According to Dictionary.com, a crybaby is "a person, especially a child, who cries readily for very little reason" or, "a person who complains too much, usually in a whining manner." Some synonyms for the term are: bellyacher, complainer, critic, faultfinder, griper, grumbler, moaner, sissy, softy, whiner, wimp, wuss.



I remember all-too-well my elementary school years. One of the jabs at certain of my classmates was, "You are such a crybaby." The little girls would sing, "Crybaby, crybaby...so-and-so's a crybaby." And like clockwork, so-and-so would...well...cry. Perhaps the children of which they spoke were not crybabies at all. Maybe the constant teasing and being ostracized made them cry. 



When you hear an infant cry, do you think, "crybaby?" I have heard all sorts of philosophies about when or if one should respond to infant crying by swooping in to the rescue. I will not address that issue here. I will, however, in a coming entry titled, "You Got to Know When to Hold 'Em." Stay tuned... I need to go on record to say that infants, that is, children younger than two years of age, are naturally wired to cry. One of the reasons is because this is their way of communicating. Very young infants are not able to say, "I gotta go potty" or "Father, I think I would like to be held. Would you oblige my request?" So, what do they do? Cry! Our little Josiah uses his crying very judiciously. He cries when he is hungry, sleepy and not able to get comfortable, infrequently has colic, or...did I say is HUNGRY? Simone and I took the concept of prenatal influence very seriously. Those treacherous nine months of her pregnancy were challenging, to say the least, but we worked and prayed hard to manage her negative stress and general comfort. The results of this, along with the positive attitude we have chosen for our household postpartum, have garnered many rewards in Josiah's disposition. Indeed, we will experience many occasions for pain, disappointments, frustration, fear, more hunger, etc. In those cases I say, "Cry baby! Cry baby!" 

I think parents waste too much time stifling appropriate occasions for children's emoting. Some choose to threaten and censure crying babies instead of attending to and nurturing them. It is true that, as children grow, there are increasing instances of melodrama. However, it is in parent's best interest to nurture and appropriately console crying children. In the long-run, they will know that they are loved and will learn to cope with difficulties in appropriate ways. There is an obvious difference between tears and tantrums.


I have intentionally oversimplified this issue to resist the urge to turn this entry into a DSM. Infants cry. Get over it! 

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, it was not until the late 1900s that the term, "contraction" was used in reference to the uterus in childbirth. Every mother can attest that when those contractions got closer-and-closer together before their babies made their grand appearance, it seemed that time stood still as each minute ticked by. And then, when it seemed mommy could not take another moment of waiting, the beautiful child, all slimy from his or her home en utero, came forth to make happy the home that was awaiting. I can attest to the fact that our  lives are much more fulfilling, because Josiah is here.

Being a new SAHD who resigned my almost 11 year position in higher ed., because it was our most practical option to care for Josiah in the home, I am becoming more familiar with an earlier use of the term, "contraction." Again, according the the Online Etymology Dictionary, this word was used to describe the act of making a contract in the late 14th century. I was blessed to work on a contract basis for a period of time following my resignation. Initially, the terms and rate of pay were unacceptable to me. I wondered whether the organization with whom I would prospectively contract, understood their need and my expertise. I wondered whether it was a test of my willingness to jump at just anything, because of our desperate financial circumstance. You see, choosing to have a parent in the home to care for a child instead of daycare, is a huge financial paradigm shift. It forces families to make real changes that are almost always difficult. Indeed, there are families in which one or the other spouse makes so much money that a resignation of employment by one is of no real consequence. Such is not the case in our home, but we're getting through it. When I refused the first contract terms, we negotiated a better rate of pay, which was nowhere near my value for the particular tasks assigned. But, there are people with whom I have worked in the past who needed my help and I felt personally responsible to them. Besides, it would not kill me to accept a contract that was not up-to-par. After all, we did need the money. At least, the turn around times built into the contract made it possible for me to spend quality time with Josiah, and get my work done too.

