First-time parents: Trust me, you've got this

(NOTE: Following is something I originally posted on June 11, 2012. It was titled "The Numbing Realization That No Parent Really Has Any Idea What They're Doing," and it got a nice response. Probably because it expresses fears and feelings that most rookie parents experience. I changed the headline a bit this time around, but the sentiment remains the same. I hope you like it.)

Howie Mandel said something once that still resonates with me.

This was when Howie was doing stand-up comedy back in the mid-80s. And he still had hair. And he wasn't so OCD about people touching him. And he used to stretch a surgical glove over his head and blow it up with his nose, which I still find hilarious because I'm an extremely simple man who will laugh at almost anything.

Anyway, Howie and his wife had just had their first child. He said that sometimes he would stop in the middle of what he was doing and say to himself, "I'm someone's dad." The point being that he was just a big goofball and someone in authority had clearly messed up if he, Howie Mandel, was allowed to be the father of a tiny human being.

I'm willing to bet there's not a parent alive who has not felt something similar. You can read all the books you want. You can babysit all the kids you want. You can take all the classes you want. But when you bring that baby home from the hospital for the first time and there are no longer any nurses around to take the little rugrat away whenever you feel the least bit sleepy,that's when reality sets in.

It starts as a low-grade panic somewhere deep in your stomach. And then it gets worse as you realize this is actually happening, and that YOU are the one who is ultimately responsible for the well-being of this impossibly small creature.

And you think to yourself, "This isn't good. I am not in the least bit qualified for this job. I am a Grade A screw-up who can barely remember to change the filter in my fish tank, and suddenly I have to feed, dress and otherwise oversee the upbringing of another person? No, this is not good..."

I remember when Terry and I brought Elissa home from the hospital. We were both dead tired (she more so than me, for reasons that should be obvious). Elissa was sleeping peacefully, as I recall, but when we unloaded everything from the car and laid her down in her little bassinet, we realized we had no idea what to do next. Not a clue.

I think we just sort of sat and stared at each other for a minute. Then we turned on the TV. Whenever Elissa made any sort of noise, we both jumped up and checked on her to see what was wrong.

That night, our first as parents in our own home, was terrible. Elissa continued making the sort of small, ultimately inconsequential noises that newborns do. And every time she did, one or both of us would jerk our heads up and wonder if we needed to go and get her.

By the next morning, we were wrecks. Tired, disheveled and most of all crushingly disheartened at the prospect of spending the next several hundred nights doing the same thing.

But somehow we got through. Night by night we survived. We developed a little routine where I would get up first whenever Elissa awoke, change her diaper, and bring her to Terry for breastfeeding.

Slowly but surely, things got easier. We managed to keep Elissa alive long enough for Chloe to be born. And then Jared. And then Melanie. And finally Jack. And somewhere along the way we learned what it meant to be parents. We're still learning, in fact.

I hope Howie eventually did, too.

The numbing realization that no parent really has any idea what they're doing

Howie Mandel said something once that still resonates with me.

This was when Howie was doing stand-up comedy back in the mid-80s. And he still had hair. And he wasn't so OCD about people touching him. And he used to stretch a surgical glove over his head and blow it up with his nose, which I still find hilarious because I'm an extremely simple man who will laugh at almost anything.

Anyway, Howie and his wife had just had their first child. He said that sometimes he would stop in the middle of what he was doing and say to himself, "I'm someone's dad." The point being that he was just a big goofball and someone in authority had clearly messed up if he, Howie Mandel, was allowed to be the father of a tiny human being.

I'm willing to bet there's not a parent alive who has not felt something similar. You can read all the books you want. You can babysit all the kids you want. You can take all the classes you want. But when you bring that baby home from the hospital for the first time and there are no longer any nurses around to take the little rugrat away whenever you feel the least bit sleepy, that's when reality sets in.

It starts as a low-grade panic somewhere deep in your stomach. And then it gets worse as you realize this is actually happening, and that YOU are the one who is ultimately responsible for the well-being of this impossibly small creature.

And you think to yourself, "This isn't good. I am not in the least bit qualified for this job. I am a Grade A screw-up who can barely remember to change the filter in my fish tank, and suddenly I have to feed, dress and otherwise oversee the upbringing of another person? No, this is not good..."

I remember when Terry and I brought Elissa home from the hospital. We were both dead tired (she more so than me, for reasons that should be obvious). Elissa was sleeping peacefully, as I recall, but when we unloaded everything from the car and laid her down in her little bassinet, we realized we had no idea what to do next. Not a clue.

I think we just sort of sat and stared at each other for a minute. Then we turned on the TV. Whenever Elissa made any sort of noise, we both jumped up and checked on her to see what was wrong.

