I Want the World! I Want the Whole World! Give It to Me Now!

Let's set aside the fact that I am a man.  Let's also suspend our disbelief and forget that I am a husband.  After we strip both of these labels off what remains is my humanity.  It's what we all share, whether male, female, gay, straight, black, white, Muslim, Christian, American, or Syrian.  Our common bond is our flesh and blood and the function of our cognitive abilities.

Keeping in mind that I am speaking from a human perspective, I want to make a point regarding how a man should treat their spouse.  There are a lot of men out there who want to put themselves first.  They want their wife to cater to their wants and needs.  And once those are satisfied the wife is left alone to satisfy her own.  But what does that do to a relationship?  For one, it puts one person above the other.  It's not equal.  It's not a team, but a dictatorship.  In this type of relationship there is either constant conflict (if the wife is headstrong) or constant acquiescence (if the wife is more reserved).  Even though she may bow in order to keep the relationship together, in her mind and heart feelings of bitterness build.  Sure, the man dominates and constantly gets an ego stroke, but as human beings, neither wins.

I take a different approach.  I realize that my wife is a person, just like me.  She has the same thoughts, experiences the same feelings, and has similar desires and fears.  Keeping this in mind helps to keep my empathy level high.  I don't worry about "what's she done for me lately".  That's not my responsibility, nor is it under my control.  I keep my actions planted in what I have the ability to effect.  My choices can either further the growth of the relationship or cut it off, if only to serve myself.  But why would I even want a partner if I was so concerned with my own well-being?  What's the point of being married if my needs come first?  I might as well be a bachelor or move back in with my parents.  Hell, I should just don a diaper, wear footie pajamas, and sleep in a bar-surrounded bed.  My focus is my wife and children.  Sure, I am not perfect.  As any other human being does, I have moments of selfishness.  But my wife does a good job of keeping empathy in mind as well.  She treats me as an equal and knows we are a team.  For that I am grateful, but I don't expect it.  I take what comes.

Everything said up until this point applies to a man's children as well.  What's the point of having the little lovable buggers if you can't put their needs ahead of your own?  It's not a wife's responsibility to tend to the children, it's a man's duty as well.  The more time spent making your baby girl laugh, playing soccer with your son, sitting and watching a movie together, or just having a conversation with them is an investment in your future just as much as theirs'.  And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon...

It really doesn't matter what gender you happen to be a part of.  We can all put more effort into our relationships.  It's just like a football team: no one person wins the game but everyone plays their part to the best of their ability.  It's not about padding your stats but competing in a manner that brings those around you across the finish line as well.  Hybrid Husbands know how to do this.  It takes practice, but the outcome more than justifies the effort.

Peace Out,

Nathan J.

Strong Enough For a Man, But PH Balanced For a Woman

Anyone who knows my wife and I has heard us go on and on about how hard our first child, Rylan, was as a baby.  They may think we are exaggerating, or trying to gain undue sympathy, but the truth is, it was as bad as we make it sound!  Rylan had what the experts call "colic" - or another name for something they really can't explain.  American Heritage defines colic as "a condition seen in infants less than three months old, marked by periods of inconsolable crying lasting for hours at a time for at least three weeks.  The cause is unknown."  For Rylan, this condition lasted for eight months - about the same time he began sleeping through the night!  We literally could only go out of the house, in public, for a very short period of time, as he would cry constantly.  It's funny because we would hand him off to someone who believed they could calm him only to get him handed back after a few minutes.  The experience was terrible.  At one point (half-jokingly) I told my wife that we should just divorce, that way one of us could be rid of the experience 50% of the time.  The complete experience was scarring.  We vowed never to have kids again, dooming our first born to "only child" status for the rest of his life.  Even years after Rylan's babyhood my wife and I still would get a bit nauseous thinking about having another newborn in our lives.  (A QUICK DISCLAIMER - there were good times and laughter sprinkled in with the colic period.  We stuck it out in the hopes that things would eventually get better.)

Seven years later, on May 12th, 2012, my 35th birthday, we were sitting on the couch after a fun day of birthday shenanigans.  I still recall the moment vividly: the beautiful orange sunset lighting up our living room, my butt planted on the far right recliner of our couch, the TV on, my wife and I chatting.  At that moment an idea popped into my mind.  This divinely inspired thought whispered to my lounging consciousness, "You aren't getting any younger.  If you want another child, now is the time to do it."  It felt right, even after a near decade of a family of three.  I turned to my wife and said, "I think we should have another baby."  To my surprise she agreed!  After a month of dutiful attempts at procreating (which to me wasn't nearly as much fun as carefully protected non-germinating coitus - a story for another time) the pee-on-a-stick showed two lines and our lives began another evolution.

