Neverland Diaries

One of my favorite memories of my dad is a silly one, as most of them are. We were at Sun Splash (the coolest and only water park in Southwest Florida) looking all around for him. Suddenly we see his silhouette from far across the park, standing at the top of the water slide station with his hands on his hips, ready to crow. His similarity to Robin Williams in "Hook" was uncanny. Growing up with a Peter Pan like dad only had its advantages. Dad introduced my younger siblings and I to the world of Marvel and D.C., showed us how to walk on our hands in the back yard, and gave us expert fencing lessons with empty gift wrapping paper tubes. Admittedly, my favorite D.C. character was Catwoman and whenever we went to our local comic book conventions I sought out the "girly" comics, but still, my initiation into the world of "boy" things was early on and is still firmly ingrained in me.  While other dads were interested in sports, cars or music, my dad wa...

Brutus was 96 pounds of pure, dumb muscle. He was tan with a black muzzle, and his tail was lopped off into a nub when my parents found him. Lost during Hurricane Wilma in 2005, he was a scared and wet lunk. They fed him a plate of spaghetti and the next thing we knew, David and I were the proud owners of some kind of Anatolian Shepherd mix. The vet said he was about 2 years old at the time. He was a great big baby and he was ours.  It's been a little over 4 years since Brutus died, and the constant begging from our boys to get a new dog are just now slowing down. David and I both grew up with a menagerie of pets; dogs, cats (and lots of kittens), hamsters, birds, goldfish, snakes, spiders and even a pet rat named Ned. It feels almost wrong to not have pets, and I know how badly they must want a dog.  It would be so easy to give in and get one. There are countless animals in need of a home. Just not our home. Not right now anyway.  While we loved our dog, things ...

Giving up control is not my strong suit. There have been a number of situations to test my anxiety as a parent over the years, but the greatest one so far has been letting our middle schooler ride his bike to school. Alone. Like, by himself.  I know, I know ... if this were 1988, people would be like, so what? For years, I've watched really little, pint-sized kids walk themselves home from school in our neighborhood without issue. But that's not something I would ever think of as a possibility for my own kids. Until now.  Middle school has come with a lot of growing pains for us all as a family, and for a while there, 6th grade was really kicking our butts. There's a whole new school to learn how to get around, breakups with girlfriends, school fights. But one of the bright spots to come out of it all is surprisingly, the bike ride to and from school.  I wasn't so sure about it at first. He has to cross not one, but two very busy roads during peak traffic...

When Lucas was around 3 or 4 years old, he requested a baby doll. Nothing fancy, just a plain little boy baby doll that he could take care of. We picked one out on Amazon that had tan skin and blue pajamas, which were promptly stripped off the baby and discarded. Lucas named him Ted Berenger; only Lucas knows why, but I suspect that it was in honor of Tom Bergeron, the host of America's Funniest Videos.  He was interested in Ted Berenger for all of 15 minutes, and then he was added to his ever growing menagerie of stuffed animals. We never expanded his baby play collection; no wardrobe of baby clothes. No stroller, no crib, no bottles or other accessories; it just never went beyond the want for a little baby. Luke would snuggle him from time to time, but he was mostly forgotten.  Yet somehow, through the periodic toy purges, room cleanouts, garage sales and general rearranging of boy stuffs, Ted Berenger has lived on. He has remained under our roof, naked, but not...

Our house is 988 square feet; 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom and one tiny outdoor laundry room. That's for 5 people. I know, the math scares me too. Last Sunday, we were all gathered together in Lucas and Max's shared bedroom, a giant pile of Lego's spread out on the floor. For nearly two hours, we all dug through the box discovering favorite mini-figures, building wonky looking vehicles and trying to keep Max from eating little blocks. It was a mess and it was cramped, but we were all together.  In a little house, there's nowhere to hide. Family time is all the time because the kitchen/dining room/office and living room are essentially all the same space. Sometimes it can be maddening and you feel like the walls are closing in. As the months fly by, elbows and knees start knocking into walls and door frames in ways they didn't before; heads bonk into counter tops and legs and arms overlap on a just barely big enough couch.  We are outgrowing our little house.  An...

I'm pretty sure Max thinks he's a baby bird. With a few adorable chirping noises and a lift of his arms, he can command anyone in the house to lift him into the air. With a point of his finger, he sails toward his desired destination with ease. If he were untethered, he would probably bounce off the ceiling, float out the door and disappear into the clouds. It's amazing how the littlest person in our house is also the person that holds the most power. Like Jack Jack in "The Incredibles", Max gives the impression of a helpless drooler in a diaper that can actually conjure up flaming fireballs of anger with a scream. What kind of monster are we creating?!?! Our lives are dictated every moment of the day by the needs and whims of this little being. Want to go somewhere? Too bad, the baby's sick. Want to sleep through the night? Don't be silly. We've been down this road before.  Twice before, we've sacrificed our time, ou...

The moon is nearly full, and Lucas sits at the kitchen island staring at his dinner, fists clenched in a ball at his sides. A low, guttural growl comes from his belly and I can tell it’s happening again. “Control yourself, resist the urge!” I tell him. He looks up at me, eyes flashing, face twisted in a dramatic display. “I can’t! I can feel myself starting to change!”  More panting and twitching ensues until I say “Ok, that’s enough, finish your dinner.” His breathing slows, the transformation subsides, and he picks up his fork like nothing ever happened. Lucas has always been obsessed with animals and is naturally gifted with a flair for the dramatic and a highly creative mind. So when his werewolf narrative began to form a few years ago, I shrugged it off as nothing. As a toddler, we would sometimes hear him making sniffling noises from the back seat, and whispering to himself “I smell coyotes” and we thought it was cute. That was only the beginnin...