Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Monday, November 6, 2017
Parenthood: Week 229 - The Motivation & The Meaning
Everything feels right, but man, I am tired. This morning Ethan (our wonderful week and half year old), wanted to “party” at 4:30am, and by “party,” I mean, "did not want to go back to sleep after a feeding." During the day, I don’t expect that this little newborn will go back to sleep after every feeding, which he often does, but early in the morning, I’m determined to get this boy back down, for my sanity, and the sanity of everyone else in the house.
So I worked with him and finally got him to sleep around 5:20am. By then, it was too late for me to get any more sleep, seeing how Ollie, my 4 year old who is an early riser would probably be up around 6:20am. I did enjoy some moment in bed feeling my wife next to me and knowing that all of my kids, Ollie, Ethan, and Buffy (the dog), were sleeping soundly under the same roof.
My focus for the past week has been keeping the house running smoothly, and taking care of my family. The basics: laundry, food, cleaning, and trash has been cycling through my head the entire day. Being supportive of my wife’s needs is being proactive with this stuff, not waiting to be asked to do these things but rather getting them done before they become an issue.
This is challenging to balance out with what I’m trying to do for Ollie. My main goal is not for him to bond strongly with Ethan. I’m simply doing all I can to make sure that Ollie doesn’t see Ethan as having a negative effect on his life. In time the positive will come out, but it won’t if their relationship is built up on a feeling of resentment.
Since Ollie is four years old, Ethan doesn’t really effect most of what Ollie expects and wants. Ethan doesn’t mess up Ollie’s school schedule, he’s not into Ollie’s toys, and Ollie still gets to watch what he wants to watch on TV. I do feel bad at times that Ollie has to wait for me to finish a choir to play with him. For example, Ollie wanted to play hide and seek with me, but I was in the middle of doing the dishes, so I asked him to wait for me to be done. While I wish I could immediately give Ollie my attention, I do like the fact that Ollie is seeing me, as his man, being proactive about running the household. Ollie is picking up on this and joyfully helps me with things like laundry,
Buffy’s patience with her walks being delayed or forgotten has been great. However, even she has her limits. Ethan’s crib is currently in our bedroom, right next to Buffy’s bed. The other night, after he was being especially loud, Diana looked over and saw Buffy with her front paws up on the bed, whining as Ethan cried. We’ve left the door open, and told Buffy she can go downstairs and sleep on the couch, but she has stayed with us every night. If I was her, I’d leave, but she’s probably feeling like I do. Even though there is another room I could go to when Ethan cries in the middle of the night, I’d rather be there with him and Diana, and show support and help. That’s what it means to be a family.
Taking care of Ethan is a joy. The techniques of diaper changing, the process of getting him to sleep, which I learned from my mom, and different ways of holding him and calming him, all feel like second nature. I remember with Ollie, thinking about how to hold him as a newborn, and with Ethan, it’s all instinct. It feels great to use these skills again.
Diana and I have been watching the second season of Stranger Things. After all the kids are asleep and we get the house in order, often we barely have time to get through one episode, which is tough because we are both really enjoying this show.
A couple nights ago, even though we both wanted to watch this show, we ended up sitting at the kitchen table talking for an hour. We shared our feelings about Ethan, how we were enjoying this experience, and thoughts about the future. It was really wonderful. As tired as I am (oh man, was I tired today), I know that I have an amazing partner in Diana, who is on this journey with me. Yes, the squishy cute-ness of Ethan helps, Ollie’s wonderful giggles makes a difference, and Buffy’s quiet watchfulness is reassuring, but it’s Diana as my partner, that motivates me to be a better man, and brings meaning to this experience, as she does with every part of my life.
So I worked with him and finally got him to sleep around 5:20am. By then, it was too late for me to get any more sleep, seeing how Ollie, my 4 year old who is an early riser would probably be up around 6:20am. I did enjoy some moment in bed feeling my wife next to me and knowing that all of my kids, Ollie, Ethan, and Buffy (the dog), were sleeping soundly under the same roof.
My focus for the past week has been keeping the house running smoothly, and taking care of my family. The basics: laundry, food, cleaning, and trash has been cycling through my head the entire day. Being supportive of my wife’s needs is being proactive with this stuff, not waiting to be asked to do these things but rather getting them done before they become an issue.
This is challenging to balance out with what I’m trying to do for Ollie. My main goal is not for him to bond strongly with Ethan. I’m simply doing all I can to make sure that Ollie doesn’t see Ethan as having a negative effect on his life. In time the positive will come out, but it won’t if their relationship is built up on a feeling of resentment.
