The Best Parenting Book I've Read

In a world of 140-character tweets, six-second vines, and snapshot #TBTs, I still think there's incredible valuable in immersing myself deep in the pages of good book. ("Pages" is a loose term, as I switched to a Kindle about five years ago. Tradition, smell of books, feel of the paper, blah, blah. Get with the times, dinosaur. Kindles are better.) My mostly non-fiction reading diet consists of sports, history, and business books, which probably doesn't come as a surprise if you know me. Those things are pretty much my jam.

But a couple years ago, I added another genre to my list: baby books. Or, rather, parenting books. I read, mainly, to educate myself and I had an awful lot to learn (I still do, in fact) about what I was in for as a Dad.

And just recently, I finished the best book I've read about parenting and kids: Overwhelmed: Work, Love, and Play When No One Has the Time. 

Before I get to why that one stands above the rest, here's a short list of five others I've read:
The Happiest Baby on the Block: Pretty much required reading for new parents. You could just look up the 5s and probably get the same benefit, but it does provide confidence about how in the world you're going to calm the tiny screaming monster in your arms. I read this one four months before Annabelle was born.
Be Prepared: A Practical Handbook for New Dads: Good tips for new dads in a short, practical format. I actually referred to this one quite a bit during the early days.
Dude, You're a Dad. Horrible. I'm not even going to include a link. Don't waste your time.
Dr. Dan's Last Word on Babies and Other Humans: Weird, at times, but oddly comforting, too. It made me realize I was probably going to be okay. And so far, I have been. Our pediatrician (who we like an awful lot) recommended this one, so it was a must-read.
Do Fathers Matter? What Science Is Telling Us About the Parent We've Overlooked: I had such high hopes, but it turned out to be dry, lifeless page after dry, lifeless page. Some bright spots here and there, but a big disappointment.

After that last one, I took some time off from the baby books for a while because they were starting to repeat and contradict themselves. Books on similar topics tend to do that. But I picked up Overwhelmed, by Washington Times reporter Brigid Schulte, and was hooked from Page 1.

The basic idea of the book is that we're all too damn busy to focus on the most important things in our lives -- that parents, in particular, have very little leisure time. The author weaves engaging narratives and fascinating studies, and provides practical guidance on how we can lead better lives as parents, partners, and workers. The idea of working in pulses to stay productive has already helped me a great deal.

I highlighted several passages in the book (which I can reference easily with my Kindle) and one really stuck with me. The author is talking about her husband, an NPR correspondent, being on assignment overseas in a tough area. She writes: "In my world of crashing deadlines, teacher phone calls, late Girl Scout forms, forgotten water bills, kids' stomachaches, and empty cupboards, all I could think was: Man, all he has to do every day is go to work."

All he has to do every day is go to work. I remember feeling like that.

In truth, I read Overwhelmed because that was how I've felt lately. Annabelle still isn't sleeping well, work is stressful, and breaks are few and far between. This is particularly scary because Annabelle is still an only child and is a smiling ball of fun 90% of the time. What happens if and when we have another little one? What happens when Annabelle turns 13 and hates me?

After I tell a tale about getting up five times in a night, thrown up on, or worse, my friends who aren't parents often ask me, "How do you do it?" Like most parents, I answer, "You just do it." But "it" is really damn hard sometimes. It's hard to convince your child to eat a healthy meal. It's hard to sleep with a foot in your ribs. It's hard to explain why 40 degrees is too cold to go outside. It's hard, and I know I'm incredibly fortunate to lead a somewhat privileged life.

I did my best to put things in perspective as I was reading the book, but it wasn't until the end when it really hit me: "Recognize that children do, indeed, grow quickly. And that the moment to stop and notice and enjoy is now. And now. And now."

So that's what I'm going to go do. Right now.

The Trouble With Bedtime

The first disagreement Mike and I ever had was about bedtime. Mike took that position that going to bed at the same time was romantic. He said he liked everyone to be all tucked in and tuckered out at the same time (I'm clearly paraphrasing here. I don't believe he has ever used the phrase "tuckered out." Thank gawd.). At the time of this bold declaration, I was a devout night owl.  When no one is around to tell me to go to bed, I'll likely be found passed out on the couch, makeup smeared across my face, teeth unbrushed, with half a sandwich hanging out of my mouth. So I reacted badly to this idea of forced bedtime. Especially since Mike is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise-take-an-agressive-mid-afternoon-nap kinda guy. Mike is sensible. Mike always brushes his teeth before bed. Mike always goes to bed at a reasonable hour.

After much initial protest, I ultimately decided to try things Mike's way for a bit. And it turns out, it is actually really nice to get eight hours of sleep. I never knew I could feel so rested! So alive! I even liked turning in early and reading our Kindles together until we fell asleep (barf, I know).

