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It’s been another long day. I’m getting over the flu and didn’t finish working until almost 9pm, not complaining, this is just how my day was wrapping up. On my way home, my wife called to remind me that she needed a few things from the store. Of course, my first thought was….I could be at home saying goodnight to the boys, or I could be wandering the glorious, fluorescent lit isles of Wal-Mart. It’s a tough choice, I know, but Wally World barely won out. 

Just imagining the bright glare of the finely polished floor, which I’m sure is buried there somewhere beneath the scuffed up, stained, high traffic linoleum that was laid down on top of it, lifted my heart. While walking around the store, I was able to quickly maneuver around the tweaking teens, maddened mothers, and enamored employees, to find the items I was looking for scattered throughout the store. I tried calling for Dora’s map, but to no avail. Left to my own devices, it only took me an hour and a half to find the four items my wife sent me to scavenge for her. Although I was able to find, quite easily I might add, a new DVD for myself in the process. YES!!! 

As I wandered the open spaces of the warehouse-turned-Republican’s wet dream, I hear the angelic tones of a nearby female shopper…”I will kick whoever I damn well please. I’m pregnant.”

“Wow.” I thought to myself “A peaceful and serene place in which to spend the last moments of the most perfect day ever.” A few minutes later, I found the happy mother-to-be, with her beaming significant other, wandering down my isle. Of course, me being me, I look across to this lucky man and smile, “You must be very excited.”   

He grins back, surprisingly with all his teeth still in their proper place, and goes on to tell me how this is his first child and he is unbelievably happy. The young man then goes on to relay that she has one other child (“no” Kevin thinks to himself “I would never have guessed”), but the children will be nearly five years apart. The life story went on for yet another ten minutes or so, but I will spare you the rest. 

As I listened to the youthfully naive story, I went on to ponder my own situation in life and realized: I truly enjoy my solo trips to the place where a man can come to rejuvenate and again learn to appreciate the life that is his own.    

Well, I guess it has been a little while since I have posted anything. If anyone has been anxiously awaiting the next amazing display of insight from Kevin, sorry for the delay.

My son, Peanut Butter, was born just two weeks ago, and again, the experience of being a father is one of the most amazing experiences in my life. I can not express the joy and excitement I felt as I watched my son’s furry scalp forced through the way-too-small exit my wife’s petite frame provided for him.

I look back on the experiences we had raising our oldest boy and have to wonder how in the heck we have all survived and thrived over the past 9 years. It feels as though my wife and I were valiantly fending off the hardships of life and parenthood, only by the skin of our teeth. That is, the teeth we have not yet lost. 

While being Dad has not been the easiest title to hold, it has most definitely been the most rewarding. Every time I see my son, now sons, smile, as I watch my children grow, learn, and become stronger, healthier, independent souls, I can know that each step forward is a testament to the support and security I have helped to provide for them.

Through all the successes and missteps my sons will make, I will feel lucky, maybe begrudgingly so at times.

To my children I can only say that I love you with all my heart, even though it may not feel like it at times.

To my wife, thank you for helping me to be the best father I can be, mistakes and all.

I’m not sure where he gets his sense of humor, but Ryan cracks me up. Of course, I can’t let him know this.

As I was feeding the dogs this morning, more appropriately referred to as sleep feeding, Ryan came running at me from his room. Now, he wasn’t just running, but laughing uncontrollably, bouncing off the walls, and behaving like an eight year old boy should first thing in the morning.  

How in the heck do they do this. I can’t seem to open my eyes for the first hour or so each morning, and that’s after hitting the snooze button for the previous hour and a half. I know I didn’t have that much energy when I was his age.

So, when Ryan bounded into the room, like a lab puppy on speed, it barely registered until he called out “Dad! Dad! DAD! Look at me!” I looked up to see my son dressed and ready for school, he is such a responsible…Oh dear God!

My mantra immediately begins to flow through my mind, a skill honed over the past eight years with Ryan, “Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.”; and of course, as the amazing father that I am, I was able to suppress my laughter as I looked upon my giggling son with his chest held high…exposing the breasts he had so skillfully crafted with his socks stuffed into his shirt.

