Step down to the Mat

“It will be several years before he can distinguish between dreams and reality.”

This statement is widely accepted as common for 15 month olds.

It really puts in perspective how traumatic a bad dream can be and why, at times, Cash can wake up screaming. Meghan and I are horrified to think what frightening image or scene played out in his little head.

I’ve never been an alarmist or someone who wants to micromanage every minute of my child’s life but this concept should remind parents what they should and shouldn’t expose their kids to.

Sometimes I turn on the morning news show-when Cash is in the living room with me-to get the weather and some “light” interest stories: an upcoming city festival, construction projects, sports stories. As it shifts to the background of my attention, the show cycles through the national news and images of terrorist attacks, explosions, and protests flash across the screen.  I lunge for the remote worried what Cash may have seen. Even though he doesn’t really pay attention to it, it worries me that these human pains reach his little mind without us being able to filter it or explain it to him.

We’ve now made it a point to have the TV on much less in our household. Instead of slowly waking up, coffee in hand while Cash plays with his toys in front of me, I now get off my lazy butt and turn off the TV (I can get weather reports from my phone), get down the floor and play with him.  Apparently, I grunt often when my tired body plops on the floor next to him because now whenever Cash bends down, he makes grunting and straining noises.  Sounds like daddy needs to get in better shape.

Anyway, this is a win-win, he gets more exposure to daddy and less to the atrocities of the outside world that our news is all-too-happy to berate us with.

Cash is going to have night terrors but if we can minimize them, we will. When we cap the night with a “sweet dreams” wish, we mean it.

One of our most important jobs as parents is as primary protectors. We aren’t going to consume the sensationalized negativity from our media and neither is Cash.

Sometimes taking a stand, means getting down on the floor.



As a Mutter of Fact

If everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day, now that it’s over, the non-Irish can return to their own nationalities. But almost half the intertwined strands of my DNA read Irish.

I’m an American Mutt-perhaps redundant considering two generations before me were born here as well-but my most prevalent nationality is Irish.

It’s also the one I take the most pride in and most identify with, even though many don’t think I “look Irish.”

This is based off the redhead, leprechaun stereotype-which is not really based in reality. Most estimations have, at most, 10% of the Irish population as redheads. Now, I do have olive-colored skin which is likely from my other nationalities-though the furthest south we’ve traced so far is Bohemian-the current Czech Republic-not exactly Mediterranean.

Interesting recent DNA research has actually confirmed that the Irish are close genetic relatives of the people of northern Spain.  So, maybe that explains it? Tracing true heritage throughout the history of the migration of humankind is inexact at best. Anyone who thinks they really, really know all of their true heritage is full of, as the Irish say, ‘Blarney.’

So, I’ve chosen to identify with my understanding at least of the Irish culture. What aspects of it?  The underdogs. Always fighting, literally and figuratively, with the British for respect and their independence.

I especially like the wit-humor tinged with a little bite to it. An example of an Irish ‘prayer’ goes,

“Lord, bless my friends. And bless my enemies too. Turn their hearts if you will…but if you can’t…turn their ankles, so I’ll know them by their limp.”

Or the one we had on our kitchen wall in the house I was raised in.


The Irish seem to have a raw awareness of life’s harsh realities met with a shrug, a smirk and a sonnet. Irish melancholy. The celebratory tone of an Irish wake.  This bittersweet viewpoint on life explains the Irish connection with the arts.

Poets and writers (Yeats, Joyce, Lewis, Wilde, etc) It’s beautiful green bluffs often covered by clouds.  Actors-there are many current leading men with Irish heritage-George Clooney, Chris Evans, Ashton Kutcher, Robert Downey, Jr, Bradley Cooper, Brad Pitt, Chris Kennedy, Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Matthew McConaughey, and Ryan Reynolds to name ten or so. Okay, maybe you can spot one name that doesn’t belong in there?


And the musicians in every pub every week throughout Ireland. The more famous-U2, Enya, Snow Patrol, The Coors, Thin Lizzy, The Cranberries.

