Holy cannolis!

Call off the dogs. The gig is up. The show is over.

It is now scientifically proven that fathers are smarter than non-fathers - go forth and procreate!

Well, maybe…take a look at this and tell me what you think.

“Loving a woman and fathering her children changes a man’s body and brain in ways that make him more canny and resourceful,” Kuchinskas writes, “while improving his ability to handle stress…”

Very interesting indeed.

Okay, so the successful union of sperm and egg did not actually make me a smarter homo sapiens, but my brain has now been supposedly altered so that I am now more “canny and resourceful.”

Really, how so?

“In humans, studies have found that married men have lower levels of the hormone testosterone, while new fathers exhibit higher levels of prolactin. Both of these conditions positively influence a father’s parenting skills by increasing his sympathy and motivation to help his offspring.”

So I am supposed to be more sympathetic and be motivated to “help” my offspring. Gotta say I’m not really buyin’ this whole science/brain/hormone thing. I have been pretty darn motivated ever since her little head popped out, not sure I’ve become more sympathetic or inclined to help, but hormones are indeed a powerful force.

The coolest part is that “…a study by the Wisconsin National Primate Research Center suggests that lower testosterone could actually be triggered by a newborn baby’s smell.”

And that I believe: the moment I smelled her for the first time, I knew that life would never be the same.

What do you think - has your man become more sympathetic since the birth of your offspring?

In honor of the upcoming “holiday” I wanted to enlighten you all with the ability to bask in my own glory, my effervescence as a proud member of the “Neanderdad” (borrowed term) clan.

I begin this here post by alluding to - yet another - poignant note at the NY Times, all about thanking our spouses: here it is in case you missed it.

It was bit tough to wrap my thickening head around the idea that perhaps I am thanked too often at home for doing little things and I am therefore congratulated for doing what I should do. Huh?

So, here’s a little cheat-sheet for my wife to follow, just in case she forgets when she should thank me and when she should just let it be.

TEN TIMES WHEN I WANT TO BE THANKED AND APPRECIATED (not an “exhaustive” list):

1. When I open old jars that are really hard to open (such as pickles, or other items that typically last for a long time and whose jar usually sits in the pantry for many months)
2. When I reach something on a high shelf (especially if it cannot be reached by spouse standing on a footstool)
3. When I perform an unprecedented act of home repairedness (such as the recent replacement of a lavatory basin faucet handle - the thing that makes the water turn on and off)
4. When I assemble a highly complicated piece of IKEA furniture
5. When I wipe our child’s butt after a particularly gnarly bowel movement
6. When I meticulously separate paper and plastic/glass for the weekly recycling pickup
7. When I water the plants with Miracle-Gro
8. When I hang pictures level on the wall
9. When I remember to shave and shower in the morning
10. When I make the bed
10a. When I remember to put the seat down

PROPER TERMINOLOGY TO BE USED FOR SAYING “THANK YOU” FOR ABOVE-MENTIONED TASKS:
1. “Thank you, honey. Boy, you are strong.”
2. “Thank you, dear. Wow, you are so tall.”
3. “Thank you, sweetie, you are such a MAN.”
4. You get the idea…

How often do you thank your significant other, and when?

Am I the only one who thinks that we always do too much for our kids’ birthdays?

I know there have been some past articles on the subject, but we are 4 weeks and counting until our daughter’s number FIVE birthday, and the storm has been brewing.

Let’s take a look at the list of stuff that needs to happen, and then we can make an objective decision as to whether a five year old really needs this much to happen, just to celebrate the day of her birth (shouldn’t moms be more worthy of gifts on that day?).

