Catholic Husband

This is our first house with a fence. A simple wooden structure that encloses our backyard doesn’t seem like much. In fact, it was built years ago and no one ever stained it. To me, it provides a safe place to let the children run free while I supervise through the kitchen windows. To my kids, it’s the boundary around their kingdom.

As I sit here at the kitchen table with my laptop, the big kids are out back playing. It’s a beautiful spring day with a clear blue sky. A large, leafy tree is giving the backyard plenty of shade. Looking out the window, I see my kids running back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. We have a toy bin on the deck that occasionally gets used, but for the most part, they just run around.

My three-year-old girl is seeking refuge under a tree, while her big sister walks around picking flowers and looking for little creatures. It looks like she found a caterpillar that she’s gingerly carrying around to show everyone. My son is running laps, no doubt on a grand imaginary expedition.

There’s soft music on the speaker playing here in the kitchen, the laundry running in the background. Other than that, it’s quiet.

Being an at-home dad, I have hours each day with my kids. They’re constantly looking to me for guidance, direction, and programming. That’s a great thing, but it’s also great for them to have their space. It’s a great thing for them to turn on their imaginations and to be curious about the world around them. It’s a great thing for them to be out in creation, free to do as they please. They run, they hunt, they explore, they play, they connect.

When they come inside, their little cheeks will be all flush. In those minutes that they spent in the backyard, they were whatever they wanted to be and exactly who they are. Backyards are special places.

There’s a truth that is never clear in the mind of a child: everything a parent does is for a reason. They rarely can see the bigger picture, so an individual request (command?) is easily resisted. They miss the love that is behind the guidance laid out by their parents.

I love my children and want what’s best for them. Patience is not a virtue that I have in great supply, but on some subjects, I am quite patient. When my patience expires, it’s time to change my strategy. Occasionally, that strategy is a well-placed bribe.

As the eldest of four children, my son hasn’t quite grasped his standing among his siblings. If he understood just how much his younger sisters follow his example and leadership, he might be tempted to use it for his personal gain. While it’s amusing to observe, it can cut both ways.

Like many kids, he prefers not to try new foods. He has his core rotation and never ventures far from it. Unbeknownst to him, the moment he refuses food, his sisters follow suit. Talk about frustrating.

No parent wants to spoil their children, but after all the work that goes into planning, shopping for, and preparing a dinner, it can be a little much. We’ve tried strategy after strategy for years, and it was time for a change. Alison and I tried to bribe them with rewards for clean plate awards. To our great delight, it worked!

My middle daughter declared me the “greatest chef ever,” and now they ask me for the previous night’s dinner at lunch. Frittatas, chicken cordon blue, they love it all!

Sadly, it didn’t stick. The kids collected their prizes, and we’re back to the trenches. I don’t think that we failed, I think it’s simply another bump in the road. Despite their refusal to try anything new as of late, we did get them to try several new dishes. I’m also happy when they ask for me to make some of those favorites again.

I think that children should do the right thing because it’s what’s asked of them. But now and then, it’s okay to hold out a carrot and see what happens.

Alison and I bought our first home last year. Leading up to the purchase, I failed to anticipate how much different ownership would make me feel. I figured it was a simple transaction in which we traded one house we were living in for another. I was so wrong.

A few months in and we’re getting more settled by the day. Our weekly routine, where we play, where we read, and where we hang out are all well established. Now that we have a good sense of the house, we’re ready to make our mark. Our home has suffered from a bit of neglect and, thankfully, most repairs and improvements are simple.

With Spring here, we started work in earnest on the exterior last weekend. We spent all afternoon on Saturday working our way around the house, punching things off our list. I cleaned a gutter that wasn’t draining properly, Alison replanted a flowerbed by our mailbox. We pulled down an unused satellite dish, fixed a dilapidated gate, and removed dozens of yards of superfluous wiring. I bought a chainsaw, our new favorite tool, and we cut down our first bush. It was a very full afternoon.

The whole time while Alison and I were working, our kids ran around playing. They’d climb my ladder, help Alison dig, check out various tools, and explore their kingdom. Veronica happily (at least for a bit) rolled around in her playpen. She also spent a fair amount of time sitting up, watching people work.

As I stood on the ladder vacuuming debris out of the gutter, I realized how satisfying it is to be a homeowner. I’m empowered to address any issue and do so on my schedule. Each afternoon of work leaves our home that much better.

I completed my second Consecration to St. Joseph last week. Throughout that process, several times a day, I’d think about him, his life, and his titles. As we worked out in the yard, I thought about how Joseph worked to make the Holy Family’s home more comfortable. He had to take care of all the little things, just like me.

Our connection to the saints, is something exceptional within the theology of Catholicism. These holy men and women were people, just like us. They lived mostly ordinary lives except for their extraordinary virtue. If St. Joseph could attain holiness in the simple act of patching a hole in his home’s wall or addressing a leak from the roof, so can I.

This weekend was pretty special. My father-in-law is in town for the week. He came for a visit and to assemble a playground for my kids in our new backyard. On Sunday, we came home from Mass and went outside to play for a bit and eat our lunch. We then stayed outside until dinner time.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The warm sun shone down on us in a clear blue sky. Alison took down some more chicken wire and picked up bricks that were inexplicably strew across our backyard. I cleaned up my workbench, swept the garage, and washed cars. Grandpa got to play and play with the kids on their new fort.

There was something cathartic about a day well spent, and one spent outside. It’s been a long, hard winter. More than that, we’re all fatigued from a year of being cooped up. An entire afternoon spent in the great outdoors and checking off projects just felt good. I breathed deeply and felt the hope that comes with the first signs of Spring.

In the eight years that I’ve shared my thoughts and life on this blog, I’ve observed many times that idleness seems like rest, but rarely is. When the sun went down and the kids tucked into their beds, I spent another 90 minutes cleaning and tidying up inside. I felt tired. That tired feeling that affirms that I spent my day the right way, using it to accomplish good work.

Work and play may be exhausting, but they can also be restorative. I’m going to try to spend more days working, playing, and praying.