Taking it to The Street

When I told a colleague with one child that my family was going to Sesame Place for the day, she was excited for us. As we continued talking about the amusement park trip, eventually there was a pause in the conversation and I heard what I usually hear from people with one or two children when I discuss doing something with my kids: "I can't imagine having three."

How did we get here? I-95 North past Philadelphia.

It's always said with awe and a hint of sympathy. "I hope you have a great time," they seem to be saying, "and, if you lose a child somewhere in the park, I would totally understand and not judge you."

(Conversely, when someone with one child tells me they are going somewhere as a family, I'll say "Have a great time" but I'm 100% jealous inside that they are not making three different sets of snacks for their outing.) 

We've had three kids for almost two years now and traveled as far as the Outer Banks and as close as the playground at our daughter's elementary school. Each trip requires its own calculations: How long are we going to be in the car? How much food do we need to pack? What gear (hats, sunscreen, sunglasses, jackets, etc.) do we need to have? What, if anything, will the kids do in the car? Do we need a stroller? Did we, in fact, bring all three children?

Sesame Place presented its own challenges. It's two-and-a-half hours from our house and we were doing the park in one day, so it would be a lot of car time. Because this was a one-day trip, we had to make sure we hit all the rides and attractions. And, unlike destinations from other long car trips, there were no grandparents on the other side ready to help. That we were going in the midst of heatwave was not helping our cause.

But our visit to Sesame Place was long overdue. Every toddler hits that sweet spot where their whole world is Sesame Street, where hearing that theme song elicits a Pavlovian response allowing a parent to get them dressed, brush their teeth or simply sit quietly for 25 minutes. We took our oldest to Sesame Place when she was around 2 years old but our plan to go with our son when he was 2 was scuttled by the early days of the pandemic. 

Now, our youngest is almost 2 and watching episodes I first saw seven years ago (Elmo and Abby are still busting boo-boos). We are on the verge of moving past Sesame Street in our house, a sure sign that our kids are growing up way too fast; that my youngest was wearing the same Elmo shirt my oldest wore for her trip confirmed this. Belle and I knew it was going to be a long day but we also knew the memories would be worth it.

At least that's what I told myself as we were hit by 90-plus-degree heat exiting our car and slathered on sunscreen after an early-morning car ride where no one slept. We took the obligatory picture by the Elmo and Big Bird topiaries near the entrance to the park and went directly to the carousel, a strategy copied by seemingly everyone else there. Our youngest was a little confused as to why she was sitting atop an inanimate horse but the second the ride started moving the look on her face was one of surprise and delight, as if she was saying, "Can you believe THIS!?!?"

We thought this would be a good sign for the rest of the rides. Unfortunately, what rides we could go on was limited because either there was a maximum of four people per ride or our oldest kids were too short to go on their own, meaning Belle or I had to go on a ride with one child while the other parent kept an eye on the other children. We spent the whole morning playing three-kid Monte but hit all of the rides the kids wanted to do. My favorite was Navigating a Double-Wide Stroller Through a Sea of Other Strollers. That said, I appreciated the Stroller Code followed at Sesame Place: Park yours out of the way and no one will touch it. It was the peace of mind I needed so I could focus on not throwing up while on the teacups.

For those who have never been, Sesame Place is essentially divided into two parts: expensive and very expensive. I knew going in we were going to spend money on lunch and souvenirs. What I did not expect was to spend $35 on a locker to store our valuables that we used for roughly 15 minutes, enough time to attempt to ford the Lazy River but quickly retreat when two kids were crying and one was nearly swept slowly away. It made the $10 that we spent on some kind of Cookie Monster-inspired, blue-colored ice cream worth it to calm everyone down. (After having a taste, I can say with confidence there was a reason why the ice cream stand ran out of vanilla and chocolate and only had the Cookie Monster-inspired, blue-colored ice cream left when it was our turn to order.)

By mid-afternoon, our traveling party included some tired and cranky people. Kids, too. Throughout the park, it seemed many families were on the edge of a breakdown. There were crying kids and parents with blank expressions as they pushed strollers to the next attraction. Our goal all along was to make it to the big mid-afternoon parade down Main Street, so we got a seat early on the sidewalk. My youngest had been scared seeing the characters in person, preferring Belle or I hold her so she could observe Elmo and Abby from a distance. But once those floats started moving by us, stood and waved at every last character. She was overwhelmed with happiness and gleefully ran down Main Street after the parade ended. 

That moment made my day. But so did being able to spend quality time with the family, doing something out of the ordinary and not letting the occasional breakdown get in the way of having fun. Even the older kids got a kick out of going on the rides and taking photos with Big Bird, Snuffy and Elmo. They saw stars! 