Since Ollie is four years old, Ethan doesn’t really effect most of what Ollie expects and wants. Ethan doesn’t mess up Ollie’s school schedule, he’s not into Ollie’s toys, and Ollie still gets to watch what he wants to watch on TV. I do feel bad at times that Ollie has to wait for me to finish a choir to play with him. For example, Ollie wanted to play hide and seek with me, but I was in the middle of doing the dishes, so I asked him to wait for me to be done. While I wish I could immediately give Ollie my attention, I do like the fact that Ollie is seeing me, as his man, being proactive about running the household. Ollie is picking up on this and joyfully helps me with things like laundry,
Buffy’s patience with her walks being delayed or forgotten has been great. However, even she has her limits. Ethan’s crib is currently in our bedroom, right next to Buffy’s bed. The other night, after he was being especially loud, Diana looked over and saw Buffy with her front paws up on the bed, whining as Ethan cried. We’ve left the door open, and told Buffy she can go downstairs and sleep on the couch, but she has stayed with us every night. If I was her, I’d leave, but she’s probably feeling like I do. Even though there is another room I could go to when Ethan cries in the middle of the night, I’d rather be there with him and Diana, and show support and help. That’s what it means to be a family.
Taking care of Ethan is a joy. The techniques of diaper changing, the process of getting him to sleep, which I learned from my mom, and different ways of holding him and calming him, all feel like second nature. I remember with Ollie, thinking about how to hold him as a newborn, and with Ethan, it’s all instinct. It feels great to use these skills again.
Diana and I have been watching the second season of Stranger Things. After all the kids are asleep and we get the house in order, often we barely have time to get through one episode, which is tough because we are both really enjoying this show.
A couple nights ago, even though we both wanted to watch this show, we ended up sitting at the kitchen table talking for an hour. We shared our feelings about Ethan, how we were enjoying this experience, and thoughts about the future. It was really wonderful. As tired as I am (oh man, was I tired today), I know that I have an amazing partner in Diana, who is on this journey with me. Yes, the squishy cute-ness of Ethan helps, Ollie’s wonderful giggles makes a difference, and Buffy’s quiet watchfulness is reassuring, but it’s Diana as my partner, that motivates me to be a better man, and brings meaning to this experience, as she does with every part of my life.
Friday, November 3, 2017
Frat Boy: The Museum - Part 2
I don’t remember all of the art that we saw that afternoon. I remember experiencing Monet’s “Water Lilies,” Zurbarna’s “The Crucifixion,” and Rothko’s beautiful untitled blocks of color, but that’s about it.
What I do remember more than the art was watching Debbie experiencing the art. Debbie danced with the works. She would move around the work, tracing the colors and shapes in the air with her hands. I could feel her mind and body settle when a painting pulled her in. Then she would refocus and quickly lead me into the next room, talking quickly in an attempt to capture what was incredible about what she had just experienced. While keeping up with Debbie was exhausting, I never got tired of watching her dance.
Even though Debbie talked a lot, she listened to everything I said with care and attention. She offered me space in the conversation. If I took it, she would listen, but if I didn’t, Debbie was happy to take that space and share her fascinating thoughts and perspectives.
When we got to campus, we walked over to Debbie’s room, and she asked casually, “Do you want to come up to my room?”
“What?” I replied in surprise.
“My room, c’mon, I’ll show you my drum.”
Before I could process what was going on, Debbie had opened the door and led me in her dorms lobby. I stood in her doorway awkwardly when she opened her dorm room's door. This was the first time I had ever seen the inside of a girl’s room. (And no, I had never been in a girl’s room either).
Debbie sitting in a chair looked up at me and coaxed me in like I was a puppy scared to come hither. I sat down on another chair and then Debbie did exactly what she said she was going to do. She pulled a conga drum out of the corner of the room and started playing it.
We talked for a bit, shared a pop tart, and then said goodnight. She gave me playful punch on the shoulder as she said goodbye. I thanked her for a great afternoon and before I left the room, Debbie leaned in and we shared a quick, but very cute hug.
I didn't follow up the museum trip by asking her out. I don't know if Debbie interpreted this as the fade away or was hurt that I didn't reciprocate. I didn't have the maturity to talk to her about our experience openly and I didn't have the confidence to put myself out there.
I don't know what she thought of that outing. Was it a date thing or a friend thing? I may have messed this up, and I hope that I didn’t hurt her feelings, because, I have always been grateful for her kindness and for reaching out to me. In no time, we fast became friends. We regularly saw each other in marching band practice and during meal times. As the years past, we continued to share good times.
Debbie was always the life of party, first to dance and never one to let me stand against the wall. She was never afraid to tell me I was being an idiot, and she always did this with a smile confirming that all her words were an expression of care.
