less intuitive from my perspective but after a few seconds of almost complete silence, I stole a quick look to see my father in law making his best efforts to follow my instructions. The problem was that he had the phone completely turned around and was preparing to snap a picture of himself instead of little Dimitri. Imagine…his first picture ever with a digital device would have been a selfie!

Once we were stopped at a light, I took the phone and demonstrated things a little more clearly before handing it back to him. A short time later, he passed the phone to me and said, “See if I got anything good.”

When I had the chance, I checked the photos and found he’d taken about 10 pictures of Dimitri and they were all exceptionally cute. Here’s the best one from the batch:

Not bad at all for someone who typically tries to use his cordless phone to change the television channel. We’ll keep at it.

My child is how old?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve seen a condescending meme pop up in my Facebook feed that criticizes how many parents choose to state the ages of their young children. Here 'tis: 

The meme itself is presented in something of a contextual vacuum, suggesting that this hypothetical person who has the gall to describe his or her child’s age in months rather than years has somehow committed a grievous social gaffe, clouding the mind of an innocent bystander with the kind of extraneous details that require complex mathematical formulae to convert the data into a simpler and more manageable figure. The comments and reactions that often accompany the meme go several steps further in the critique of parents’ audacious use of such fancy and exotic numbers, including statements like: “If I ever have a kid, I’ll never be one of those people who says stuff like that” and “After a kid is a year old, months are irrelevant.”

Seems simple, doesn’t it? After reading a hastily produced Internet meme along with some self-righteous quips of approval, you’re probably ready to reassess your own positions on age and semantics, aren’t you? Well...Not if you’re a well-informed parent, you’re not.

Is it beyond the pale to refer to a two year-old child as being “24 months”? I might grudgingly yield to that very small point. Maybe. But for most parents, measuring the early life of children under two is most appropriately done in months, not years. The data implicit in describing a child as “13 months,” “18 months” or even “24 months” can be noteworthy. In many respects the information provided in these increments concerns matters of health and development and describing a 19 month-old kid as simply “a year old” is an unnecessary oversimplification. Consider these stages and milestones according to parenthelp123.org:

At 12-18 months, a child should typically:

    •    Walk by himself
    •    Pick up small objects, put them on top of one another, and put them in or dump them from containers
    •    Feed herself with a spoon
    •    Say 2 or 3 different words
    •    Point to things or pictures when named

At 18 – 24 Months (2 Years), a child should typically:

    •    Walk by himself
    •    Pick up small objects, put them on top of one another, and put them in or dump them from containers
    •    Feed herself with a spoon
    •    Say 2 or 3 different words
    •    Point to things or pictures when named
    •    Walk up and down stairs with her hand held
    •    Put 2 words together (“more juice”)
    •    Take off socks and shoes
    •    Copy another child’s play
    •    Move his body in time to music

And this is how you look when you
re-post that crappy meme...

The specific milestones from month to month could be drilled down a bit further but the salient point here is clear: Many parents use months instead of years very specific reasons. When one parent talks to another, the information that’s passed along by describing a child’s precise age is significant. It could be implied that “My kid is 13 months which means he feeding himself and demonstrating some fine motor skills already.” Or, it could be a way to gingerly note that a child’s development is slow without actually having to come right out and saying it. It could even be a way to introduce the fact that the parent needs to get rid of some older baby clothes that are for a kid who is no longer fitting in her 9 to 12 month-sized onesies.
Hey, I know we’re not all “breeders” but why should parents have to dumb things down over the arbitrary preferences of people whose apparent raison d'être is the systematic avoidance of a little extra quantitative data? Should we simplify every conversation along similar lines? How about this:



“Hey Al, how did you get to work today?
"
“Well, I took I-675 to I-70 and then I got off at Route 202 and took the back roads to avoid the traffic.”

“A car, Al. You drove a car.”