Nine fatigued-filled months later our daughter Leila was born.  What was once something we vowed never to do again was now a shining moment for our family.  She was beautiful and our feelings at the time are best summed up by what my son said: "This family needed a daughter".  But with the ups come the downs.  I initially took two weeks off from my work at MBC Law Firm to be home, then went back to work for two weeks, and then took an additional two weeks off.  My wife shut down our salon for a little over a month and life seemed good.  But then, on Easter Sunday 2013 (which happened to be my wife's 30th birthday), the crying began.  The following week I was back at work and the salon was reopened.  We had no idea what the ramifications of a second child would be.  Everything had to be readjusted and relearned.  I had forgotten how to care for a baby!  Seven years erased all skill.  The pressure mounted and my shoulders felt like they were dragging along the floor.  I couldn't handle it.  My mind raced and then shutdown -  my whole being broke down into tears.  I believe they call it a nervous breakdown.  I sobbed in front of my wife and son who had never seen me behave like that before.  I had no control over the emotion.  It felt as though our lives were over - the only thing looming on the horizon was never ending stress.  Luckily, I decided to see my therapist.  After two sessions I came to understand that the trauma I had experienced from Rylan's baby years had never been dealt with and that I was applying that same trauma to a totally different baby.  My angel of psychology helped me become aware of the fact that Leila was a MUCH easier baby than Rylan.  I was also allowed to let some things go without worry: making a salad with every meal, Rylan playing more video games than normal, keeping the house spotless.  With the right therapist, therapy pays off.  I haven't had a nervous breakdown since.  I love my daughter and could never imagine my life without her.

Reality is an eternal state of flux.  The only constant is change.  During my nervous breakdown I couldn't imagine things getting better, but they did, and quicker than I could have ever imagined.  The stress is still here though.  The responsibilities have not disappeared.  But I've grown used to my new life - the old one now seems foreign.  I am thankful for my lovely six month old daughter, my determined, strong, wise wife, and my smart, athletic, caring eight year old son.  I am also thankful for the experience with him as a baby.  It taught me that I could handle any curveball of poo poo that life may throw at me - maybe with a few tears and worried thoughts at first, but always on my feet in the end.

Oh, and by the way, a Hybrid Husband can cry, can give up, and be weak.  Vulnerability is human, not female and constant repression of honest emotion leads to neurosis.  If "men" could stop the Tough Act they would find a new way to relate to and enjoy life.  Let us all stop aspiring to be gladiators and instead strive to be authentic.

Peace Out,

Nathan J.

When It Rains, It Pours

In less than a 24 hour span (last Monday early evening through Tuesday late morning) reality handed my wife and I some very interesting and difficult curveballs.  At eleven fifteen AM on Tuesday, the third of September, the barrage finally ended with a very relieving phone call to my employer, MBC Law Firm.  But I had no idea what was in store for us on Monday.  It all started with a sudden expulsion of projectile vomit.

5:00 PM Monday, September 2

My wife had just finished feeding the baby and laid her down across her lap on her back.  Without warning my daughter erupted, spewing breast milk, ground peas, oatmeal, and a little bit of formula all over my wife's pants, the couch, and the floor.  At first we all thought she had just spit up more violently than usual.  We were a bit freaked about the mess and the fact that my wife had to completely change her clothes, but other than that we felt the night would continue as normal.  About ten minutes later, while I held the baby, she exploded again, launching more partially digested particles of joy across our bamboo kitchen floors.  She soaked my left arm and bracelet my son had made for me on Father's Day 2012.  The wheels in our minds began to turn - did I feed her too much that day while my wife was working, or did her first taste of formula upset her stomach?  All three of us (including my eight year old son) had our theories but we still weren't in complete panic mode.  I placed my baby daughter in her exer-saucer and asked my son to keep her entertained while we cleaned up the floor.  It wasn't five minutes later that I heard my son let out a loud yelp.  I turned around to witness him shoot five feet across the kitchen floor as my daughter launched another baby puke grenade overboard, barely missing my son's sock covered feet.  Funny thing was that the baby was calm after so much ill digestion while at the same time my son began to sob for fear that his sister was sick.  We all pitched in and finished clean up effort #3.  A half an hour passed with my wife holding the baby, circling the room, while we all mulled over calling the doctor.  Since so much time had passed we figured the all clear had been sounded.  But alas, like a thief in the night one last blast of vomit (fortunately, less Regan McNeil-esque this time) gushed from that sweet innocent mouth.  The doctor was called in a jiffy and we were informed that our daughter may have a virus that's been going around and that we should expect a long night of dry heaving and explosive diarrhea.  Oh, and we should all expect to get the same thing as it's highly contagious.  My son began to cry - as if he had been banned from video games for life.  The tears were part concern for his sister and part concern for his own welfare.  My son does not like to get sick or injured.  While I consoled him my wife tended to the baby.  We both looked at each other knowing we had our late night work cut out for us.

