When summer break turns your home into a whirlwind of endless energy and constant chatter, finding sanity as a dad becomes an art form.
My youngest daughter, Everly, shook me awake this morning at six. I figured she’d had a bad dream, but when I rolled over and said, “What is it baby?” She answered, “I have two interesting animal facts.” Splendid.
Usually during the summer, we keep Ev in daycare two days a week so that I can get stuff done around the house since I’m off. But since she’s headed into first grade, daycare wasn’t an option, and we missed the sign up for summer camp. My step daughter goes to camp; my oldest, Izzy, is with me half of the time and with her mom the other half. But Everly, she’s been my daily companion this summer. Guys, I’m exhausted. Nonetheless, after ten years of fatherhood and six weeks of daily summer hangouts with my littlest, here are a few lessons I’ve picked up for when I’m feeling a bit of kid overload.
Get Out of the House
I’m a homebody. I would always rather be home, working on some kind of project, than going out and spending money (the home project will inevitably cost enough). Even as a kid, I was fine being at home most summer days; I mean, someone had to watch Jerry Springer. But Everly isn’t a sit-still kind of kid; she’s a mover and a shaker, and trying to force her to just hang out at home makes for a miserable time for both of us.
That doesn’t mean we go do something big every day; the zoo isn’t cheap. But I’ve come to see the value in getting out of the house, even for a quick trip. A milkshake date only really costs me about ten bucks, but it feels like a big deal to Ev. We can talk, laugh, catch up on how she’s feeling about going into first grade. And while she won’t remember the content of these conversations, she’ll undoubtedly remember that we had them.
Remember Your Kids Are Kids
When I was little, my mom had a little book called Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff by Dr. Richard Carlson. I remember reading the book and coming to a chapter called “See the Innocence.” The idea, as I recall, was to stop assuming the worst in people (especially kids) and try to see their intentions as good, or at the very least, innocent. As a kid I thought, he’s right: I don’t understand why people get frustrated with their kids.
As a dad, I get it now. Everly is a lot: She has boundless energy, little interest in doing anything alone, and she talks incessantly. She’s also six-years-old and doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body. Yesterday I put a subwoofer in my car. My wife was off work, so I finally had a few hours that I could tackle a project alone.
As I was heating up a few wires with the soldering iron, Everly came out to the garage and said, “Hey dad!” startling the hell out of me, and bringing me within a centimeter of burning myself. At that moment, I wanted to scream. I needed time alone; I was working, and she knew I didn’t want any interruptions.
When I turned around to unleash my fury, I saw her holding a gatorade with a post-it note stuck to it that said “My dad.” She knew I was hot, and she was bringing me a drink. Her intentions were innocent and good, and in that moment, she was more excited to see me and do something for me than to leave me alone (even if that’s what I’d wanted). I had to recalibrate all of that negative energy into gratitude, put on a smile, and thank her.
Your Kids Aren’t You
The older you get, the more you appreciate the quiet. With three kids, my house stays pretty loud, and most of the time, I’m fine with it. After the girls go to bed, Katie and I will often sit on the front porch and read or just listen to the dull purr of the hummingbirds flying to our feeders.
With Everly, there is no quiet. If she’s awake, she’s talking or singing – to herself, to me, to the dog, to the cat, to the stink bug walking along the window sill, to her Barbies. She’s usually not talking about anything in particular; in fact, half the time she’s just narrating her life. I love how happy she is, but I don’t always want to hear a song about pouring a bowl of cereal. Annnnd theeen I spillllled some of my miiiiiillllk on the couuuunnnttterrr.
Last week Everly had been talking and singing for about forty minutes straight – no breaks. I couldn’t take it. I needed a few minutes of quiet, and I lost my patience. I didn’t yell, but I did that dad voice that’s quieter than a yell but louder than talking (Dads know what I’m talking about). It went something like this:
“Ev, you have to stop. Honey, daddy loves when you sing, but I just can’t take it anymore. I even went out to the porch to sit for a few, and you followed me out and kept singing. Seriously, you have to be ok with a little bit of silence sometimes. You can’t narrate your entire life and literally never stop making noise.”
She started to tear up.
“But daddy,” she said, “that’s how I’m made.”
In six words, Everly was able to articulate what I felt like I’d spent my entire childhood trying to say to my own dad.
I scooped her up, gave her a big hug and kiss, and I told her that I loved how she was made. I explained that we’re all made differently, and that I’m a person who likes quiet sometimes. We talked about it being ok for dad to need some quiet, and how I’ll do a better job of communicating that before I reach a boiling point.
Everly is my kid, but she’s not me. I can teach her that there are appropriate times for singing, for talking, for somersaults and cartwheels, and I can embrace who she is in the process.
The Time is Fleeting
I know we all know this, and I don’t mean to sound overly sentimental. But it feels like fifteen minutes ago that I was pushing Everly in a stroller, changing her diapers, feeding her from a bottle. And now she’s six. Tomorrow, she’ll be eight, and next week, she’ll be going to college. I can’t make every day an adventure, but when I go to bed at night, I want to feel like I gave it my all as a dad.
To be clear, you still need time for yourself. It’s ok to go to the gym, a concert, put the subwoofer in your car, take a no-kid trip with your spouse. I’m not the dad who thinks if you’re not spending every moment with your kid, then you’re failing them. But when you are with your kid, put your phone away, snuggle them and look them in the eye when they’re talking. Do what you can to make these minutes valuable.
Kids have little concept of time (and no concept of how quickly it passes), which means it’s up to us to make the time count and find ways to freeze moments so they may be seared into ours and our kids’ memories. I made a Gmail account for Everly when she was born, and I send her emails with stories about milestones she’s reached as a kid or funny things she says or does. It’s easy, fast, and will one day show her how much I valued this time we’ve had together.