While many countries’ passports have pictures of crowns, crests, and swords, the Irish passport has a musical instrument. (Harp.)


And so, I pass on this ancestory to Cash, who combined with Meghan, his American Mutt-er, has even more nationalities to his mix. We tried to represent many of them in a decorative, colorful way in his playroom.



Cash has many nationalities to take pride in and yet none that define him.  Except maybe on one day in the middle of March, where he’ll feel a little extra special that he’s Irish.




Mother Meg

I often write about being a parent to Cash but it goes without saying writing that I’m a co-parent…and the lesser one at that.

I’m not minimizing my contribution, my paternal influence is equally important but Momma Meghan carries the heavier parenting load.

From childbirth (if you haven’t read about that through present she has been more responsive Cash’s highest and frequent demands. And while he has worn her patience to a nub on many occasions, as you can imagine a work-from-home mom would encounter, she has NEVER shown him that.  Throw in that she is taking a chemistry class this spring while working and taking care of Cash everyday and still Cash wouldn’t notice an ounce of demeanor change in her.

Heck, the woman sing-songs during diaper changes and kisses Cash so often, it’s surprising his skin doesn’t have permanent lip markings.

Even when he squeals and moans and bites her finger while she scrubs his teeth each night, Meghan’s sweet smile remains.

I knew Meghan was the nurturing type going into our marriage and parenthood but she goes above and beyond my expectations nearly every day.

Somehow, though she is Cash’s constant companion and I mean constant…fact: in the fifteen months of Cash’s life, the longest Meghan has been apart from him is six hours, she still can get him to giggle uncontrollably and remain always happy to see her.

In comparison, I’ve been apart from him for a little over two weeks (back in August while handled the water damage in our house so Meghan and Cash extended their Northern California trip.)  I know Cash missed me but our absence was definitely harder on me because, at least he was with his main caregiver Momma.  There’s no way that situation could have been reversed.

I would put the healthiness of Cash’s diet against ANY baby’s in the world.  If it were up to me, Cashy boy would have string cheese, cheerios and blueberries every morning. But, thankfully, it’s not. Meghan prepares his breakfast from scratch, running blenders, heating, cooling, peeling, cutting every day for almost every meal and snack. Mixing in vegetables and legumes I’d never heard of with “superfoods” and organic, additive-free, wholesome food for optimal opportunity for good health.

Beyond diet expertise, even more importantly, the love and exuberance Meghan shows Cash every day is the main reason he’s such a happy kid.

I can only imagine Cash can’t help but feel with every ounce of his being that his loved by both of us of course, but deep down he knows where his bread is buttered…organic on whole wheat.




I had my first stay at home/work from home experience this week as Cash for the first time in his life had a fever – 102.5 degrees.  Meghan does this basically everyday and I’m in no hurry to switch roles!

One of the rare parenting tasks I do better than Meghan is working the automatic body temperature sensor.

Forget the old cold, thin, glass, mercury-inside, thermometer that used to be put…where you’d prefer it not get put.

These temperature taking devices these days are high tech…all kinds of settings, beeps and memory prompts.

All you have to do is swipe the sensor across the forehead to one side of the hairline and boom–you have the temperature reading in digital display! Cash smiles as it slides across his head and now, insists he do it himself. (I’m still the best at it in my house…for now…)



I was called in as the relief sitter for Cash’s regular sitter, my Mom, who was stuck home with the nasty flu-my sister and nieces also had touches of it.

We do have some back-up sitters but with the little guy not feeling himself and uncomfortable, it just made sense I stay home while Meghan attended her Chemistry class and lab that take up a good part of the day.

It’s certainly a challenge to feed, change, and play with an under-the-weather toddler while also working and being available for co-worker emails and questions.

Besides the fancy, new temperature takers, infant ibuprofen and acetaminophen now come in boxes with easy to fill and disperse syringes…which squirt a sweet and swift pain management liquid. Sometimes Cash will actually suckle the syringe.

Fortunately, Cash is feeling better and I’m able to return to work…let’s hope the flu had flown away from us.

I’m in no hurry to switch roles again anytime soon.