That night, our first as parents in our own home, was terrible. Elissa continued making the sort of small, ultimately inconsequential noises that newborns do. And every time she did, one or both of us would jerk our heads up and wonder if we needed to go and get her.

By the next morning, we were wrecks. Tired, disheveled and most of all crushingly disheartened at the prospect of spending the next several hundred nights doing the same thing.

But somehow we got through. Night by night we survived. We developed a little routine where I would get up first whenever Elissa awoke, change her diaper, and bring her to Terry for breastfeeding.

Slowly but surely, things got easier. We managed to keep Elissa alive long enough for Chloe to be born. And then Jared. And then Melanie. And finally Jack. And somewhere along the way we learned what it meant to be parents. We're still learning, in fact.

I hope Howie eventually did, too.

(NOTE: Without going into too much detail, I have to tell you that I had a post written for today announcing the end of this blog. There were a variety of reasons for that, just as there were even more reasons why I decided last night to keep it going. I honestly just couldn't walk away from it. You guys are great fun and a joy to write for. One of the main reasons I decided to push on was my daughter Melanie, who told me, "You can't quit! You haven't written about me yet!" Every kid in the family thinks I write about their siblings more than them. But let the record show that Melanie is truly one of the most beautiful, smart, kind-hearted people I know. She's one of those kids who is good at a lot of different things, but often focuses on the stuff she isn't as good at. Which is a shame, because Melanie is just plain talented. She's going to go far in life and I can't even express how much I love my little "Shmoo" (we used to call her that when she was little). So there you go, my little Mel!)

HEY, FOREIGNERS!

Next week, two Brazilian high school students will arrive in Cleveland and spend 12 days living with my family.

Cool, huh? It's part of a cultural exchange program coordinated by the Cleveland Council on World Affairs and the U.S. State Department. In all, eight students (four girls, four boys) and a teacher will be living with host families around Wickliffe for almost two weeks. The organizers had trouble finding hosts for all of the boys, so while we were already slated to take in a girl, we told them to send us a guy, too.

We're crazy that way.

Actually, we're quite used to having foreign visitors. Every year since 2006, we've housed two young British soccer coaches for a week in June. It's in conjunction with Challenger Sports and the British Soccer Camp, which I coordinate for the Wickliffe Soccer Club. Each year we get a different pair of coaches, but they're always Brits in their early 20's and always very nice guys.

Importantly, they're also always native English speakers. Our two young Brazilian friends will, of course, be Portuguese speakers, though we've been assured that all of the kids are fluent in English, as well.

That's good, because there are certain concepts I would be hard pressed to convey to houseguests who had trouble with English.

"THIS IS THE DOWNSTAIRS TOILET! SOMETIMES IT MAKES A FUNNY NOISE AFTER YOU FLUSH IT, AND YOU HAVE TO JIGGLE THE HANDLE TO GET IT TO STOP!"

I put that in all caps because I'm sure I would talk very loudly to them. It's very much an American thing to raise your voice when trying to make yourself understood by someone who struggles with English. As Howie Mandel once asked, how does this help? If someone came up to you on the street and said, "Ooza macuza boogadooga lambada," and you replied with a look of total incomprehension, would it help in the least bit if they said the same thing over again in a louder voice? ("OOZA MACUZA BOOGADOOGA LAMBADA!!!")

Anyway, I'm glad the language thing won't be a barrier. Not sure about food, though. The soccer coaches are generally not picky and will eat whatever American slop you put in front of them. Will the same be true of teenage Brazilian kids? We'll find out. Luckily, Terry is an excellent cook, and everything she makes is good. Seriously, everything. I would weigh about 112 pounds if I were married to anyone else.

Our female Brazilian guest is named Paula (she's 18), and the boy is Luiz (16). They each have something like 28 last names, because that's what Brazilians do. It's one of about 100 things that make Brazilians cool, in my estimation. Another thing is that they're very touchy-feely people. They have no problem sitting right next to someone they've just met, or talking to you with their face 4 inches from yours. I like that (in the most legal and ethical sense, of course).

In addition to having already hosted foreigners, we also have the advantage of living in a state of constant chaos anyway. Throwing two more people into our seven-person house will make almost no real difference in our daily "routine." I use the quotes there because we have no routine. Life is a constant adventure. Paula and Luiz will probably be here for three days before I even notice them.

While the Brazilians will spend their evenings and weekends with us, the rest of the time they'll be running around Cleveland experiencing all sorts of educational, volunteer and entertainment activities. They're going to do more in this town in 12 days than I've done in a lifetime. Frankly, I'm jealous.

I'll let you know how the whole thing goes. In the meantime, how much do you want to bet I'll end up yelling some incomprehensible English phrase to them at least once while they're here? ("THAT'S JACK. SOMETIMES HE RUNS AROUND THE HOUSE WITH NO PANTS ON. PLEASE IGNORE HIM.")