Rest assured, folks: Generally speaking, parents don’t use special terminology to feel superior to people who either don’t have kids or who have already decided that they will never have children. At the very worst, saying that a child is “24 months” instead of “two years” is likely a habit that diligent parents pick up as they carefully watch their children grow and develop. And there might be a little piece of reluctance on the part of some parents to say goodbye to their “babies” and start thinking of their little ones as two year-old toddlers. At the end of the day, if something this innocuous is so upsetting to you that you feel compelled to respond with derision, then it’s a safe bet that there are a lot of other things in the realm and practice of parenting would likely elude you, as well. It doesn’t take too much effort to applaud a snarky meme but it takes a whole lot of compassion, patience and critical thinking to raise a child.

Sleep by the numbers

I honestly don’t remember how we did it with our other two kids. On the one hand, the last time I had to really track the sleep habits of an infant was nearly a decade ago and those memories are pretty fuzzy at this point. But six months into our latest parenting endeavor, I can’t help but feel like baby Dimitri’s sleep habits are a little...well...funky. I’m getting used to the whole ebb and flow of his naps and late-night feedings and generally speaking, he’s a very well-rested child. But I often feel like we could do just a little better with his sleep patterns. Here’s a sample of how we’re doing thus far using imprecise estimates with an unspecified margin of error:

Typical range for Dimitri's AM wake-up time: 6:30 to 7:15 AM

Times per week that I silently plead with Dimitri to go back to sleep when he wakes up in the morning: 5

Typical time for Dimitri’s mid-morning nap: 9:20 AM

Average length of Dimitri’s mid-morning nap: 35 minutes

Average length of my mid-morning nap: 20 minutes

Number of times per week I am startled awake from my mid-morning nap by raucous laughter on Kathie Lee and Hoda: 4 (Don't judge, people; they're the best thing on TV at 10:00 AM.)

Typical time for Dimitri’s late morning nap: 11:45 AM

Average length of Dimitri’s late morning nap: 25 minutes

Keep it down, ladies...I'm trying to sleep!

Average volume level of the television when my father-in-law falls asleep while flipping through the channels: 45 (out of 50)

Typical time for Dimitri’s mid-afternoon nap: 2:10 PM

Average length of Dimitri’s mid-afternoon nap: 20 minutes

Number of times per week that my stupid dogs wake Dimitri up by barking at an imaginary foe in the front yard: 6

Number of times per week that I curse and throw things at my stupid dogs: 6

Typical range for Dimitri’s PM bedtime: 7:30 to 8:30 PM

Average length of time it takes to get Dimitri to fall asleep for the night: 25 minutes

Typical bedtime for Thomai: 10:00 PM

Typical bedtime for Thomai on the nights that I watch wrestling on TV: 8:30 PM

Usual bedtime for me: 1:00 AM

Typical times for Dimitri’s nighttime feedings: 1:30 AM and/or  4:00 AM

Number of dreams I have per week about being back in college and being unprepared for an exam: 3

Okay, it might be a slight exaggeration to say that I have those freaky college dreams three times per week. But they are a relatively frequent occurrence and while I can’t say for sure that my tendency to drink copious amounts of caffeinated pop before bed, I also suspect that my subconscious may be waxing philosophical a bit regarding the insecurities I have surrounding my efforts as a stay-at-home dad. No big deal, though. Much like the dude in my college dreams...I’m still learning.

Around the dial with my father-in-law

The next time you think your job is tough, imagine trying to explain to a 78 year-old Greek man why CNN is breaking into regular programming to cover Justin Beiber’s arraignment. Here’s a tip: You have to start by explaining who in the hell Justin Bieber actually is. Set aside 20-25 minutes for that step alone.

My father-in-law is a retired autoworker. He’s spent the better part of his life working with his hands and throughout his retirement, he’s probably spent more of his waking hours outside working in the yard and tinkering on machines and appliances than sitting around in the house. He does pick up Reader’s Digest or the Sunday paper now and again, but he’s not big on reading books or doing puzzles. Television is probably his least favorite pastime of all and American TV shows (as opposed to the Greek channels we get via satellite) garner a special brand of contempt from him. Whether it’s news, sitcoms or commercials, my father-in-law has little tolerance for what he sees as a non-stop parade of ridiculousness and he makes his opinions well-known to anyone who is within earshot when the TV is on.