This brings me to my next point: You will notice that I capitalized the prefix, "Con" in my title. Definition number three in the same online dictionary, states that the verb, "to con" means to swindle. Hiring workers on a contract basis should not be an opportunity to get the best quality work/expertise for the absolute least amount of money someone is willing to accept. That's just not right. Even in desperate times and circumstances, contract workers can attest, that the terms should be respectful and fair. Obviously, there are many that are not stay-at-home parents who negotiate work contracts frequently, but I am particularly sensitive to the needs of SAHDs for obvious reasons. I would like to encourage you to remain committed to the care of your child(ren). Do not allow the financial realities force you to compromise the principles your family has chosen for childcare in the home. The road will be difficult and even scary at times, but God will help, if you ask. I implore those in position to write fair contracts, to do just that...write fair contracts. I am well aware that corporate budgets are tight. I am also aware that companies and organizations mysteriously find money to fund that which they deem important. So please, be honest and fair when you negotiate contracts. It is in your hands to help communicate a worker's value in a tangible way. You never know. You might find yourself in a similar situation one day.

If you have been following this blog or have read my books/articles, you know that I am a fan of double entendres and homophones. You may read my blog entry titles and realize having read the entry, that I exploited a pun or reworked a familiar adage. Today's entry is no different.

Our little Josiah, like most other children four plus months of age, has decided that exploring his environment by reading articles, going on expeditions, or watching documentaries simply will not suffice. Oh no! He is compelled to focus his attention on the object of interest, and with the all-too-predictable dilation of his pupils signifying his utter anticipation and glee, he reaches out is saliva moistened hand and tries to shove it into his mouth. Yes, our son is gifted. He cannot walk, read, eat tofu, or speak intelligibly yet, but he can get all kinds of random stuff into his salivating, gum-exposed face with pin-point precision. This is why, we keep close watch when there is anything at all, anywhere remote to his grasp. And he has fun with it. It's almost like he is a prowler of prey who crouches quietly, moving toward his victim until...bang! in a loud, guttural shout of triumph, he attempts to devour his next victim. His prior victims have included: hand towels, stuffed animals, pacifiers, parent's shoulders, etc. But the prize, at least in his eyes is...yep: our hands.

You have heard the admonition, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you." It means that we must be careful not to offend the one who makes provision for us. Josiah has reworked the meaning of this proverb. You see, he thinks it is a gesture of love and acceptance to grasp his parent's hands, pull them close to his little chest, drag them up to his mouth, and attempt to gum them do death as he giggles until he pukes. That is love, my friends. I guess he figures he won't bite the hand that feeds him...unless he really loves the ones to whom the hand belongs. Now, I am not trying to start a new trend here. It is absolutely NOT cool to go around pouncing upon loved one's hands and shoving them into our mouths--unless we are only a few months old, that is. Can you say, "Non-toxic, alcohol-free hand sanitizer?"

There have been many times when I have been somewhere with our son, Josiah and people have looked at his little face and said, "He looks just like you!" Often my pithy retort has been, "Well, I guess we should cancel that paternity test then." I thought of it as a delightful joke, but it occurred to me that someone might actually take me seriously and question my wife Simone's faithfulness. So unprompted, I recently promised her that I would stop taking for granted that people could sense the obvious humor here. The sad fact is that so many fathers are only revealed as such, due to paternity testing.

You most certainly have heard the English proverb, "Man may work from sun to sun, but woman's work is never done." And it's true. There are some men who go out, earn an honest wage and come home to a well managed home where mommy has thoroughly worked her hands to the bone. Her name is called constantly for love, support, homework, cleaning, cooking, nurturing, mending, ideas, emotional support, attention, holding, protecting, etc., etc... And this is before hubby lodges his complaints and makes his demands. Having been raised by a hard working mother, I am keenly aware that for millennia women have been overworked and underpaid. But is it possible that some men's work is never done? I definitely am not trying to steal hard working women's shine, but follow me.

