7 Things My Dad Taught Me

10 years ago this week, my dad, Peter Czernek, lost his life to cancer. He was 59 years old, and I was 23.

Circa 1971. My parents were awesome.

The advice that parents dispense to teenagers and young adults often seems like wasted breath. After all, young people already know everything. I certainly did. But somewhere on the way to real adulthood, something happens. We learn to empathize with our parents. We begin to understand their advice, and we wish we had listened. We realize they have been wiser all along than we ever gave them credit for being.

Family vacation 2011

We recently returned from our first road trip as a family of four.

Really, it was two trips in one. Part one was a weekend with friends in the Black Hills. 6 families, 24 people, 13 kids aged 4 and under, all in one house. It was happy, beautiful chaos.

We went to Mount Rushmore and the Flintstones village. Mostly, we enjoyed one another's company and let the kids be kids. There were impromptu ballet recitals and games of tag, hide and seek, and hopscotch. There were hours spent drawing with sidewalk chalk, pretending to be horses, and putting rocks into little piles (most popular with the under-2 set).

Super Goonie's Adventures in Chanhassen

This is Super Goonie.

He belongs to a group of my friends who call ourselves The Goonies. We met on the Internet, most of us through a birth board for mothers with due dates in March 2007. Back then, we were a diverse and hormonal group of expectant and new mothers united by our interest in discussing our babies with strangers. Today, we're parents of four-year-olds - and many more children as well.

I could do better.

I haven't blogged much recently. I can blame the demands of working, caring for two kids, trying to get into shape, playing Facebook games, and whatever other endeavors swallow my time and attention - but the truth is, there's something else, too. Ideas pop into my mind, sentences form, and then I second-guess myself. I worry that my words, once typed, won't sound right. I worry that the ideas I found compelling in my mind won't be interesting to anyone else. I worry that someone, perhaps myself, will read my blog and think "Meh, I could do better."

Four years, six desserts, one birthday girl

Today is Evie's fourth birthday. Based on my limited knowledge of human brain development, this is the first birthday she has any real chance of remembering. Even if she does take something away from this, for the rest of her life, it will probably be a glimmer - like how it felt to ride a bike for the first time:

The "B" Word

Like every well-intentioned mother, I made grand declarations in the early days of pregnancy and motherhood, back when books and magazines seemed like acceptable substitutes for wisdom and experience. I'll make my own baby food! I'll be calm and consistent in all matters of discipline! I'll never buy my children toy guns or Barbie dolls!

Reality had a way of softening my firmest intentions, as "I'll make all my own baby food!" subsided to "I'll buy prepackaged food, but only if it's organic," which gave way to "A Fruit Roll-Up is practically a fruit, right?"

But Barbie, well, Barbie was about something else. She wasn't just a doll, she was a loaded metaphor.