Heregoes:

1. Create list of all school and other friends to invite
2. Choose party destination (because we now refuse to do it at our house because it was a literal zoo for the first three years)
3. Coordinate time and date with destination; send deposit
3a. Pay balance and wonder if it would have been cheaper to do it at home
4. Mail invitations (yes, we could have done an evite, but the destination sends you pre-made postcard invites that are more fun); also had to buy postcard stamps for this step
5. Field incoming RSVPs and keep track of who’s coming; casually remind those who do not respond by the day before that we kinda need to know - now
6. Choose bakery from among 73 in local area
7. Choose cake or cupcakes; actually go and pick up chosen baked goods on day of party and bring them to party destination while driving in the breakdown lane and AC blasting (which inevitably causes post-nasal drip)
8. Choose pizza place; coordinate pizza delivery for date and time desired
9. Provide (researched) gift suggestions to all interested relatives
10. Deal with screaming children for 90 minutes
11. Be thankful that we have an SUV (a small one) so we can carry all of the presents home
12. Decide how many of the old toys can go to the Salvation Army
13. Earn PhD in box-opening (online certificate)
14. Convince ourselves that our daughter is not spoiled
15. Vow to have a “small” party next year

Tell me: What has been your partying experience?

I’ve been blabbing to anyone who listen (and even those who won’t) that my first book is coming out in August and it’s super funny and super poignant and buy it, buy it, buy it. It all feels very narcissistic and self-congratulatory and awkward, and this morning I finally realized why.

While the book is about me and my penis and my struggle to recover from a crippling episode of clinical depression, the real hero of the story is my wife.

I didn’t realize it at the time, mostly because my brain was virtually immobilized and up on cinder blocks in some musty repair garage, but my wife saved my life. I was in no condition to be a parent, a husband, or even a guardian. I lost control of myself. I had nothing to offer – emotionally, spiritually, supportively – and yet she stayed. She filled the roles of mother and father, husband and wife, disciplinarian and playmate. She fought for me. She suffered for me. She endured for me when she had no endurance left.

I don’t know how she did it. I spent most of the last year writing the book, going back to those dark, ugly places to re-examine how badly I was broken, how hopeless and helpless I was, how difficult I must have been to live with, talk to, and understand. It is not a pretty picture, and it occurs to me that the easier course of action for her would have been to err on the side of self-preservation. To shield the kids from seeing their father crumble into a huddle mass of tears and weakness. But she didn’t feel that way. She stayed. She stuck it out. And we’re better for it.

With Mother’s Day looming, the annual dread of finding the right gift has again surfaced. But this year, thanks to my newfound awareness of the impenetrable love and support my wife has shown me, the search is harder than ever. Although she’d probably say a convertible Benz would do the trick, I have this feeling that no material possession or sappy Hallmark card could ever do justice to the gratitude I feel for her sacrifice during those tough years.

I suppose the only way to communicate that is to show, not tell.

I almost bought one of those cute Starbucks mini Mocha Frappucinos this morning, but then I didn’t. Instead, I came into the office and created a homemade iced coffee, with FREE coffee (and ice), supplied by my kind employer.

Love. The. Perks.

For lunch, I will head across the street to the local deli for a sandwich on wheat, unlimited veggies, for the cool cost of $3.45 ($3.62 with tax); to drink? Water. (Also free.) Of course, I should really be making my lunch, though I take this one small luxury and enjoy it, and I don’t go to Cosi (8 bucks for a two-ingredient flatbread sandwich? I don’t think so.)

We are surviving fine with one car even though a second would mean we wouldn’t need to borrow my wife’s parents’ second car every week and even though we actually - ironically - have a two-car garage. Reduce the family carbon footprint and save on gas - bonus.

Our 1950s home could use a whole set of repairs, but nothing dramatic, so we will do some now, some later, and some, much, much later (new sprinkler system, because hoses work just fine).

It’s not as though I am overly anxious about money - or lack thereof - but the bank account ain’t really growing so much, if you know what I mean, so we’re living frugally, buying what we need; we aren’t depriving ourselves, per se, rather just remaining prudent.

But we do live in the land of Range Rovers and BMW X6s - we basically emptied our savings account to buy a house in an amazing neighborhood that is zoned for one of the best elementary schools in the state, and while we can certainly justify the purchase, you look next door at the $1.5mm house that really isn’t all that big, but whose 3 kids all go to private school and whose mother doesn’t work, and it makes you wonder: if we didn’t live in such an affluent area, would we be happier if we didn’t feel inadequate because our grass was (literally) not as green as the house across the street?