I have had crazy days recently. Here's some of what I did: bottle feeding, nurturing, holding, comforting, teleworking, calming, washing, planning, folding, thawing, shuttling, mopping, bottle washing, loading, mowing, cleaning, smiling (you know you have to do that from time-to-time to support the family happiness), errands, fixing, bill paying, washing, folding, organizing, did I mention my crazy telework contract? Oh yeah, there were more errands, more folding, more washing, more telework emails, calls,  problem solving, one-handed typing, nurturing, consoling, sleeping (even planning for sleeping is work with a 3+ month old) etc., etc.

I am definitely not complaining.  I guess I am just putting in a good word for men who realize that there is more work to be done even after the paycheck is earned. More than that, I am lauding the endangered species of responsible fathers who have put our families first and not last. There is much more work to be done than my little laundry list of duties. Responsible fathers do it all, by the grace of God, so our children have the best possible opportunity to have life (eternal, that is), liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

I have to go. Baby Josiah is scooching (it's an intransitive verb...look it up) too far down while trying to catch his uncooperative feet and swallowing both fists whole. I have to go pick him up before he succeeds.

Far from the romance of the duet sung by Crocker and Warnes that inspired this entry title, is the sentiment behind it. As I was watching an archived episode of Lincoln Heights on Hulu about a teenaged boy who never knew his father, I was touched. I was touched, not in a romantic, gushing sort of way. For the few minutes that I watched him suffer, I was moved because his long-lost dad lied and called him a nephew when an influential acquaintance questioned his paternity. He was poised to assume a powerful position in the office of the Mayor and did not want the public to know he had a fling 17 years prior and had a son. At that crucial moment, it occurred to me that there are many boys who would give anything just to hear their fathers say, "I love you, son." Likewise, many daughters would give up everything to know their father's love. Certainly, it would be of much greater import for fathers not to merely voice their love, but demonstrate it.

As I look into the trusting eyes of our new son Josiah, I am more determined than ever to live the, "I love yous" that many have never experienced. I had a grown man visit my office before I resigned, confide in me with tears that he never experienced his dad's look of approbation in the way he saw me express mine to Josiah while feeding him a week prior. The man and I have that in common. The only time I recall ever hearing my deceased dad say that he loved me, was the week before he and my mom separated.

So men, please make yourselves and your child(ren) a promise, never cheat them out of the pleasure of being lifted by your love. Do not take for granted that they know, simply by your actions. Show AND tell them that you love them. Let your love lift them up to the cherished place that they belong.

In 1983, a non-sensical comedy titled, "Mr. Mom" darkened the silver screen. True, if you allow yourself intellectual leeway, you may find it hilarious. I watched it back then laughing hysterically without understanding the implications. In order to refresh my memory, I watched the trailer today on YouTube. The movie depicts a so-called manly man who lost his job and thrusts his wife, wishing her luck, into the workforce. As he stayed home to care for his children, he almost shamelessly made a mess of things, solidifying the stereotype that genetically men are bumbling idiots with regard to care taking. I do not want to appear naive here. It is true that some men can make neither heads nor tails of responsible paternal roles. But that does not mean that somehow we are all doomed to be ignoramuses. If the movie stopped at the irresponsible idiocy of this man, it would have been offensive enough. But it spews further pollution by depicting him falling prey to some woman seeing his vulnerability and exercising his lust while gambling with her. All of this while he was supposed to be taking care of the children. The narrator of the movie trailer said that he became the woman of the house. OK, I have had enough!

What if the movie was not so offensive? What if it had the same title and depicted a man acting responsibly while his children looked longingly into his eyes singing pleasantries about his tender loving care? What if he had not lost his job at all, but simply took care of the children when mom was out and about? Would it be OK if he accepted the title Mr. Mom? I do realize that people often mean well when either assigning or assuming this title. The problem is that even with the best of intentions, this suggests that one, men who take good care of their children must be equated with motherhood, because fathers don't take good care. The second problem this presents is a false view of the home ideal? Although many mothers have done great jobs raising children without positive male contribution, there is still a deficit. I speak from experience. I have benefitted from being raised by a caring mother. I have benefitted from being raised by a loving elder sister. For this I am eternally grateful. Yet, there was still something very valuable missing. All children, regardless of sex, require a balance of father and mother in the home to have a complete picture of God's ideal. I know it is not politically correct to be so definitive, but just because we have gotten by on less than the ideal for so long, does not mean that we should not recognize the consequences. I will not cite statistics here, but you can do the research to see that it's true.

