Raging Dad

The last two weeks saw several milestones and anniversaries for my Raging Family and me. Most notably, Aug. 1 marked two years since moving from the Twin Cities to Portland. It was our second visit back to Minnesota since the big move, and it was a very important trip for our family, especially Raging Mom. I will save the details of our trip for another post.

On the fifth day of our trip, the kids already feeling the exhaustion of parading from place to place, Sonny said, “I want to go home.” This was the first time that “home” was out here, on the West Coast, and not in Minnesota. I was simultaneously excited by this development, and sad when I saw how hard it was for Raging Mom to hear it come from his lips. It seemed very certain, very final—a bittersweet achievement.

Photo: jocasta77 (Flickr)

For the first time, we had the twins sleep in my old bedroom at Raging Hippie Grandma’s house in Northern Minnesota. I used to find it disturbing that the walls were still plastered in the trappings of a 1993 teenager: comic book posters, superhero trading cards, Dungeons & Dragons paraphernalia. A giant glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations, from a time long ago when I fancied myself a budding astronomer. Like an onion with layers underneath, puppy dog posters from the years before the obsessions with Star Wars and Dragonlance still hung with yellowing edges, slightly curled. He-Man guys were pulled from boxes, the fine dust quickly wiped away by eager little hands. On this trip, I was a rock star and the twins had backstage passes to the glory of my youth. And they reveled in it. Connie slept in Raging Little Sista’s room, with stuffed animals collected in a hammock suspended high above the bed. All of a sudden, things that used to bug me were all of a sudden thrilling to my kids, and in turn to me. Just as their raging parents are, our children are changing, evolving.

Last week we took our Raging Kids to see my father’s grave site. This was their first time at a cemetery, and while they have been exploring the concept of death for some time, this was an important milestone for me. Connie, almost six years old, was certainly better equipped to understand the visit than the four-year-old boys. They asked if we were sitting on Raging Grandpa John. “Sort of,” I told them. We talked about the many headstones around my father’s grave, and noted the dates spanning back a hundred years. Sonny told us he didn’t want us to die. Michael told me, “Dad, you never sing bug songs to me.” Very true, son. Very true. They are young, but it was still an important visit. We shall go again.

Less significantly, my blog turned one month old, and reached 1,000 hits. A modest number to be sure, but exciting to me nonetheless. Like many parents, I find myself struggling to find time to do much of anything productive, especially after meeting (or trying to meet) obligations for work, grad school, the house, family, etc. While I struggle sometimes to make the time to do it regularly, I have found blogging about my Raging Family to be cathartic. Finding the balance of seriousness and levity will continue to be a goal for me. I appreciate all of you who have read so far, and taken the time to comment on my ramblings. For my readers and friends who have not delved deep into the waters of mommy and daddy blogs, I give you a couple of suggested readings that I came across over the last two weeks that took my breath away.

Attack of the Redneck Mommy, “Joy.”
Sarcastic Mom, “I shall have her back again.”
Black Hockey Jesus, “X Man.”