Here’s a sample of some of his recent comments while watching the boob tube:

Mrs. Puff, exact age unknown

“Boy...when she got skinny, she got ugly.”
— watching a commercial for a weight loss program

“He looks like an idiot and she talks like an idiot.”
— reacting to some footage from a celebrity interview

“Let’s see how many people this guy is going to poison.”
— right after tuning into an infomercial for a turkey deep fryer

“You boob! You don’t know anything!”
— directed at Alex Trebek during a Colonial Penn commercial

“I would guess she is 32 to 35 years of age.”
— said in regard to SpongeBob’s boating school instructor, Mrs. Puff

“South America.”
— replying to a car commercial that begins with the rhetorical question “Is there anything more American than America?”

We still have six weeks of winter to go, so it's a safe bet that we'll be watching a lot more TV together in the near future...

Lullabies from the Axis of Evil

I keep a decent selection of CDs by the big, comfy rocking chair in Dimitri’s room so that we always have something interesting to listen to around nap time...or, if nothing else, I’ll have something pleasant to focus on when Dimitri’s not exactly in the mood to go to sleep quickly. I’m not drawing on my collection of punk and metal to produce a mood that’s conducive to sleep, mind you. For these selections, I go to the “serious” fare from my home library. It’s a longstanding tradition to put the kids to bed with a bit of culture. Our first daughter Kalliope used to fall asleep to Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 7 (“Leningrad”) almost every night as a toddler. When she got a little older, I’d tell her about the story of the siege of Leningrad as we listened to the opening strains of Shostakovich’s masterpiece. Zoya was quite different early on; she responded mostly to white noise and meditation music when she was very small. She eventually took well to Woody Guthrie’s Dust Bowl Ballads and some of Ravi Shankar’s work and when she was old enough to talk and express her preferences, she’d sometimes ask for these artists by name.

This time around, I’ve tried Dimitri with some old favorites, including different compositions by Shostakovich and selections from Woody Guthrie’s Asch Recordings collection. I’ve also included some new favorites into the mix, like Khachaturian, Mahler and Guy and Candy Carawan’s 1976 recording, Music from the People’s Republic of China. All of these have worked fine thus far—and by “worked fine,” I mean they haven’t kept Dimitri awake and they’ve done just fine at keeping me entertained for the long haul. But during a recent trip to my library shelves to look for more bedtime fare, I re-discovered my copy of the Lullabies from the Axis of Evil. I purchased the CD years ago but never had the occasion to fully appreciate it. I think I found it in a chain bookstore and I was very impressed with the idea behind the album but Zoya was already about 4 or 5 years old at the time and she didn’t have much use for lullabies. But at this point in my life, the CD has a lot of practical value now that we have a little one back in the fold. And when I played the opening track, “Sad Sol” (“You, My Destiny”) for Dimitri last week, I was excited by the fact that he seemed to really, really appreciate it...by virtue of the fact that he went to sleep quickly.

Originally released in 2004, Lullabies from the Axis of Evil is the creation of Norweigian record producer Erik Hillestad. In the extensive liner notes to the album, Hillestad shares his vision and objectives for this project, remembering George W. Bush’s denouncement of the so-called “Axis of Evil” of Iran, Iraq and North Korea in Bush’s January 29, 2002 State of the Union Address as the impetus for the Lullabies project:

This and other speeches, held by Bush and other leaders of the greatest power on the planet, made it clear that the "war on terrorism" following the events of Sept. 11. 2001 needed to identify nations—not only terrorist cells—as the enemy.

[...]

Without going too far in analysing the reasons behind this new way of fighting avoid problem, it is easy to became worried about the fatal results the new doctrine may create.The stigma that has been attached to the countries pointed out as members of "The Axis of Evil" is just one side of it. The building of enemy lines and walls, in minds and on the ground between peoples, is another. The fact that it misleads us and covers the real problems in the world is a third.

