Pound cake, fawn encounter, still bird & 108 degrees (Bike Post #2)

I left too late this morning as hauled myself on the saddle at 9:30... but I only realized my error later. Shortly after beginning, sweat started to drip off my nose like a spigot. This would not be an easy happy venture into the countryside.

Lesson learned: do not eat a healthy portion of granola (with honey and blueberries) followed by a quick sneak of a slice of pound cake and then go biking -- I felt bloated and heavy as I placed myself on the saddle. Hmmm... pound cake, now I know why it's called that... I felt like I was carrying additional weight up the hills this morning.

(My son thinks it should be called "gain a pound cake".)

Fast forward as my uncomfortable self traveled past the Salisbury Country Club and saw correctly attired ladies batting the tennis ball back and forth. The well manicured lawns and golf course reminded me of a recent conversation I had with my doctor.

I had been trying to schedule a physical. Teachers know that there's never a good day to miss a school day. Not only do lesson plans need to be created but then there's the worry of what happens while we're away. There are good substitutes as well as horrible ones -- those are the ones that fall asleep in class or ignore those plans that took me till 7 pm the night before to create (both have happened to me). Then there is always some type of mess to clean up the next day when I play the role of detective as I sift through the previous day's history attempting to figure out what really happened... and what consequences need to dished out.

I centered on a good day and made that appointment after learning from the receptionist that the good doctor is out every other Friday -- which, after having learned of this, I promptly asked about as he arrived in my exam room. It seemed he had elected to schedule bi-monthly "me time". A decision that he reported to me had paid dividends at home -- less stressed, healthier, happier to be with -- as his wife had told him.

Two children (eight and five years old) have demanded time at our house. Yes I know that all children demand time from their parents. We guessed this before the first one's birth -- but had no idea what type of demands would be asked of us.

Add second child, eliminate more time for oneself.

So all energy is spent toward children -- as it should be, right? But then I noticed that doctor's yearly appointments are scheduled for children first, clothes shopping is always scheduled around what children need, grocery decisions are made according to children's desires -- grocers have learned this and place those sweet sugary cereals at children's line of sight. I'm all for making children the focus of our life, after all my wife and I planned for their appearance... but I think a little bit for me is ok too.

It may seem selfish, you may be looked down upon by some, and you might even feel guilty like I have... but it's imperative that everyone takes some time for themselves. Do what makes you happy and that happiness will return to those you surround yourself with.

Perhaps like this biking thing.

I pedaled on. I looked to my right to a spot where I spooked a fawn two days ago. It bounced through the woods next to me for a few seconds... its white camouflage still doing its job as I failed to see it close to the road where it had settled into the grass when I came upon it. Thinking back, good thing it didn't decide to turn direction in vengence and show me what a fawn vs. bike collision would feel like. Funny image to you, but road rash vision for me plus the embarrassing story I would have to share about how a fawn took me out.

Man it was hot as I watched drips fall beneath me each time I dipped my head.

A few miles later I passed a sparrow lying next to the road. One with its feet straight and pointed up. Apparently it had met the wrong end of a vehicle at the wrong time. Such a precious little life ended by our desire to get to our next destination in a hurry. Odd how it lay quiet next to the road, as if it took its last breath while in mid flight.

And then I thought of cancer and all the people affected. I thought of my grandmother again. Of Jenn's grandfather Joseph. Of Scott's McEver Sr. Of Patty Moore who I knew through my wife and who is survived by three young daughters and a husband. She battled cancer for close to a decade if memory serves correct. As the cancer returned yet again, she thought ahead to write letters to her daughters to be opened at momentus occasions. Each of their daughters has grown into a beautiful young women - grounded and making their own way in the world. I only hope that we raise Annaliese to be as strong.

I was reminded of my son's classmate who was stricken last year with Leukemia at the tender age of 7. I am happy to report that she's recovered and back in school after many nervous months of wondering whether she would live. The initial shock of a life impacted so young, the induced coma, her tears brought on by her loss of hair. Benson delivering (unprompted) his piggy bank to a fundraiser in support of costs associated with her parents constantly being at her bedside. I thought back to how she passed along her cards of goodwill to other child patients in the hospital who didn't have the same amount of support. Inspiring.

The heat today was overwhelming: the weather app on my phone read 98 degrees / feels like 108. But as tiring as today was (no more pound cake in the morning for me... thank you), I was inspired yet again.

Let Sleeping Giants Lie They Warn

"Sleeping in" is easily done as a child. Sleeping in is tolerated by most as we entered our pre-teen years. As a young adult entering the responsibilities of the working world, you can enjoy sleeping off the previous night's rowdiness with no guilt and comforted by the thought that you deserve the time under the sheets. You partied hard, as we used to say, and recovery time is essential. Waking up shortly before noon is ok, the norm even among our peers.