What is my point? Rather than assigning or assuming the title of Mr. Mom to a man who takes care, hopefully great care, of his child(ren), please do society a favor and relish the ideal of responsible fatherhood. God has blessed mothers with incredible gifts and contributions for the family unit, and He has done the same for fathers. Both are valuable and necessary. Just because we can survive with just one kidney or without legs, does not make them dispensable. So please, when you see a father doing his paternal duty, show a little compassion and respect--simply call him DAD.

Even though I cry on occasion, because of how it all happened, I am not sad about being a Stay-at-Home-Dad (SAHD). 


I may have taken for granted that my employer of almost 11 years would value my contribution enough to keep me around. I know what you're thinking: "He must have been laid-off. Otherwise, why would any self-respecting, able-bodied man be (a) SAHD?" Well, that is not exactly how it happened.

Simone and I have always been averse to the daycare idea. We decided that our little Josiah would need to be home with his parent(s). For years I have put forth strong efforts to make it possible for Simone to stay home with our child should she become pregnant. Besides the sort-of traditional planning that some men do, I became an author of three books, appeared on a couple of international TV broadcasts, appeared on several national radio broadcasts, became a Christian talk show host, was featured in a mainstream secular magazine, placed large ads in malls and national magazines, retained a well-known national PR firm, blah...blah...blah..., but none of these efforts got us to the place of financial independence. After nine plus years of marriage, Simone finally became pregnant and we both took three months of Family Medical Leave (read more). Once it became clear to me that there were no doors opening for Simone to be the stay at home mother we had both hoped she could be, I made request of my employer to extend my telework according to the most generous policy outlined in the employee handbook so I could work from home some days and she would do the same.  After some convincing, my boss supported the idea, and my two colleagues were on board already. We would continue running our well-oiled machine with a slight adjustment...or so we thought. When the request went up the line, it was denied. I was floored! "But the policy makes provision for this kind of arrangement," I mused. The reality always is that one's employer ultimately has the prerogative to apply or choose not to apply any provision in the handbook. So, with prayerful consideration, I returned to work with my resignation in-hand. It was an emotional roller coaster as I considered the reality that I would need to leave the position I had become an expert of. To make matters worse, many of my coworkers were outraged that this decision was made that facilitated my resignation. I don't blame anyone. Nobody forced me to leave. It was just that the reality of being paid a pittance in higher education made it necessary for the least of us, income wise, to resign. I may be doing some contract work for the institution...I will continue freelance writing...I hope to sell more books (click to help me out), but the fact still remains that I am no longer employed.

Does being unemployed make me sad? Well, I am getting over the shock of it as I snuggle into the greatest blessing a man who had a poor example of a father could ever have. I have the privilege of being (a) SAHD, fathering our son! We will sacrifice and make the necessary adjustments to make things work although our money is short. Without regret for resigning, I will thank God everyday for giving me the opportunity to make things right for my posterity. Without regret, I will look into our son's eyes as I care for him. Without regret, I will thank God daily for a wife who is making a tremendous sacrifice in our situation as we get things figured out for the future.

I don't have all of the answers, but I am becoming more and more comfortable answering this question: "What do you do for a living?" With a proud voice, knowing God is in control of our lives, I will now answer, "I am (a) SAHD!"

Promoting Responsible Fatherhood, U.S. Department of Health & Human Services: Home Page

For just fewer than 100 years “SOS” was used as a maritime description for a distress signal in Morse Code. While the letters are not technically an acronym for anything the letters became associated with such phrases as, “Save our ship” and “Save our souls.” It seems appropriate that the phrases have become familiar since according to the international standard, ships in distress were to utilize the Morse Code represented by “SOS.”