Lullabies lead ms to the deepest and most fundamental may of communication between human beings. It is where all sharing of ideas and feelings starts. Between mother and child, between father and child, It is a universal culture. And it is amazing to see how many aesthetic similarities, musically and lyrically there are in lullabies from country to country all over the world. The text-issues are often the same, so are the musical structures. Differences in scales, language, metaphors and religion cannot cover the fact that in the lullabies, the cultures of the earth meet each other. Or rather; from this common starting-point they grow into diversity.

It’s a great concept and it’s marvelously executed as Hillestad draws together contemporary artists with traditional music and rhythms, mixing these ingredients with both English-language versions of the songs as well as vocalizations featuring the original lyrics in their respective languages. Hillestad also moves beyond Bush’s original “Axis of Evil,” including lullabies from Palestine, Sudan, Afghanistan, Syria and Cuba. It’s a collection that is both functional and profound, as the songs from Lullabies from the Axis of Evil transport listeners to a happy and ethereal place while serving as a clear reminder of the unfortunate and short-sighted preconceptions which continue to divide people in the real world.

I’ve played the CD for Dimitri a few more times since the night that I introduced it to him and, while he hasn’t fallen asleep right away like he did the first time he heard it, he doesn’t seem to dislike it, either. So the album is going to stay in our rotation for the foreseeable future. I hope that in the long run, my son is not only well-rested but also well-rounded, with an optimistic outlook on humanity.

---

Further reading: Literature and Lullabies from the "Axis of Evil"   npr.org

Carrying a heavy load

Call it a weak moment. Or maybe it was just sheer desperation. After spending most of Saturday morning and the early afternoon with baby Dimitri, I was ready to move around and get things done. Thomai and the girls were out and about and it was just the men of the family holding down the proverbial fort. Dimitri had hit his limit for sitting around and he was letting me know it, too. Going outside wasn’t an option because it was pouring rain and we’d already watched way too much television. Let’s face it: you can only watch so many of those Investigation Discovery shows back to back before you start to wonder which one of your neighbors is going to hire a hit man to stab you with a fondue fork so they can inherit your grandfather’s secret gold mine. (Really, that’s how weird it gets, folks.) Anyway, at some point in the day I got the bright idea to dig out the baby carrier that we bought before Dimitri was born. I figured that since the little guy absolutely wouldn’t tolerate another moment on his back or in his baby swing, maybe he’d enjoy being carried around the house while I tried to make a dent in my laundry list of chores...which ironically included doing some laundry.

After an extensive search around the house, I found our Infantino Swift Baby Carrier. I did not, however, find the instruction booklet that came with it. But I have a master's degree, so I figured I could safely tackle this one without much help. After I got all the straps, Velcro and clips straightened out, I loaded my squirming, 12-pound sack of potatoes into it and, believe it or not, he was quite content with the whole situation. The carrier can be worn either on the front or the back. I picked the front, particularly because Dimitri has been spitting up a lot lately and I wanted fair warning just in case he blew up like some miniature geyser that only shoots lukewarm cottage cheese.

Dimitri loves being carried around and seeing everything there is to see, so I was already feeling like this was a great arrangement. In fact, it was a nice 20 to 25 minutes we had with this thing and, while the conventional wisdom might have held that it was my back that would bear the brunt of the strain, I didn't experience a lot of discomfort from my shoulders to my caboose. There were limits to what we could achieve as a team, though. My efforts at packaging up some books to send out in the mail reminded me just how observant and curious Dimitri is, as he was very interested in the shiny (and sharp) scissors I was using to cut up bubble wrap. So, I had to keep my work at a pretty fair distance to ensure that his fingers still numbered into the double-digits. Picking up stuff, doing a few dishes and all that went just fine, too. But the big problem at my end was that both of my arms started going numb after just a few minutes. The left arm got it much worse than the right and I suspect that has something to do with the placement of the straps. By the time I felt like I’d done enough chores to earn a rest, Dimitri seemed ready to call it quits, too. The numbness in my arms turned to pain for a little while but by early evening, I was feeling okay.