Wait, sorry, that was me after I stubbed my toe on a curb so hard that it turned a shade of purple darker than The Count blushing. It was not quite the souvenir I imagined driving home with but at least the kids fell asleep as the sun set. All three of them.

Playground People

My youngest daughter and I were at a playground recently when I noticed two Dads Engrossed in Deep Conversation. One had a diaper bag over his shoulders; both had feet shoulder-length apart, arms crossing and uncrossing. They were discussing the depreciation of home values -- at least the part of their conversation I could hear when I wasn't shadowing my daughter up and down a slide. 

As they continued talking, I wondered where their kids were. So, apparently, did one of their wives, who walked up to them, mildly annoyed. 

"Do you know where our daughter is?" she asked. 

The dad mumbled something and gestured toward the playground set as his wife walked away. He and his friend directed their attention toward the jungle gym, at least for a few minutes, before resuming their conversation.

I've spent thousands of hours on playgrounds in the last seven years. We've had play dates and family gatherings and just-get-the-kids-outside afternoons. There have been big slides, small slides, swings, tunnel slides, fire poles, jungle gyms and lifting a kid around the waist as they "do" the monkey bars. There have been scrapes and falls and enough snacks to stock a Costco. There also has been great people watching, including some these parents I noticed while with my youngest.  

I don't want to pick on children, but I need to call out the Big Kid on Little Kid's Equipment. If the kid is helping a younger sibling or quickly passing through, that's one thing. But an 8-year-old repeatedly going down the baby slide isn't helping anyone.

I'm usually on the playground wearing workout clothes. And while people might stare at my leotard, I need to be ready for action. Which is why I'm always curious about the Overdressed Parents. It can't be comfortable for the dad in skinny jeans and too-tight T-shirt chasing around their kid, or the mom in a sundress and fancy sandals. Not to mention hot.

During my recent outing with my youngest, there was one Overdressed Dad who also was a Dad Clearly Wearing His Wife's Diaper Bag. He just looked uncomfortable, like a turtle on its back. He probably is wondering why he is traveling with so much stuff but also unsure if he'll be able to find anything in all of those pockets. 

When I'm going solo, I use a messenger/diaper bag with one main pocket for most things. I guess that makes me a Dad with His Own Diaper Bag. I've had mine since our oldest was born and, while there might be a snack in an inside pocket from the Obama administration and very little else, I do not mess with the delicate ecosystem that is Belle's diaper bag. The key to having your own diaper bag, I've learned, is to make sure there is at least one diaper in it before you leave the house. If I remember to check for wipes, that's a bonus.

A close cousin of the Dad Engrossed in Deep Conversation is the Dad on His Phone. I get you might need to check occasionally on emails and texts ("Did you remember to pack wipes?") but the social media feeds will be there in 20 minutes. Be in the moment with your children because there will be a day when you'll have to drag them to a playground rather than vice versa. The one exception to monitoring your phone is, of course, on a Sunday in the fall as you track your fantasy football teams. Gotta have priorities.

I spend a lot of time observing dads but there also can be a parent dynamic at a playground. My favorite is the First-Time Parents. They come to the playground with a stroller and diaper bag packed for a two-week trip. They form a bubble around their toddler, clapping and shouting words of encouragement that also serve as self-affirmations that they are parenting and able to care for a small human being. 

And there are photos. Tons of photos, an album-to-come titled "Junior's First Visit to the Playground!" with roughly 82 photos of the child atop the slide they ultimately refuse to go down. I'm all for documenting new experiences. It's the Parents Shooting a Documentary Film about Their 15 Minutes on the Playground that miss out on said new experiences watching everything through their phone. 

But my favorite people of all on the playground are the Mom and Dad Days Away from Having a Second Child. Mom is doing her best to move around the playground; dad oscillates between worrying mom's water is going to break and following their first-born on the jungle gym. They are trying to distract themselves from what is to come by enjoying what is directly in front of them. They are happy their first child is going to be a big sibling but also sad the kid will no longer have their undivided attention. 

They are excited, confident they have a handle on raising a child. Maybe they see the dad chasing one kid around the playground while the other is throwing a tantrum because he wants to go on a swing and think, "That will never be our children." (Spoiler alert: There is always a tantrum.) In a way, I'm jealous of their innocence. In another way, I'm glad having three kids makes a morning at the playground with one feel like a walk in the park.

Besides, a growing family means you have to think about the possibility of buying a bigger house. And I've heard homes depreciate from the minute you move in.

Guess who's crying at dinner

Belle and I have had young children for so long, our daydreams are about having just one baby in the house. In those halcyon days, we could take turns watching her so we could get other things done, such as exercising or taking a shower without interruption.

