Sleep

Ten years ago, the room surrounding me contained trash and items scattered all over the floor. I was a college student and was currently unable to clean up my room, as I was sleeping. I wasn't sleeping because of stress, because of an all-nighter spent studying, or because it was 3am. I was sleeping because I love sleep. If left to my own devices, I would be asleep right now and you wouldn't be able to read this post about sleep because I would be living it instead.

Today, the room surrounding me contains trash and items scattered all over the floor. I am a father. In terms of interior design, fatherhood and college student life are identical. Cleaning up is still not possible. Not because I am asleep. I am never asleep anymore. Cleaning is now not possible due to the tortured physche that assures me that whenever I pick up one item, it will immediately be replaced by four other items (plus child screams and cat vomit). I'm adding cat vomit here because it can happen anytime, and it does. It happens any time. In college, I was able to sleep through my life. Now, I live my life with the goal of sleep.

I like sleep. I really, super like sleep. I like sleep so much that the primary reason I was able to lose 87 lbs was because I was able to sleep through meals. Through days. Through an entire summer. I like sleep so much that single me would go to bed Friday night and wake up Sunday afternoon. This is not hyperbole. I really slept that long. Just ask my dad. Ask him!

I like being a dad. I also like sleep. One of these two likes had to die. Sleep died on 4/17/2015. It died without warning. It died after I took my wife to the hospital on a routine-ish visit following a fender bender in which she was involved. I figured we might be up a while so I decided to chug a 44 oz. cup of coffee in the hospital room. I did not realize, mid coffee-binge, that said fender bender had induced labor and that the large amount of coffee I was drinking was about to lead to a really awkward introduction to my son. After he was born, he was crying and shaking, I was screaming, running, and shaking, and my wife was reevaluating her spousal choices.

Everyone tells you that once you become a parent, you don't get sleep. Everyone tells you this. Even people that don't know you're about to become a parent. Parents like to tell this to everybody. We, as parents, want everyone else to live vicariously through our insomnia-induced, undead, constant pursuit of the ability to lie down and close our eyes for just enough time to give ourselves enough strength to be able to stand up and not fall.

Silence

I was seriously considering simply writing the word, 'silence', and then calling this entire blog a wrap. However, I like writing and I like being a dad and I like you knowing that I like being a dad. However, I like silence more than anything.

When you're really young, you like making noise. When you're a little older, you like listening to noise. Once you become a young father, your threshold for making and listening to noise has reached capacity. Once you become an older father, I'm only assuming your ears shut down as a sort of Darwinian response to years of aural beatings in the form of small children showcasing to you and your wife their skills at expressing the multiple ways they want you to know that they suddenly do not like ketchup.

Now I suddenly want to change subjects a bit and talk about priorities. If my daughter suddenly hates ketchup, then I can change subject in my own blog a bit.

I'm working my hardest to provide for my kids the best I can. My job isn't the highest-paying. I try to help my wife around the house. I always put my kids first when I'm not at work. Or asleep. Or while giving them ketchup. Apparently.

Wait. What am I doing? I'm not working my hardest to provide for them. When I get home, I love their greetings, even if it's via crying and screaming. But I'm also hungry. I'm really, super hungry. The family room is on the way to the kitchen, which contains the refrigerator, I need to get by the family room to get to the refrigerator, which contains my daily redemption. Even if there's nothing but water inside, I can make something. Dinner will be made and consumed if I'm in the kitchen. A few weeks ago, I made tacos from tortillas, canned organic refried beans, Mickey Mouse-shaped chicken nuggets, lunch meat, mayonnaise, rice, and salsa. It fit under the 'taco' description based on almost every definition of the word I could find. Also, it was most probably a taco.

Am I really being a parent here? Yes, I want silence and all of the other cliched perks that new parents desire. But I also want love and affection and to watch them grow. I want to be able to see my footprint as they become adults, but I'm also terrified of my influence on them. I have a horrible taste in everything. I don't want them to be bullied in school because they're too much like me. I don't want them to be ill-prepared for life because I was too ill-prepared for adulthood. I don't want them to grow up without the same opportunities I had because of money.

I need to take in all the noise. I need to let go of the unpleasantness that incessant yelling may seem to cause, and realize that it's all a part of growing up. Finally, I need to get rid of all of my ketchup.