For moms out there with wee-ones, who look into the eyes of their babes and see nothing but sugar, sugar and more sugar, I'm here to tell you: good-bye sweetness, hello smart-ass.It's a little heart breaking. They don't need you as much, yet they're as demanding as ever. In order to keep their interest in you, as a parent, and whatever you might have to teach them (ha-hem, lots), you have to immerse yourself in all things meaningful to your child. This means hours of Minecraft, soccer, Nerf guns, cars, sparring techniques, fossils, you name it. For me? Boy stuff. Boys, boys, boys! Do you have any idea how hard it is for a former Barbie-loving, pukey-pink-bedroom-owning Wonder Woman wannabe? (I even had Linda Carter's 8-track - she caterwauled more than she sang, but I wore out the label, staring at her picture). Will I ever be able to share these things with my boys? Not likely. I have committed to life as a rocket launcher. It doesn't get more boyish than that. Thank, God, I had brothers; I know how to wrestle and I think farts are funny. Which brings me to my point: what about my rocket, the one launched a few decades back? Where is it? Floating in space? Lost in the void? What happens to the grand dreams of parents when we become parents? The world no longer cycles the moon for us? Our once critical rockets lost in a large Magellanic Cloud . . . time to explore. STAY TUNED FOR PART II. Traversing the identity-cloud... Are you a rocket scientist, a rocket launcher or a rocket? Whoever you or your little ones might be, we think you all would appreciate a little "Rocket Man" from Lullaby Renditions of Elton John. Click HERE for a listen.
You know when people chitchat about raising children and say, "It's not like it's rocket science!" Well, I've got news... I've decided that what I do, as a parent, on a daily/hourly/minute-by-minute basis on any day of the last eight years is, in the simplest of terms, launching a life; two of them actually. I am a rocket launcher and my kids are the rockets. Vrooooooom! And, yes, that would make me a rocket scientist. My boys are 8 and 6, so NASA will not be calling me for tips anytime soon. These are multi-stage rockets, each with their own propellants - and there will be shrapnel, folks. This is a big deal; I've got to get this right. And I'm just getting to the good stuff: the teenage years, when all hell breaks loose and we see if I passed basic training, or aeronautics labs, whatever! sh*t better work! I need a successful Mars landing folks. Let's talk 8-year-olds. I think we just dropped the first engine. Things they are a changing. I've heard young boys go through two puberties: the big one (say no more, gong show); and a mini-pre-puberty, happens around age 8-9. I'll give you a hint: testosterone party.