“Dad, I’ve got BOOBS!”

I instantly had flashbacks to my fraternity brothers laughing as they flaunted their faux boobs, while drunk off their assess.

I looked at my son and gave him the father’s not too impressed tone, “Ryan, that is not appropriate.” Which was immediately ignored, as evidenced by his roll of the eyes, and he again bounced off down the hall.

Not ten seconds later, I hear my wife laughing and calling to me, “Kevin, you’ve got to see this!”

This past weekend, I spent my Saturday afternoon and evening replacing the light over our dining room table. These seemingly masculine events, those tasks requiring a Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor approach, tend to come easy for me. Not that you would have ever expected it if you would have known me growing up. Prior to moving into my own home, a place I own and am responsible for, I did not work with my hands. In fact, as a teen, I would make a distinct effort to avoid such projects as a form of rebellion. Both of my fathers (biological and step) are very handy, so in the mind of a teenage Kevin, the belief was… why should I do it when they are perfectly capable, plus they’re so good at it, it will turn out better if I just let them deal with it.

This still kinda’ makes sense!

Now that I am the grown up, at least that is what everyone around me keeps suggesting, I don’t have my dad with me to take care of this stuff. Thank God for the fix-it gene. I figure my being able to accomplish these feats of pure testosterone could only be the result of a biological propensity, right? I fixed it, therefore, I am MAN!

So this was my thinking up until yesterday afternoon. Melissa, being the most amazing and wonderful wife that she is, was admiring my work and complimenting me on a job well done, when she turned to me and began to relate the story of her friend who’s husband is apparently missing a portion of his Y chromosome. By report this friend is responsible for all maintenance and repair around their home, in fact, just last week she installed their new ceiling fan.

Wait a second there! These are the types of activities reserved for establishing male dominance and authority in the home. If this woman is taking part in activities traditionally reserved for the man of the house, does that mean that my accomplishments are less validating for me in my role as father and husband.

I believe I will choose to remain in a state of denial. I’ve been told ignorance is bliss, let’s see if it works.

As I lay in bed, lost in dream, how often does the opportunity to be dragged around a ranch by a team of oversized pigs present itself, I am jolted from this peaceful state. With no warning what-so-ever, my bedroom is flooded with the brightest light I have ever experienced. I no longer need to wait until death to know what it means to go into the light. It’s not that my bedroom is the most peaceful of places to begin with, with my dogs chasing each other around the room, waiting for breakfast, and my cats taking turns climbing Mount Kevin, and once they have reached the peak, dropping down in exhaustion (I can only assume, as they fall on my head with a force previously unknown to my dainty felines) and begin expressing their undying love and affection for me, purring, not just into, but on top of my ear.

Needless to say, I have learned to maintain REM sleep under the most profound of circumstances.

My wife had opened the blinds to let in the Arizona sunlight, and when you live on the face of the sun, believe me, there is plenty of light to let in. As I lay squinting at Melissa, she starts to relate her own perril. “I can’t see it,” she calls “I can’t tell if there is a second line there. I hate these stupid pregnancy tests.”

Oh God!!!!! It’s starting again. Melissa and I have been trying to get pregnant for the past several months after loosing our last child, Bailey, early in a pregnancy this past May. As you might assume, this was a devestating experience, and we both still carry our emotional scars from the trauma. We have been having a difficult time getting pregnant again. A long story for another time.  At the end of each cycle, about five days before Melissa is due to get here period, it starts. We both start with the big question. Did it work this time! It’s not that we don’t know how it’s supposed to work mind you. We have a son allready, and as mentioned had a daughter, but we have had to ask this question for the past four months.

Of course with each passing FAILURE we both begin to blame ourselves, respectively, more and more. She tends to be more vocal with her guilt. This morning it was “I’m sorry I can’t give you another child. I will understand if you want to divorce me.”

Which, in turn, leads me to, Oh crap!! This is just great, if it’s my fault does that mean she get’s to divorce me.

I am soooo not up for that.

This blog has been developed to provide an open forum for discussion and presentation of ideas relating to traditional counseling, hypnotherapy, and Reiki.

Enjoy.

Kevin Alexander M.C., L.P.C.