One of our recent dinners.

We particularly remember the relative tranquility of the dinner/bedtime routine. Granted, I spent about two years of bedtimes laying on the floor next to my oldest daughter and then trying to slink out of her room as quietly as possible when she finally fell asleep. But at least once I made it downstairs, what little there was to clean up was put away and Belle and I could potentially watch an entire episode of "The Bachelor." These days, once everyone is asleep and the house is cleaned up, we are lucky to make it through 10 minutes of "The Bachelor" before someone is dozing off on the sofa.

Parents with teenagers or kids out of the house always say you will miss the days when your kids are babies, and I can see that, especially as we watch our youngest go through the "firsts" for the last time. One day I will look back fondly on the dinner/bedtime routine. But since that day is not today, I figured I would document a typical early evening in our house for posterity's sake. Because, like "The Bachelor," it's all about the journey.

2:37 a.m. - As I wake up for my middle-of-the-night potty trip, I realize I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer so it can defrost for the night's dinner.

2:16 p.m. - Prior to the pandemic, we had a stable of recipes we knew we could make quickly once we got home from work. Since Belle and I are still both primarily working from home, we've been able to try new recipes and do some prep during work breaks. Granted, the odds of all of our kids liking a new recipe are roughly 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000-to-1. But you've got to break some eggs to make an omelette. (Especially if an omelette is for dinner.)

5:15 - Having played nice and quietly after coming home from school, the older kids retire to their reading nooks to HAHAHAHAHA just kidding! After hopefully not maiming one another while playing, they turn on the TV. To avoid further fighting, one chooses what to watch on odd-numbered days, the other on even ones. My Nobel Peace Prize for that Solomonic decision must have gotten lost in the mail.

5:20 - While the older kids watch TV, we give them a snack of apples and peanut butter. This was a combination I did not grow up eating and (hot take alert!!) I'm not a fan. But if it gets them to eat a fruit, so be it.

5:25 - I always forget how long it takes the oven to preheat, so it's right about now I realize I should have turned it on 10 minutes ago.

5:25 - The youngest watches Sesame Street on an iPad in the kitchen, devouring whatever food we put in a bowl in front of her. 

5:25:30 - She politely hands the bowl back to myself or Belle.

5:27 - As dinner is cooking, we try to clean up some of the day's dishes in the kitchen and toys in the playroom.

5:44 - "When is dinner going to be ready?" someone asks in from the living room. "In about 15 minutes," we reply.

5:47 - "Is dinner ready?" someone asks from the living room.

5:59 - Dinner is put on the table.

5:59:01 - "I don't like it," at least one kid announces.

5:59:15 - The youngest drops her water cup for the first of at least several times.

6:02 - 6:07 - Everyone is happy and quietly eating.

6:07:02 - "I'm still hungry," at least one kid announces with food still on their plate.

6:13 - The youngest smiles as she runs her sauce-covered hands through her hair.

6:20 - The older kids have wandered away from the table as the youngest puts the finishing touches on tearing up a napkin and throwing it on the floor. 

6:26 - The youngest gets cleaned up and out of her booster seat. We shift into bath time.

6:31 - There are few things in the world more enjoyable than giving a baby a bath. The Buddha belly, the rolls of skin, the look of surprise each time water goes over their heads, the laughter as they splash water. All of this makes it easy to ignore the screaming in my older daughter's room as she and my son fight while talking to my parents on the iPad. 

6:35 - Showing signs of environmental consciousness very early in life, my youngest eschews using a towel and air-dries. Trying to put lotion on a moving, naked baby must be what trying to catch a chicken is like.

6:37 - After more than six years of washing and untangling her hair in the bath, my oldest recently has decided to shower herself. Granted, I still have to work the shampoo through her hair and then take off the shower head to really rinse it, but we're moving in the right direction.

6:38 - Negotiations begin with my son over his bath. Belle arrives upstairs, having cleaned the dining room after dinner. In related news, we're on our third Dustbuster in two years. 

6:42 - As Belle brushes our older daughter's hair, my son has agreed to terms on his bath: Dad will give the bath in under 3 minutes, keeping the timer on his phone visible, after which Mom will get him dressed. (Again, the Nobel Peace Prize must have gotten lost in the mail.) Our youngest, having fought putting a fresh diaper on, poops in said diaper.

6:50 - My son exits the bath with 10 seconds left on the timer and leaves the bathroom. The oldest returns to the bathroom to floss and brush her teeth. 

6:53 - Having left the bathroom to close bedroom blinds, I return to see my daughter has neither started flossing nor brushing. I only have to ask eight more times before flossing starts.

7:01 - "Almost there," I say to myself, taking a deep breath.