When Simone told me that we were going to have a baby, I was very happy. We had been married for more than nine years already and had finally decided the time was right for the both of us. True, we bloomed late, being in our late 30s, but thank God we did bloom. We both knew that it would be an awesome responsibility and that our lives would never be the same. So together we started praying for wisdom for every stage of pregnancy and beyond. We did not accept that we were “soon-to-be” parents, since studies in fetal development demonstrate that prenatal influence has inestimable impact. In our minds, we were already parents. We just could not hold the child outside the womb yet.

People often asked us whether we were going to find out the sex of the baby, and both of us were more than excited to tell them, “Yes!” We certainly had preferences, but ultimately we wanted a healthy child regardless of sex. The days and weeks passed as our hearts fluttered with great anticipation toward that critical 20+ weeks when the radiologist would be able to see the baby’s anatomy on the Prenatal Sonogram Machine. I had been telling Simone that I knew what it would be, without doubt, and she always cynically asked what it would be. In reality I bought two cards, one for each sex and wrote a passionate message about how happy I was and how that particular sex would benefit from having a mom like her. I hid the cards in two separate places in my vehicle so I could pull one or the other out after our radiology appointment proving that I knew the sex.

As we pulled into the parking area at the radiologist’s office, I caressed Simone’s belly, came close and said, “Please little baby, cooperate and show us yourself just this once, and I promise, I will never ask you to show it again.” We went in and at the appropriate time, I was called into the room and on shameless display were our little boy’s genitals. He had no shame, and with laughter I said, “Thank you son. You done good...” With emotion in her somewhat muted voice, Simone said, “We’re gonna have a boy.” It was at that critical moment that I melted into a puddle of years of emotion. It was not because I was a proud father who could beat my chest and say, “I AM HAVING A BOY.” No. I had already been praying that God would show mercy to us according to the commandments, because we love Him. We did not want any unnecessary moral weaknesses to be passed to our child genetically. When I found out it was a boy, the prayer became even more impactful to me. I had a poor example of a father (who died almost exactly one year before our son was born), and besides I had inherited and cultivated tendencies toward evil that I would hate to see passed to our son. The idea of this possibility was simply unbearable. But the story of Josiah in the Bible gave me hope. To make an long story short, Josiah’s dad was one of the most wicked kings Israel had ever experienced, yet God was able to inspire Josiah from an early age to be one of the most faithful.

With many responsible fathers around the world, I am signaling heaven with a universal distress call of SOS - “Save our seed!” No man in his right mind wants to see his child suffer for mistakes he has made. No self-respecting man would allow his child to just pass through life without making every effort to lead him in the right direction, come what may. Lord please save our seed! Please save our seed from all harm. Please save our seed from bad relationships. Please save our seed from thoughts of intolerance. Please save our seed from influences of evil people who seek to do us harm. Lord, please save or seed from anything that displeases you.

Are you curious about the greeting cards? Well, when we got back in the vehicle, I reached into the secret boy card spot and brandished it in all of its blue glory. Simone’s jaw dropped as she asked in gleeful disbelief, “How did you know?!” I played along for a while, but since I am an honest man, I told her of my scheme and revealed the pink card too. It was just another playful memory we can reflect upon in the future for a few laughs.

If you look up the definition of babysitter in any dictionary, you will find that the term applies to temporary caretakers while parents are away, NOT to fathers while mothers are away. Someone actually asked me if I was going to be babysitting our son Josiah while Simone went out. I quickly informed the gentleman that I do not babysit my own son. I realize that people may not have ill intentions when applying the term to fathers, but there is risk of a mentality coming with that term when misapplied in this way. Men can easily fall victim to the "how would mommy do it" syndrome. I mean, if somehow fathers reduce themselves to the level of a temporary caregiver, they may not be as present for ultimate care as they need to be. Fathers must own their decisions as grown, responsible men when giving care both in the mother's absence and in her presence. The ideal is that each child should receive a balance of care from both parents. Mothers and fathers each make unique contributions to the family unit in a way that even the best babysitters are unable, simply because there is a special bond between children and their parents.

Responsible fathers, you may choose to have a temporary caretaker's mentality, but I ain't my child's babysitter!

- Posted using BlogPress for iPod Touch from my side of the bed