7:00 PM Monday, September 2

I was reminded, via a text from my father, that my mom would be going to the hospital in the morning for surgery to remove a growth inside her body.  The doctors would then biopsy and determine whether the mass was benign or malignant.  At this point it was a waiting game full of doubt and prayers.  I tried my hardest to remain positive as nothing would be determined until the next morning, but it proved to be a difficult task.  My wife, the rock that she is, had to continuously remind me that everything would turn out okay and to keep my head up.  Reality gave me something to take my mind off of it though.  My daughter hadn't puked in an hour and gently slept in my wife's arms.  Maybe the night wouldn't be so bad.

5:34 AM Tuesday, September 3

I had previously decided to take this day as a vacation day so I could spend it with my son on his last day of Summer Vacation.  Normally, on a work day, I arise at 5:40 AM.  But this day I had another alarm to wake me.  No, it wasn't a vomiting, dry heaving, diarrhea daughter - she hadn't stirred since 7:00 the previous night - thank God.  It was a strange metal clanking noise floating through our open front window.  I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.  And what to my wondering eyes did appear?  But some strange dude lowering a beat up Ford Ranger pickup truck off the back of his trailer in the middle of the street and his dog ambling around each neighbor's yard.  Across the street another suspicious vehicle parked on the side of the road with its engine running and occupant at the wheel.  Another man appeared out of the hazy dark early dawn.  He entered the now lowered black truck and quickly backed it down the street and onto the main road.  I yelled out, "What the hell is going on?!".  The female occupant of the parked idling car responded, "Who the fuck are you!".  I retorted, "the man calling the cops!".  She immediately started her vehicle and raced out of sight.  The trailer operator calmly walked to his attached Suburban, as if to make it appear he wasn't doing anything suspicious, whistled to his dog to come, and disappeared into the early morning of my vacation day.  The cops were called but never responded.  It was too late anyway.  If I hadn't been such a vigilante and had dialed them while things were happening they might have been able to do something.  But now I was left awake, my wife out of bed as well due to the commotion, and my eight year old son up as normal at 5:45 AM on a Tuesday meant for sleeping in.

8:55 AM Tuesday, September 3

Not only do I handle the accounting at my job with MBC Law Firm, but also all the networking and computers, including the servers that keep our data and email flowing.  When I am out of the office another employee backs me up, but she doesn't normally interact with the infrastructure on a day to day basis in the detail that I do.  And it just so happened that the day I had chose to be home with my family I get an urgent call from work that our email server had gone belly up, not responding to multiple restarts of the machine.  My gut reaction was to throw away the day my family had planned and rush to work to see what could be done.  Instead, my backup had already called our outside IT emergency help, and I let go of my need to control things and asked her to keep me informed.  But I did not let go of my ability to thoughtfully obsess over situations and continued to think about that woeful server all morning long.  Since my daughter had slept solidly through the entire night we decided to continue on with our plans to take our son school clothes shopping at the mall.  I tried to push the work problem out of my mind in order to enjoy the day, but it kept reappearing.  I coped by remembering that my daughter had not come down with the MD described virus.  We would all be okay.  But still, the suspicious activity on our street early that morning and my mom now in surgery at St. Joseph's hospital were weighing on my deep conflicted soul.

9:00 AM Tuesday, September 3

I received a text from my father on the status of my mom.  The growth had been removed, biopsied, and determined benign!  Thank you Jesus!  She would remain at the hospital for a few hours to recover but should be home by dinner time.  A weight off my shoulders.  I dropped my earnest concern for my mom and thanked my wife for helping me stay positive.

11:15 AM Tuesday, September 3

Off and on all morning I had been refreshing my work email on my iPhone.  Up until our arrival at the mall it returned errors.  I hadn't heard from work since the first call.  I assumed the outside IT help had arrived and was trying to resuscitate the flat-lining server.  About fifteen minutes after our arrival at the mall my wife and I both had to use the restroom.  We navigated the surprisingly affordable, stylish women's clothing racks of J.C. Penny to find the women's bathroom tucked away in the corner.  While my wife relieved herself I again refreshed my work email.  After a brief hesitation emails began to appear!  I had never been so happy to see new tasks and requests from my fellow employees.  God is real and lives in the realm of 1s and 0s.  I called the law firm to make sure everything was on the up and up.  Yes, the server had been brought back to life.  Interestingly, the email machine wasn't at fault - instead, the backup power supply connected to it had failed and allowed a power surge to mess with the machine's internals.  All was well at my place of business and employees could now go back to avoiding face to face confrontation with a click of the mouse.

All is well that ends well, they say.  It's darkest before the dawn, they also like to repeat.  Faith can move mountains, I read somewhere.  I don't have any explanation or sage advice regarding everything witnessed those blurred 18 hours.  It was what it was.  And on the other side I realize how much my mind can blow things out of proportion.  My admiration for my wife has grown as well.  She is strong and disciplined.  I enjoy growing from that example.

But let's hope reality gives us a breather for a while now.

Thanks for reading.

Peace Out,

Nathan J.