Here's to strong father figures

I think it probably sometimes feels like moms get all the glory. And don't get me wrong. We moms are pretty glorious. But a loving, involved dad? That's gold.

Each day I'm filled with profound gratitude that I found a man as good as Mark. He's my confidant and my best friend. His kind eyes and adorable dimples make up the face that I long to see at the end of every day.

I tend to think that Mark is more virtuous than I am. Where I can be petty, he overlooks all my faults. I am moody; he is even - maddeningly so sometimes. How does he do it?!?! On my good days, though, I think we make a pretty great match. Mark is a natural at speaking in front of a group; I'm hopeless. I, however, can small talk anyone, a task that Mark finds difficult.

Similarly, when one of us has had it with the kids, the other usually can miraculously step in with the calm. If I'm feeling all bad cop, Mark can play good cop, or vice versa. 

If one of the boys has an interest, it becomes Mark's interest, too. He's always been pretty much a football-baseball-basketball guy, but he has evolved into a soccer enthusiast thanks to Ben's passion for it. (Mark has explained "off sides" in soccer to me repeatedly, but I don't think I'll ever understand or remember what it is.) My husband draws pictures with Paul and builds Legos with Gus.

My husband is the dad who plays catch with his sons, who has taught each boy to ride a two-wheeler, who takes Paul on a drive to spot snowy owls after a long day at workbecause he knows how much Paul loves them, who reads aloud from Harry Potter even though it makes him sleepy and sometimes he nods off.

Mark attended the Voices of Men breakfast last week. Voices of Men is a Fox Valley organization whose mission is to make a clear and powerful statement that committing, condoning or remaining silent about men's violence against women and children is not acceptable.

When Mark told me about the breakfast and what it meant to him and shared with me a video of the poem, "Man Prayer" by Eve Ensler, my love and respect for him grew even more. "May I be a man who understands that vulnerability is my greatest strength, who creates space rather than dominates it ..." I saw that Mark embodies so many of the attributes in the beautiful poem. 

When I look at Mark and the example he's setting for my boys, I have great hope indeed about the men they will become. Happy Father's Day, my love. Be proud today of the man and dad you are.

Letting him spread his wings

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few beats. Could I do it? Did I have the nerve to sign up Gus for gymnastics at the Y despite my reservations?

I'd thought about it a lot, how a physical activity like gymnastics or martial arts might be a great outlet for Gus's energy. Underneath ran a current of angst, though. What if he acted up, couldn't follow the rules? An anxious person like me can be taken down by what if.

I pictured Gus going rogue in gymnastics, running off to the trampoline when he was supposed to be stretching. In karate, he might do something careless and hurt another child.

We had tried gymnastics once before and it didn't go well. To be fair, though, that was when Gus was, like, 3 and the class was Tumble Tots. Not exactly serious business. 

Nevertheless, I flashed back to last time. We had visited the gymnastics center at the Y enough times for Gus to feel comfortable there. And he was plenty comfortable. He completely bucked all efforts at organized activities - just ran off and did his own thing. 

Really, what was the big deal? He was 3. Somehow for uptight, rule-following me it was a big deal, though. My guy seemed to be the only one who couldn't just go with the flow. We went a few times and then just stopped because I was embarrassed. This is a pattern with me, letting my insecurities run my life far too much. 

I took a deep breath and signed him up. I was relieved when Mark was free to accompany me to Gus's first class. If G did something embarrassing, at least I'd have someone there to share my mortification.

Where normally I'd read a book or magazine during one of the boys' lessons, I watched vigilantly, as if doing so may prevent some calamity.

This is shocking, but I needn't have worried. Gus acted pretty much like every other boy in the class. He was excited, yes, but he followed the rules and participated in all the activities. He even executed an excellent near-handstand (his fearlessness comes in pretty handy sometimes). As the weeks passed, I felt more at ease with class and even began to read a page or two of a book.

I've spent the past handful of years being hyper-vigilant. I haven't taken into consideration that Gus has had two years of school. He's learning and understanding expectations, even if a little reluctantly. I've given little leeway and kept the reins pretty tight. I think I've failed to notice that my youngest is growing, evolving, and, yes, maybe even maturing.

It's time for me to let go a little bit. So when I was looking at the park and rec brochure and contemplating signing up Gus for t-ball, only for a moment did I let myself entertain worries about him transforming into a maniacal little dude with a bat. I dropped the form and check in the mail with hopes for the best. Bring on the summer.