It was definitely time well spent but there’s obviously something I’m missing with how to configure the thing. With a little more trial and error—or maybe just with the help of the freakin’ instructions— this carrier is something that could come in very handy again in the near future. I used the carrier again today with much better results. We cleared out the dishwasher and I fried up some salt pork for lunch, being careful to keep Dimitri at an angle (and a distance) from the stove when we’d flip it. One of the keys to using this and avoiding discomfort is providing a little extra support for Dimitri with alternating hands. I can still get a lot done because I am not completely using the strength of one arm to carry him. All things considered, I think this contraption is a keeper and if I was to “officially” rate this thing, I’d give it three out of four seasons.

Relax, he’s a professional...

My father-in-law retired in 2003 after over 40 years as an autoworker. Considering all those years spent working with his hands at the truck factory—as well as his early upbringing in a rural village in Greece, his experiences in building his first family home in Fort Wayne, Indiana and decades of being the family’s “go-to guy” for every kind of repair job imaginable—it was a tough adjustment for him to have so much time on his hands. Not one for reading books or watching television, he turned his attention to stuff around the house and in the yard, “repairing” things and “improving them”...whether they needed it or not. Over time, his abilities have slipped a little and things don’t always turn out quite the way he expects. Sometimes the results are funny; other times...well, not so much. Without going into too much detail, I’ll just say this—speaking from personal experience, mind you: When someone reaches a certain age, the mere suggestion of that person using a chainsaw, a power drill or even a tire compressor should send the entire family into DEFCON 1.

My father-in-law has slowed down quite a bit in the past few months, mostly because of all the changes we’ve been through but also because it’s pretty unpleasant outside right now with the early onset of winter weather here in Ohio. Still, he finds the time and interest to tinker with all sorts of things even if the work it’s on a much smaller scale these days. Below is a recent picture of his “workbench” which also doubles as the living room coffee table. I’m not sure what exactly he was doing with all these things on this particular day (and I’m not sure he knew, either), but whatever he was doing took the better part of the day, no power tools were involved, and nobody had to go to the emergency room. So it was basically time well-spent, all things considered.

A formula…for baby formula

I’m sure this will come across as ungrateful and that’s certainly not my intent. I mean, I am very thankful that I left baby Dimitri’s three-month visit to the pediatrician with five free 8 oz. cans of Enfamil A.R. Our doctor seems to think that this will curtail some problems Dimitri is experiencing with acid reflux. Anyway, the street value on this “powder” is somewhere between $50 and $60 (about $1.30 to $1.80 per oz.), depending on your preferred retailer and it’s not the first time we’ve received free samples of formula. In fact, I am relatively certain that since Dimitri’s birth in late August, we’ve actually received just as much free formula as what we’ve purchased at the store. We’ve even received entire cases of powder formula on more than one occasion. And many sample containers include one or two coupons that offer discounts on future purchases of the same product.  And at that, we have rarely paid full price for the stuff between all the manufacturer’s coupons and other discounts we’ve acquired. We were even getting samples and coupons through the mail months before we even knew whether this kid was a “he” or a “she”! All this begs the question: If the producers and distributors of baby formula can afford such widespread and relatively deep discounts, why is baby formula so expensive in the first place?

I will be the first to admit that I’m no expert when it comes to mathematics or marketing but some points are fairly obvious. For example, I use the phrase “relatively deep discounts” to reflect that the majority of coupons we receive lop between $3 and $5 off a $17.00 can of formula. So those who sell the product are willing to pass up around 18% to 29% of the retail price on a certain percentage of sales. That’s a noteworthy—and welcome—savings for many folks, especially for those who make the annual median wage ($26,364) or less.¹  Consider also the sheer volume of samples that manufacturers give away to hospitals, doctors’ offices and directly to consumers. I’ve seen this first hand. No doubt the freebies aren’t considered actual “product” by the manufacturers themselves. It’s a safe bet that the samples (most of which are marked “Not for Retail Sale”) are regarded as advertising expenses rather than actual stock, so companies lose nothing from their bottom line by giving away so much of what they produce. To be sure, they probably sell a lot more than what they give away. But do they sell so much because they give away so much? Probably not. I don’t know how competitive the baby formula market is these days but even with a declining birth rate in the United States, people are still having babies and those babies still need to eat. And most of them, at some point, will need some kind of baby formula either as their primary diet or as a supplement. But if the companies who produce formula still turn a hefty profit at the end of the day, they are ultimately validating the assertion of supply-side economics which holds that consumption and demand are secondary consequences of a successful capitalist enterprise.²  (I’m not even going to get into the shelf life of formula and the implications of overproduction when viewed from the supply-side perspective. Perhaps that’s a discussion for another day.)