Debbie still loves to dance. She works as a choreographer, fitness instructor, personal trainer, and a dance instructor in the Philadelphia area. She’s spreads her love for dance, and her amazing spirit to others.
When I’m throwing myself into a dance with my 5th graders and coaxing them to get into it, I’m channeling my best Debbie smile. When I see a “wall-flower” sitting alone during lunch or awkwardly standing by themselves before a faculty meeting, I push myself to go out of my comfort zone, draw on the kindness that Debbie shared with me and reach out to them. And when I’m feeling unsure, and not sure where to go or how to be, I feel the sense of adventure that Debbie sparked inside of me so many years ago, and I face this uncertainty with optimism.
What I do remember more than the art was watching Debbie experiencing the art. Debbie danced with the works. She would move around the work, tracing the colors and shapes in the air with her hands. I could feel her mind and body settle when a painting pulled her in. Then she would refocus and quickly lead me into the next room, talking quickly in an attempt to capture what was incredible about what she had just experienced. While keeping up with Debbie was exhausting, I never got tired of watching her dance.
Even though Debbie talked a lot, she listened to everything I said with care and attention. She offered me space in the conversation. If I took it, she would listen, but if I didn’t, Debbie was happy to take that space and share her fascinating thoughts and perspectives.
When we got to campus, we walked over to Debbie’s room, and she asked casually, “Do you want to come up to my room?”
“What?” I replied in surprise.
“My room, c’mon, I’ll show you my drum.”
Before I could process what was going on, Debbie had opened the door and led me in her dorms lobby. I stood in her doorway awkwardly when she opened her dorm room's door. This was the first time I had ever seen the inside of a girl’s room. (And no, I had never been in a girl’s room either).
Debbie sitting in a chair looked up at me and coaxed me in like I was a puppy scared to come hither. I sat down on another chair and then Debbie did exactly what she said she was going to do. She pulled a conga drum out of the corner of the room and started playing it.
We talked for a bit, shared a pop tart, and then said goodnight. She gave me playful punch on the shoulder as she said goodbye. I thanked her for a great afternoon and before I left the room, Debbie leaned in and we shared a quick, but very cute hug.
I didn't follow up the museum trip by asking her out. I don't know if Debbie interpreted this as the fade away or was hurt that I didn't reciprocate. I didn't have the maturity to talk to her about our experience openly and I didn't have the confidence to put myself out there.
I don't know what she thought of that outing. Was it a date thing or a friend thing? I may have messed this up, and I hope that I didn’t hurt her feelings, because, I have always been grateful for her kindness and for reaching out to me. In no time, we fast became friends. We regularly saw each other in marching band practice and during meal times. As the years past, we continued to share good times.
Debbie was always the life of party, first to dance and never one to let me stand against the wall. She was never afraid to tell me I was being an idiot, and she always did this with a smile confirming that all her words were an expression of care.
Debbie still loves to dance. She works as a choreographer, fitness instructor, personal trainer, and a dance instructor in the Philadelphia area. She’s spreads her love for dance, and her amazing spirit to others.
When I’m throwing myself into a dance with my 5th graders and coaxing them to get into it, I’m channeling my best Debbie smile. When I see a “wall-flower” sitting alone during lunch or awkwardly standing by themselves before a faculty meeting, I push myself to go out of my comfort zone, draw on the kindness that Debbie shared with me and reach out to them. And when I’m feeling unsure, and not sure where to go or how to be, I feel the sense of adventure that Debbie sparked inside of me so many years ago, and I face this uncertainty with optimism.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
Monday, October 30, 2017
Parenthood: Week 228 - Baby Ethan is Here!
My second son Ethan was born, last Wednesday 10/25/17.
There’s a lot of thoughts and reflections floating around in my head, so I’m going to try to get down a few of them on this post that feel most important to capture.
Before Ethan was born, we had a couple names picked out for him. We figured that we would meet him and then decide. Ethan was born and after a couple hours, we both agreed that none of the names we picked out fit. For the next day, we spent our time at the hospital trying to figure out a name. We had some time to pick out a name, but it felt weird to me to not have it figured out. After many discussions, and scribbling out names all over a piece of paper, we landed on Ethan Milo Tang.
Why this name? It was a combination of how the sound of the name felt and their meaning. Names are very important, but at a certain point, I was fine compromising with Diana on this one. Does a name bring meaning to a child because of what a name means, or does a child bring meaning to a name because of how much you love your child? It’s a combination of both, but I lean towards the latter.