And then parenthood arrives.

Everyone is overjoyed by your new arrival -- as they should be. My wife put in some serious time, effort and illness into the production. I as the father spent serious time slaving away before the stove making the infamous Saucy Meatball recipe in hopes of fulfilling my wife's cravings. Yes, I liked them too... but maybe not every week, every Thursday in fact, and sometimes twice a week. BUT... no complaining is allowed, in all sincerity, because I did little of the human producing. My crucial responsibility in the production of this little person long since passed.

And when my son and later daughter arrived, there was much to celebrate. They were cute. They fit into the crook of my arm and I immediately realized the degree of dependence they had on me. They even smelled good. And the poop was amazing... at first. My first days of parenthood were entirely fueled by adrenaline. And then it hit me.

I may never get enough sleep... ever again.

With the passing of time I understand that this thinking was a bit illogical. But not those first few months... the fear was real. I was worried.

Every two hours there would be rumblings in our home. There was feeding, rocking, diaper changing, walking, refrigerator opening, creaks from the wooden floors and stairway, raising up from the warm bed and returning to it with cold feet and tired eyes. The newness of parenthood had not yet passed.

We had been reminded constantly of sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) during pre-birth classes, and night-time was not the relaxing time it once was. We were very aware that the "sleepy time" hours were not without danger. We even bought the sensor that reassuring ticked at regular intervals confirming that his heart was beating -- another new sound.

Two more hours... just two more hours of sleep... please God. The promises of doing all good, forever... were made, and not silently in prayer, but out loud... for all to hear.

It was a scary time. One day I walked into my good friend's office and a look of worry crossed his face. "Are you ok? You look like hell." He was right. I, however, was so tired that I failed to see the sickly image looking back at me from the mirror in the morning. Pale and haggard. I cared little about image, little about food and even less about what used to bring joy to my pre-parenthood life. I cared only about my bed and the time I would be allowed to be with it... in it.

I had in fact been beaten by this tiny human. He had arrived a mere weeks prior. And he knew only four things -- hunger, wet diapers, being tired, and an odd sensation that scared him -- burps. Should one of these occur he made it known to all, at any time. My son had complete control over two adults. He now owned our time and determined our sanity. We had no power. Would this go on till he turned 18?

In our wisdom we placed his crib in the next room to our bedroom. Before you think us uncaring, the bassinet did stay in our room for what we decided upon to be adequate time -- four weeks. In celebration we then placed his little body in the nursery so that sleep might return in larger concurrent increments for us all. What novices we were.

We did all you would expect from new parents. His nursery had furry fish, stars and even a large purple moon hanging from the ceiling. There were protective, soft, adorable borders on the interior of his crib. There were enough burp cloths and blankets to keep our washing machine busy. The walls were painted colors found only in nurseries -- vivid blue and yellow. There was a changing table for all the essentials needed at any hour -- day or night.

We were unsuccessful.

I heard him move at night. I heard this sound through the wall. I heard this sound in the midst of slumber. There would not be sleep. And then it happened. I remember like it was last night.

He learned to roll over. This reassured us because now maybe if there was a breathing problem, he could move himself to correct the problem. Too much heavy sleepwear because of anxious parents? Blanket covering his face during the night? He could fix it himself now. Ahhh... we could relax. Another novice move.

The piercing alarm shattered the still night... the alarm that warned that his heart had stopped... which of course it hadn't. In the process of rolling over, the sensor beneath the mattress no longer detected a heartbeat. This fact did not register as an option.

I clearly remember launching myself from sleep and across the bed. Over my groggy wife. Like Bo Duke crossing the hood of The General in the television series Dukes of Hazzard. But without the fun and adventure.

Seven years later coupled with a daughter of three years, that fear of no sleep has somewhat subsided. Well to be honest, the fear still resides deep within me but I now know that there may indeed be a time when I will awake comforted. Not from the cry of the alarm clock, but I will greet the world rested and anxious to start the day -- writing this sounds like a joke told to the uninformed.

And so I share with friends and others... I can't wait till they want to sleep in. I will be the parent that we all remember. The one that clapped their hands as they woke us up on weekend mornings to rake the leaves. Or like my father who was determined to "warm up" the chainsaw at an early 7 a.m. and then ask me to help... no, tell me to get up and help him stack firewood. I think I finally understand.

Revenge is sweet.

I will bide my time and wait another seven years for my teenage children to desire sleep. I will wait patiently. And when that time comes... I am told by those that have already endured teenage children... let them sleep. I'm guessing that they may be right as I will surely be sleeping too.

Except now I can't sleep in even when my children decide to do so. Please God... just two more hours...