It’s fairly clear that, generally speaking, baby formula is ridiculously overpriced. Although it’s a necessity with regard to the health and well-being of infants, as a commodity baby formula is neither scarce nor expensive and it’s not necessarily difficult to produce, either. The plethora of discount offers, coupons and free samples that producers offer to consumers further exposes the fact that the “market” itself is almost completely artificial. Rosa Luxemburg nicely summed up this kind of phenomenon in her unfinished work What is Economics?:

Price fluctuations are like secret movements directed by an invisible agency behind the back of society… This movement is observed as atmospheric pressure read on a barometer, or temperature on a thermometer. And yet commodity prices and their movements manifestly are human affairs and not black magic. No one but man himself—with his own hands—produces these commodities and determines their prices, except that, here again, something flows from his actions which he does not intend or desire; here again, need, object, and result of the economic activity of man have come into jarring contradiction.

Don’t get me wrong here; getting free baby formula is nice. Now more than ever, I enjoy having a little extra cash in my wallet whenever possible. Hell, I’d even be happy to publicly endorse Enfamil A.R. if it keeps my baby boy’s reflux in check. I’d work cheaply, too; they could just pay me with free formula! But at the end of the day, I’d be happiest if the folks who produce the stuff could just do away with all the smoke and mirrors and simply offer their products at a consistent, reasonable price that is both indicative of the actual cost of production (plus labor) and affordable to all consumers. I am certain this is possible.

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1. “U.S. Median Annual Wage Falls To $26,364 As Pessimism Reaches 10-Year High” Huffington Post
2. “Supply-side economics” Wikipedia

When the world falls apart, some things stay in place

In the fall of 2013, I decided to leave my 20-year career as a professional to care for my infant son and my aging father-in-law. It was a difficult choice that came in the midst of some hard times for our family. Although my wife and I had just welcomed a new baby into the fold, we’d also lost my mother-in-law to cancer just a couple of weeks after my son’s birth. The Chinese saying, “women hold up half the sky” rang especially true for us because when she passed away, half of our sky seemed to fall down around us.

With a flood of emotions and a host of competing demands, we had to quickly come up with a new way to care for those who needed the most care and attention. There’s a line in the Billy Bragg song “Levi Stubbs’ Tears” that seemed to sum up our current situation: “When the world falls apart, some things stay in place.” We had kids—three in all counting our recent arrival— and an elderly parent to consider, all of whom had their own unique, multifaceted and evolving needs.

My wife, my brother-in-law and I looked into a number of alternatives and at the end of it all, the three of us agreed that it made sense for me to be the one to leave the rat race behind and focus all of my efforts on keeping things safe and stable at home for our loved ones.

Since I am a storyteller at heart, I figured it’d be an enlightening project to keep a written record of this new phase in the life of my family. Given difficulties we’ve experienced over the course of the past several months, some of what I share here will be sad; I’m sure of that. But there are plenty of exciting and happy times to look forward to, as well and I hope to capture many such moments via the pages of this blog.

My son, my father-in-law and I make for an interesting cast of characters, indeed. As I write this, my son’s vocabulary is limited to gurgles, giggles and a good deal of crying. My father-in-law, almost an octogenarian at this point, is a Greek immigrant and a retired autoworker. He’s slowly adjusting to life as a widower…and barely adjusting to the physical and mental challenges of old age. As for me, I’m a long-haired pseudo intellectual with a lot of experiences and interests. Over the course of the past two decades, I’ve worked as an advocate, an activist, a teacher and a writer. I’m pretty sure that I’m still all of those things and probably more, given my host of new responsibilities here at home. Put succinctly, we’re three men in different seasons of our respective lives, looking ahead with cautious optimism and peace of mind.

✭ Mike Bessler, November 2013