Ollie visited us twice when we were in the hospital. The first time, it was clear that he wasn’t into Ethan at all. Grandparents were around, and he didn’t really know what to do with the baby, or us. So the second time when he visited, I took him around the hospital floor. I showed him how to use the ice machine, which he thought was really cool, and I shared a snack with him. He still didn’t show much interest in Ethan, but when we came back from our exploration, he was excited to tell Diana about the ice machine. That’s something.
Both nights I slept over in the hospital. In the evening, I went home and spent some time with Ollie and did his bedtime routine as normal as possible. Even though he didn’t seem to care about the baby, he was really into me reading his human reproduction book as a bed time story.
The second night, while I was finishing my dinner, I looked over to Ollie and he had some toys in front of him, but he was silent and looked sad. I asked him if he missed his mommy, and he nodded silently. I sat on the floor with him, and asked him if a hug would help. Ollie took this as an invitation, and he crawled into my arms. I told him that it was okay for him to be sad, and if he felt this way, I would stay with him. So we sat for a couple minutes, talking softly, both thinking about the most important woman in our lives.
When Ethan was born, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of awe and pride in my wife Diana. For months, she carried our son and took care of him all by herself. She worked through the birthing process with strength that I knew existed in her, but rarely witnessed. Seeing someone you love, accomplish something amazing, not just the day of the birth, but through the whole process of pregnancy is remarkable.
Like Michelle Obama described the Presidency, Diana’s pregnancy and the birthing process, didn’t change her in my eyes. Instead it revealed more of her true self. What was revealed to me, has inspired in me more respect and deeper love for my wife.
There’s a lot of thoughts and reflections floating around in my head, so I’m going to try to get down a few of them on this post that feel most important to capture.
Before Ethan was born, we had a couple names picked out for him. We figured that we would meet him and then decide. Ethan was born and after a couple hours, we both agreed that none of the names we picked out fit. For the next day, we spent our time at the hospital trying to figure out a name. We had some time to pick out a name, but it felt weird to me to not have it figured out. After many discussions, and scribbling out names all over a piece of paper, we landed on Ethan Milo Tang.
Why this name? It was a combination of how the sound of the name felt and their meaning. Names are very important, but at a certain point, I was fine compromising with Diana on this one. Does a name bring meaning to a child because of what a name means, or does a child bring meaning to a name because of how much you love your child? It’s a combination of both, but I lean towards the latter.
Ollie visited us twice when we were in the hospital. The first time, it was clear that he wasn’t into Ethan at all. Grandparents were around, and he didn’t really know what to do with the baby, or us. So the second time when he visited, I took him around the hospital floor. I showed him how to use the ice machine, which he thought was really cool, and I shared a snack with him. He still didn’t show much interest in Ethan, but when we came back from our exploration, he was excited to tell Diana about the ice machine. That’s something.
Both nights I slept over in the hospital. In the evening, I went home and spent some time with Ollie and did his bedtime routine as normal as possible. Even though he didn’t seem to care about the baby, he was really into me reading his human reproduction book as a bed time story.
The second night, while I was finishing my dinner, I looked over to Ollie and he had some toys in front of him, but he was silent and looked sad. I asked him if he missed his mommy, and he nodded silently. I sat on the floor with him, and asked him if a hug would help. Ollie took this as an invitation, and he crawled into my arms. I told him that it was okay for him to be sad, and if he felt this way, I would stay with him. So we sat for a couple minutes, talking softly, both thinking about the most important woman in our lives.
When Ethan was born, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of awe and pride in my wife Diana. For months, she carried our son and took care of him all by herself. She worked through the birthing process with strength that I knew existed in her, but rarely witnessed. Seeing someone you love, accomplish something amazing, not just the day of the birth, but through the whole process of pregnancy is remarkable.
Like Michelle Obama described the Presidency, Diana’s pregnancy and the birthing process, didn’t change her in my eyes. Instead it revealed more of her true self. What was revealed to me, has inspired in me more respect and deeper love for my wife.
Friday, October 27, 2017
Frat Boy: The Museum - Part 1
I'm currently on paternity leave, so Friday's posts may not be school teaching focused. So for now we're going back to college for the next two weeks.
“The museum?”
“Yes, the museum. The Art Institute in downtown Chicago. Do you want to go with me?”
“Um. . . well. . . I. . .”
“Okay, great we are going. Let’s meet at the ATM at like, 2ish tomorrow, and we will walk to the EL.”
“The what?”
“Okay see you then. Bye!”
I stood there speechless, not sure what had happened. Did she just ask me out on a date? What had I gotten myself into?