7:10 - The oldest children have clean teeth and are ready for story time. 

7:15 - The oldest children finish fighting over what story mom is going to read them.

7:20 - As Belle reads to the oldest children on my son's bed, I'm on the floor in the room of our youngest, surrounded by a pile of baby books. My daughter gives me a book to read, rapidly turns the pages and discards the book, stopping occasionally to lift a flap or feel a texture on the page. We "read" approximately 82 books in seven minutes.

7:24 - Whenever I read to the older kids, I do the occasional silly voice but mainly focus on finishing the book. Belle, by contrast, goes with more of a dialogue, asking questions along the way. ("How do you think the alligator felt when the bunny took his ice cream cone?")

7:26 - Question overheard in the other room: "How did Sonia Sotomayor learn so much as a child?" (Answer: She went to the library and read books.) Question I ask my youngest: "How does baby feel when she is yawning? (Answer, after lifting the flap on the page: Baby is tired.)

7:30 - The older kids get tucked in. 

7:33 - As the youngest nurses, my son comes out of his room for (hopefully) the only time of the night.

7:40 - The youngest goes down in her crib.

7:41 - My son comes out of his room for (hopefully) the last time of the night.

7:43 - Despite no one having been in the playroom for two hours, more toys have piled up on the floor.

7:47 - I spend so much time in front of the sink cleaning dishes that I'm filming a public service announcement next week about the dangers of dish-pan hands.

8:14 - Belle and I finish up our work for the day.

8:58 - Belle makes her to-do list for tomorrow. I ask what is for dinner so I can avoid waking up in the middle of the night realizing I forgot to take chicken out of the freezer.

9:23 - We sit down on the sofa to watch TV. Neither of us wants to move for several hours but...

9:36 - Belle's eyes are closed. I turn on ESPN.

9:44 - I give Belle a nudge and we start to head upstairs. 

9:45 - As I turn off the lights on our main level, I notice all of the toys are back on the floor again.

Just a matter of time

It was either the 20th century French Existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre or Hootie & the Blowfish who once asked, "Time, why you punish me?" I was thinking about this the other day as I changed my youngest daughter's diaper after she had eaten more than her older two siblings combined.

Not pictured: Jean-Paul Sartre

Wiping someone else's butt really makes you take stock of your life. If you would have told me 20 years ago I'd have three kids and a minivan, I would not have believed it. But Weezer is now on classic rock radio stations and, when I get a haircut these days, there's a little less to take off the top and a little more to trim around the eyebrows and ears, so here we are.

The truth is, if you would have told me two years ago I'd have three kids, I might not have believed it. Our youngest was -- and I'll ask my in-laws to cover their eyes for the next word -- conceived in March 2020, just before everything shut down. (And I mean "everything": Belle and I decided that month was going to be our last try for a third.) The first nine months of the uncertainty and anxiety of the pandemic were counterbalanced by the excitement of our pending arrival.

The day before she was born, I remember taking the older kids out as they rode their scooters and all I could think was: I really hope starting Ezekiel Elliott over Antonio Gibson will not torpedo my fantasy football matchup. I couldn't fathom how different life would be in 24 hours, so it was easier to focus on on the trivial. 

But then I blinked and I was leaving the hospital with our daughter. (The best part of having a baby during the pandemic? No visitors allowed in the hospital. It like a mini-vacation, albeit one where my wife was recovering from major surgery.) Then I blinked again and the oldest had completed a year of virtual kindergarten, only seeing her teacher in person on the last day of school for a quick photo. Then I blinked again and my son was standing on his tiptoes while getting most of his pee in the toilet. (More on that another time.)

Quarantines, hand sanitizer, vaccines, masks, PCR tests, having vaccines for kids under 5 pushed back, holidays on Zoom, having vaccines for kids under 5 pushed back again... life has gone by real fast the last two years when it hasn't felt like Groundhog Day. I know we are fortunate that everyone has remained healthy, which is all that really matters, and we have been able to work from home. But I can't help wonder if we'll ever really know everything that we've lost in the pandemic.

Belle and I have occasionally debated at what age of childhood the last few years have been toughest for. I maintain it's easiest for our kids, the youngest ones, because they largely do not know what they are missing and, by the time they are older, this mishegas hopefully will be long gone. Time, in other words, is on their side.

Speaking of "Time," Hootie also sang, "The future's far away / And now only lasts for one second." So I've tried my best to appreciate the present and live in the moment. I am grateful I can pick up from preschool and walk home from the bus stop, that I can watch my youngest go from infant to toddler with my own eyes rather than through pictures and updates on my phone.

Because one day I will blink and they all will be grown up. And then I will blink again and they will be changing my diapers.