So this post has evolved from where do you save money in your everyday to how much do you feel like you’re just running to keep up and can’t quite get there…

Well, speak your mind!

I went into CVS the other morning to buy some scotch tape and found myself yawning uncontrollably, so I bought one of those coffee-flavored, vitamin-packed, large-can “energy” drinks, the quick pick-me-up.

The funny thing, I can’t get past 10am without needing a caffeine hit, and by early afternoon I need another.

Addiction? Probably. But why I am so tired all the time?

There’s a piece today in the NY Times about how we’re all more stressed and sleeping less, and I won’t lie that since my layoff and the general state of the world, I’ve been sleeping much worse, but still at least 5-6 hours - that should be plenty for a man of my age and vigor, right?

A cursory google search provides this result from webmd, which would suggest that I am better off avoiding one of the bunk energy drinks, but I began to wonder if the amazing proliferation of these drinks actually speaks to a larger demand in society - are we all tired and in need of a daily jolt?

Of course, parenting takes a lot out of us, and the daily grind of being a working parent undoubtedly adds to the effect, but are we living our lives the wrong way in the US? Do the Europeans and their 35-hour workweeks and 6 weeks of vacation know how to live better, with their priorities in the right place?

Oh, so many questions that I cannot answer; all I know is that I need a nap or another cup of coffee and it’s not even noon yet.

How about you: are you under-slept, always tired? What do you do about it?

Well, I am happy (and mostly relieved) to say that I am finally back in the employment saddle (starting Monday) after a not-so-fun 3+ months (which is the understatement of the year).

So instead of reflecting on the time I spent digitally networking and wearing the same dress pants for 4 interviews in a row (because I thought they were lucky), I am thinking about how our family coped with this disruption and how we will be happy to return to our family’s routine.

By nature I am neither organized nor tidy, but being married to a highly organized and clean (and amazing) woman has transformed me (a little bit). So while I never thought that maintaining a routine - daily and weekly - would be of importance, it turns out that keeping structure in our daily life amidst the insanity was very important.

We may be more set in a routine than others, but just as our daughter grew out of her “chaotic” infant months by finally conforming to a set nap and feeding schedule, we tried to simulate the “normal” daily routine in terms of who drops off and picks up our daughter from school, who is around in the house, etc. And the funny thing is that because of this, our daughter didn’t know I wasn’t working (being not quite 5 was helpful), and it made the whole situation somehow less mentally taxing.

And on Monday I will go back to the pre-layoff daily grind, with all of its annoyances, but I have a newfound appreciation both for being employed and for my wife, who ensured that we retained our routine over the past 3 months, and it was imperative.

What is your family’s schedule and is it mission critical to keep everything running smoothly in the daily juggle?

I have probably hit on this topic before (when I confessed that I didn’t know how to make pasta). But to piggyback on my last post about the ways in which men and women deal with unemployment, the interesting thing was that most of the comments focused on the fact that us men just don’t even SEE what needs to be DONE, whereas the domestic duties are somehow genetically programmed into the female brain - is this really true (or are we - I - just lazy)?

For example, I don’t walk into the kitchen and see the crumbs on the counter that need to be wiped or the dirty floor or the “mess” on the counter, but I know my wife does.

I say things like: “It looked clean to me.” (And it really did, but somehow it wasn’t.) So how are we to explain this phenomenon?

I mean, I will admit, growing up I was a bit of a slob, and the running joke with my wife is that when we met, she didn’t realize I had a big armchair in my apartment because IT WAS COVERED WITH CLOTHES.

Funny stuff, right?

I mean it is undisputed that men and women are wired differently - emotionally and otherwise - but do us guys just not see the dirt, do we not care about the dirt, or do we actually, possibly like the dirt (being closely related to primates as we are)?

I really struggle with this, not only because it causes friction at home, but because, honestly, many times I really, truly believe that a domestic task is done, that I am proud, that my wife will approve, and yet somehow I “missed a spot.” And I am not asking for points just because I’m “trying.” I am genuinely interested in this topic because it seems to be such a sore spot in so many households (”he doesn’t do anything”) - so why?