But then something came along to ruin this domestic bliss. And that something is the iPad.

Lately, I'll more likely than not be found curled on the couch with my iPad, gleefully tapping away at its shiny screen until the wee hours. What am I doing, you (and Mike) may ask? Oh, you know, the usual. Going to various retailer websites and playing the, "I'm independently wealthy and can buy anything I want" game. (This game involves perusing said retailer's site for hours and putting all the things I would like into my shopping cart....with NO regard for price!! Shocking, I know. Let me be clear, I don't actually buy anything. That is not part of the game. Simply looking at my full cart with things I can't afford is somehow pleasure enough. I may have a problem. )

I can also be found perusing various blogs. Some about house tweaking, others about celebrities. I'll check all my bank and credit card accounts, mint.com and loans. Just to be sure they are all still there. I'll check the news. I'll check Facebook about a million times just in case someone posts something interesting (spoiler alert, no one does).  I'll also check email incessantly just in case I get some good spam. Then I'll move to sites like RueLaLa.com, Gilt.com, and OneKingsLane.com to look at all the things I really shouldn't buy.

But the majority of my time is spent reading magazines. I subscribe to this wondrous and magical thing called Next Issue. Next Issue is an app that allows me to read virtually every magazine worth reading (and many that are not - I'm looking at you, Wood magazine) for one monthly fee. Something like 60+ magazines. All at my fingertips. It almost makes my head explode. I've died and gone to magazine heaven.

Long story short, I spend a lot of time on my iPad. And it is getting harder and harder to turn in early when I still have 55 magazines left to read. This makes Mike sad, not only because he likes us falling asleep together, but more importantly, when he goes to bed before me there is no one there to catch his Kindle when he falls asleep with it against his face. This is my designated job (seriously, I have to do it. I wrote it into my vows.)

But after too many nights with my iPad and with Oscar distraught because he can't handle when the two of us are in separate rooms, I start to miss my husband. Because that time before bed when we disconnect from the world and read together is that kind of elusive quality time that you don't appreciate until you start to miss it. And I miss it. So tonight, I'm putting away the iPad.

My Fantasy Football Widow

Let me start by saying, "Sorry, Bridget." Every year, it's the same. We spend the months of spring coming out of our cocoon, spending time Kindling in Harvard Yard and shuffling off to some vacation destination. During downtime, we spend our free time watching entertaining television -- stuff like the "The Newsroom" and "Happy Endings." (Please don't knock "Happy Endings" until you try it.) Then summer comes and we fill our schedule with more trips, exercise, weddings, romantic dinners, and care-free love. Sweet, right? Awww. They are so in love.

Then two words happen: fantasy football.

Now, I wouldn't call Bridget a fantasy football widow, but ... actually, yes I would. That's exactly what she is. Like so many loving, understanding partners, she stands quietly by as I pore over statistics and stress about whether to start Jordy Nelson or Eric Decker. (Seriously. If you're knowledgable, who should I use in Week 1?) And the thing about football is that it takes a while. It takes a while every Sunday and it takes a while every year. Provided my fantasy teams (I have two) don't stink, I'll be making lineup decisions up until Christmas.

I should pause and say something here: "Sorry, Bridget."

I started playing fantasy football 10 years ago. As a sportswriter in New Hampshire, I joined the league at our newspaper. I left the newspaper, but never left the league. And now, a decade into it, I head up to Keene once a year to see old friends, make my picks, and pretend this year will be different. (Spoiler: It never is. I stink.) I've been in several other leagues and now act as commissioner of my work league down here in Cambridge. And I absolutely love both of them. I love the trash talk. I love "owning" a whole new group of players every year. I love reading Matthew Berry's Love/Hate columns.

Now, it's not that I don't love Bridget when the season kicks off. I do -- very much -- but it's safe to say my priorities change a bit. Want to go out for dinner? I would, but the Saints kick off in 20 minutes and I have Brees. Want to take Oscar for a walk? I mean, I do, but I kind of need to watch Sidney Rice for the next three hours because I'm down by five points and he just needs to catch one damn touchdown.

So, again: "Sorry, Bridget."

Bridget, as always, does her best to like my hobbies or at least suffer what I'm doing. She'll sit next to me while I watch useless pre-game shows and does a great job of cooking up some delicious meals every Sunday around 2 p.m. But I know deep in her heart, she wishes her husband wasn't so into fantasy football. She wishes it was just a hobby and not an obsession. But, well, she kind of signed up for this when she said, "I do."

Someday, something may change. But for now, this is the best I've got, darling: "Sorry, Bridget."