Freshmen year band camp had been a whirlwind. Outgoing upperclassmen took in nervous and overwhelmed freshmen like myself. They would introduce themselves and pull us through the marching band activities acting as both mentors and counselors. These mentors relieved fears and deliberately worked to create a community that would sustain us throughout our years at Northwestern.
These upperclassmen were remarkable young adults, caring, giving, and kind. I’ve written about some of these acts of friendship and inclusion throughout these series of posts. They weren’t the only ones that reached out to me, freshmen also took chances with me. . . freshmen like Debbie.
Debbie was one of the fastest talkers I had ever met in my life. It was like her mouth was trying to keep up with her brain, which moved at an awe-inspiring speed. Debbie was not afraid of direct eye contact AND the fact that her eyes were on the exactly same level as me as we were the same height, added a layer of intensity, passion, and confidence to her words. Imagine Ellie from Up! as a college student (who talks three times as fast).
Debbie was the kind of person who wouldn’t wait for a dance partner. If she wanted to dance, she would dance. If she wanted to talk to you, she wouldn’t wait for you to start the conversation and if she wanted to go to the museum with someone, she would find someone to go with.
We only had a few interactions before Debbie asked me to go to the museum with her. She was in marching band and we were around each other quite a bit, however, I wasn’t really sure if it was a good idea to go to the museum with her. I figured she had made the effort to be friendly, so the least I could do was show up.
Somehow I got the impression from the way that Debbie fearlessly guided me through my first experience on the El train and navigating through that part of Chicago that she was a local. No, she was from Wisconsin. She only had a slight idea more than I did about how to get to the museum. For me, this lack of knowledge caused me to pull inside of myself, for Debbie, it pushed her energy outwards.
We entered the museum, and moved through the admission lines. As we walked into the first exhibit room, I heard silence for the first time in almost an hour. Debbie had stopped talking. We were both in awe of the art surrounding. I looked over at Debbie and saw her gracefully walk in a circle looking up at the paintings. Then she stopped moving, and closed her eyes. She slowly inhaled through her nose and gently blew air through pursed lips. She opened her eyes looked at me, and with a raised eyebrow and giddy smile said “C’mon, let’s go!”
“The museum?”
“Yes, the museum. The Art Institute in downtown Chicago. Do you want to go with me?”
“Um. . . well. . . I. . .”
“Okay, great we are going. Let’s meet at the ATM at like, 2ish tomorrow, and we will walk to the EL.”
“The what?”
“Okay see you then. Bye!”
I stood there speechless, not sure what had happened. Did she just ask me out on a date? What had I gotten myself into?
Freshmen year band camp had been a whirlwind. Outgoing upperclassmen took in nervous and overwhelmed freshmen like myself. They would introduce themselves and pull us through the marching band activities acting as both mentors and counselors. These mentors relieved fears and deliberately worked to create a community that would sustain us throughout our years at Northwestern.
These upperclassmen were remarkable young adults, caring, giving, and kind. I’ve written about some of these acts of friendship and inclusion throughout these series of posts. They weren’t the only ones that reached out to me, freshmen also took chances with me. . . freshmen like Debbie.
Debbie was one of the fastest talkers I had ever met in my life. It was like her mouth was trying to keep up with her brain, which moved at an awe-inspiring speed. Debbie was not afraid of direct eye contact AND the fact that her eyes were on the exactly same level as me as we were the same height, added a layer of intensity, passion, and confidence to her words. Imagine Ellie from Up! as a college student (who talks three times as fast).
Debbie was the kind of person who wouldn’t wait for a dance partner. If she wanted to dance, she would dance. If she wanted to talk to you, she wouldn’t wait for you to start the conversation and if she wanted to go to the museum with someone, she would find someone to go with.
We only had a few interactions before Debbie asked me to go to the museum with her. She was in marching band and we were around each other quite a bit, however, I wasn’t really sure if it was a good idea to go to the museum with her. I figured she had made the effort to be friendly, so the least I could do was show up.
Somehow I got the impression from the way that Debbie fearlessly guided me through my first experience on the El train and navigating through that part of Chicago that she was a local. No, she was from Wisconsin. She only had a slight idea more than I did about how to get to the museum. For me, this lack of knowledge caused me to pull inside of myself, for Debbie, it pushed her energy outwards.
We entered the museum, and moved through the admission lines. As we walked into the first exhibit room, I heard silence for the first time in almost an hour. Debbie had stopped talking. We were both in awe of the art surrounding. I looked over at Debbie and saw her gracefully walk in a circle looking up at the paintings. Then she stopped moving, and closed her eyes. She slowly inhaled through her nose and gently blew air through pursed lips. She opened her eyes looked at me, and with a raised eyebrow and giddy smile said “C’mon, let’s go!”
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
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