What’s the deal in your house and can we blame it all on bad genes?

Unemployment leaves you with time for ruminating, self-reflection (and doubt), and it tests your personal resolve.

I keep linking to the NY Times’ Well blog because their posts continue to be pertinent; most recently, “The Isolation of Unemployment.”

But while the original post itself was timely, what struck me - as so often happens - was one of the comments, which I will quote here:

“Men need to learn to develop an inner life. Most women who find themselves unemployed marvel at how much they get done that they can’t do when employed. Learn to be alone with yourself. It is amazing what you will learn.”

Whoa. So this hit me hard.

First off, what a blatant generalization about the sexes. And second, is it actually true - do I not have an “inner life?”

I will say that this experience of unemployment is one that I hope never to repeat again - to be out of work when I need to be working is just plain bad, and I cannot see how women would be able to get more done while unemployed. I basically spend all of my time trying to find another job - doesn’t everyone do the same?

But this differentiation of the sexes bothers me; I tend to believe that how someone deals with periods of stress (and loneliness) is not necessarily related to their gender, rather their makeup as a human and their ability to mentally “weather the storm.” Are men less “strong” in this regard - and in this particular period of stress - because we define ourselves with our jobs and without them we feel vacant? I don’t really think so.

For me, it is a new and odd and scary existence - because it is so unfamiliar: I have never before been without a job, so I have needed to learn how to adapt, but I don’t think my struggles can be tied to my lack of some sort of “inner life.” But perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps you women are better equipped to deal with unemployment and loneliness and other life challenges better than us because you are more emotionally in-tune.

All I know is that I do miss the daily interaction and - as many other commenters suggest - I try to ensure that I schedule calls and meetings everyday, so that I don’t find myself slipping into a mental place from which it will be more difficult to escape. And that seems to be a universal theme, not a male one: we all need human interaction, and work frequently brings us that daily dose, even if it is often wrought with another kind of stress.

Above all, I’ve certainly gained a new perspective on employment as well as learned how I cope with stress - not too well (though in these times, it’s certainly tough to fight back the stress).

I continue to wonder, though, about that comment, and whether there is a kernel of truth to the notion that us men have not evolved inner lives and might we be afraid of what we find if we chose to look a little deeper to find there’s not much there?

I am VERY curious to hear your thoughts on this, so please, sound off!

Hi, my name is Avi and I am a digital addict.

There, I said it.

I had been trying to fight the truth for awhile (the first step in the process is denial, right?), but with spring right around the corner (yes, it must be) I felt it was time to come clean and admit my faults (well, one of them at least).

My blackberry is an appendage.

I check my gmail account at least 192 times a day (I estimate that I check my email every 5 minutes during the hours that I am awake, say 7 am - 11 pm, sometimes more; so that’s 16 hours, or 960 minutes, and every 5 minutes is 192 times, just to show you that I really care).

Now, granted, I am not currently employed, so this increases the need to check my email frequently, to see which of the multitude of companies will be offering me a job at 10:55 pm on a Thursday night (but who’s counting anyway).

So not only is my career based around the use of a computer and a blackberry, which sees me emailing to endless people well into the night, but I really, truly, cannot seem to go more than 4 minutes without feeling the urge to check my email - JUST IN CASE THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE AND I MIGHT BE ABLE TO SAVE IT. Really, is anything in life so important?

(One disclosure: while I am watching “Lost” I can typically resist the urge.)

So, of course, this digital addiction bothers me on two levels: first, I don’t actually want to nurse this addiction, and second, I am honestly worried that my daughter - and her whole generation for that matter - is going to grow up with computer chips embedded in their brains and maybe all of this digital connectivity stuff isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Beyond all of the “children spend too much time online and not interacting face-to-face with real people and that is bad” commentary, what will happen to us, and our children, when everything - and I mean everything - is digitally interconnected and all I have to do to check my email is close my eyes and have the “email/ESP” messages beamed into the frontal lobe of my brain?

What do you think? And are you an addict, too?