Kindling in Harvard Yard, or How We Really Met

Earlier this week, on the 4th, in fact, I was chatting with Bridget's good friend, Laura. We sat out on our deck, sipped beer, listened to Bruce Springsteen (well, we should have been) and talked about meeting and falling in love. Not us, of course. Just the idea. (Bridget was inside booking our latest vacation.)

Laura told me the story about her parents and how they fell in love. In a nutshell (and forgive me if I'm butchering this at all, Laura), her parents, both starry-eyed singles at the time, were both on a cruise somewhere in Europe. It was the last night of the trip and, as luck would have it, there was one bottle of champagne left on the ship. They both reached for it at the same time, locked eyes, and said, "Well, we might as well drink this together." A  Transatlantic, long distance relationship ensued and decades later, they are still together today. Wonderful, right? Sweet, wholesome, and warm.

It got me thinking about the beginnings of me and Bridget and, well, it's not very good. It's actually fairly clunky. This stinks because people -- and our children will, at some point -- ask, "How did you guys meet?"And up to this point, we tell some variation of this:

Bridget and I worked together, but didn't really know each other. Then she worked remotely for a bit, got a new job, and lived in Baltimore for a few years. So you could say, we'd heard of each other, but that was it. In 2010, we started chatting at our mutual friend Kate's birthday party in Salem and realized we got along pretty well. Then, taking full advantage of the romance of technology, we started Facebook chatting, texting, and dating. Romantic, right? Not so much. Clunky. Pretty lame paragraph if you ask me.

And I've decided it's time to officially change it. To what, you ask? To Kindling in Harvard Yard!

As we started dating in the summer of 2010, we realized we both liked to be outside and we both liked to read. Our weekend afternoons quickly became filled with slow, slightly awkward walks down Oxford St. with our Kindles in our hands. We'd sit for hours and split the time between reading, talking, and people watching. (Our book choices were and are always quite different -- she recently polished off 50 Shades of Grey in about 45 minutes and I just finished a great baseball read called The Bullpen Gospels.) Today, we share many hobbies -- running, blogging, drinking good wine, eating good food, to name a few -- but Kindling in Harvard Yard is still our favorite. And really, as I thought more about it, that stands out as how we really met and how we fell in love.

So the next time someone asks -- or the first time I tell my son or daughter about it -- I'm going to take a page out of Laura's parents' book. (Pun not intended. Okay, maybe it a was a little ...). Here goes:

"You see, son, we were both walking around Harvard Yard one sunny, Saturday afternoon. Then, out of the corner of our eyes, we saw a single Kindle resting on a purple chair. We both thought it was ours, so we reached for it at the same time, locked eyes, and said, 'Well, we might as well read this together.' And the rest is history ..."

Yeah, I like that much better.

Eating Together -- At The Table?

Marriage instantly makes you a family. Granted, it's a small family, but it's still a family. You are now husband and wife. Breadwinner and bread eater. Emergency contact and, well, emergency contact.

Simply put, things change. And of all the places that change happens, none may be more significant than the dinner table. Or, as we used to call it, that white, flat thing in our dining room that holds the mail, Oscar's leash, and our latest dying plant.

But now, it is for chow. Because we don't want to turn into these folks:

Bridget and I do our best to eat together as much as possible. The summer makes that tough. She has a girls' night. I have basketball and kickball. Happy hours happen. But, during most work weeks, we eat in the same apartment at least a couple times. And at least one of those times, we've promised, it will be together at the dinner table. 

Older folks (read: older than 35) might read this and say, "Hey, you should always eat at the dinner table together! What's wrong with you? You damn kids and your MTV! Eat at the table!" Well, we don't. And in today's entertainment- and technology-filled world, I'd be willing to wager many couples and families don't.

There are TV shows to watch, iPads to play with, and Kindles to read. Frankly, it's much easier to turn on classic episodes of Seinfeld (like the Kenny Rodgers chicken one), exploits of Homer Simpson (like this one), and even the occasional Two and a Half Men (like this classic) when things really get stale. (Really, Mike? Two and a Half Men? I'm kidding, of course. That's the worse show ever. You should be ashamed of yourself if you watch it.)

But in all seriousness, we've turned off the TV, stored the iPad and the Kindle, and have started to just talk at the table. And you know? It's been great. We talk about work. We talk about when we want to have kids. We talk about food, vacations, and Syracuse basketball. (Well, not really, but I'd like to.)

Eating together at the table is quality time that we didn't have when our eyes were glazed over watching Jerry dump a girl for eating her peas one at a time. And, it creates a good habit for when we have more than just two (and a dog) in our family.

How often do you eat at the table with your significant other or family?