Dads in the Limelight – Simon Thomsen

My name is Simon Thomsen and for the most part, I’m a stay-at-home dad with a part-time gig preparing the salad bar at a nearby Whole Foods. So when I’m not changing diapers; chauffeuring my kids to and from school, dance class, doctor’s appointments, and gymnastics; or determining which veggie I might be able to sneak into my daughter’s mac and cheese, I’m usually “maintaining the organic integrity” of various produce. Yes, that’s a thing, and it’s very important to grocers. At least that’s what I’ve learned.

I taught sixth grade Language Arts prior to this, but I left teaching to stay at home with my two daughters. I never looked back, though I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the students and coworkers. Teaching is tough, and I’m forever grateful I had them, especially while navigating the challenges of our educational system. Since I left, teachers have taken to the streets in droves. I assume it’s because I am sorely missed.

I live with three wonderful women: My wife Kim, my five-year-old Arya, and my two-year-old Evelyn. Kim handles employee long- and short-term leave for a local hospital. Any sense of professionalism in our house is confined to her. She’s passionate about the medical field and she works her tail off to support us freeloaders. As a result, I get to do the things I love: Hang out with my girls, cook, and write.

The girls are two unintentional comedians, though sometimes the comic timing is completely intentional and spot on: The five-year-old once saw Trump on television, and knowing my disdain for the man she said, “I love him. He is my boyfriend.” Then she laughed maniacally, knowing she’d just shaken to me to the core in a Don Rickles fashion. Yet she is also an empathetic and anxious sweetheart committed to order, organization, and My Little Pony.

The two-year-old, meanwhile, is a fast-moving ball of constant chaos obsessed with lip gloss. She often has milk caked in her hair. Her asthma so far has failed to slow her down. She’s intense, committed to getting what she wants, and will one day do something incredible if she channels her energy to good, not evil. Fingers are crossed that we are not raising a future dictator. She is also incredibly sensitive, with a personality that  effortlessly steals the affection of an entire room.

They drive each other nuts, but they care deeply for one another and share a bond that is extraordinary.

The biggest challenge is the nagging notion that I’m doing this all wrong. I hate the days that end with me thinking I let the girls watch too much TV that morning, or that maybe I was too hard on them, or maybe I wasn’t stern enough. It’s a never-ending cycle that isn’t really helped by my own history of anxiety and depression.

BUT that comes and goes. Sometimes one or both of the kids will do something as simple as sitting next to me without saying a word, and there’s a sense of calm and joy and serenity, and I’ll know that everything is fine.

You are not ready. You will never be completely prepared, so chill out. Things will work out.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

In all seriousness, parenthood seeps into all aspects of your life, so it’s more of a “braided” relationship. I quit drinking about a year and a half ago, so I’m not out bar-hopping until all hours of the night and trying to navigate parties, hangovers, and kids, but I do try to get out and see a movie here and there, usually after the girls are in bed. I’m a fan of horror, so I can’t really do this with the girls.

I think it’s important to try to have some time set into the schedule for some type of self-development or hobby, especially if you’re a stay-at-home parent. Some weeks it might not fit into the schedule, or your “me time” might get truncated, but make the effort.

My brother and I, for example, try to meet every other Tuesday to workshop each other’s writing. I’m currently working on a script for a werewolf bromance. Being a dad, I’m not above terrible terrible jokes, so the working title is Lycan Your Style. Terrible dad joke, am I right? See–parenthood seeps into all aspects of your life, even that horror comedy you’re writing on the side.

For some reason I expected there to be a sort of competitiveness, but I’m happy there’s not. Rather, there’s a connection with other dads–a sort of “I get it, man.”

I’ve learned that I’m not alone in facing the challenges that come with parenting. This doesn’t make the challenges go away, but if other dudes are surviving, I know I can too.

I’ve learned to be a better listener. Look, to be blunt, it’s tough listening to kids. Their stories go on forever, or they repeat the same thing a gazillion times, or they forget what they were talking about ten minutes into a rambling narrative about a dead mouse they saw on the playground or something. As someone interested in screenwriting, I’m usually thinking “You could really tighten this up.”

But it pays off to listen, to be in tune with what they’re saying. Evelyn, for example, has struggled with her asthma from day one. By January of 2017, we had already met our yearly family deductible thanks to her medical emergencies. This is what lead me to quit my job and stay home. Teacher pay wasn’t worth the headache of balancing doctor’s appointments, day care, and a heavy professional workload.

Anyway, she’s two, and toddlers aren’t exactly known as great communicators. But by putting in the effort to actually listen, life has been so much easier in that I can distinguish between tired, cranky whining and the “I actually need something” whining. I can tailor my response more effectively.

Additionally, I think the fact that these kids want to tell you anything, even if it is a rambling story, is a way showing affection. Maybe something happened to them and you mean enough to them that they want to share their experience in their own undeveloped way. Sit back and take it in.

I believe this also sets an important expectation, especially for daughters: You deserve to be listened to.

In light of the #MeToo movement, this is a simultaneously scary, important, and exciting time to be raising girls, and I think a new template is being forged for current fathers of daughters. I feel like I’m a part of a movement of feminist parents creating this template, and I hope the fathers of young sons are taking a similar approach.

Lately, I’ve gotten a kick out of my two-year-old’s obsession with Lord of the Rings, which is getting me in a little bit of trouble. Honestly, I didn’t need to expose her to those movies, and now she can’t over the fact that Frodo loses a finger (something I’d forgotten about), and she’s telling everybody about it, including Kim, who hasn’t seen the movies. “I want to show Mommy Lord of Wings,” she says, and I’m like Let’s not do that.

One of my other favorite moments was a strangely philosophical conversation with my five-year-old.

We were in the car, I guess lost in our own thoughts. Then she broke the silence with one of those dreaded BIG QUESTIONS:

“Daddy,” she asked, “where do we go when we die?”

What was I to say? We aren’t a particularly religious family. I guess I can consider myself an atheist, and my approach to my kids’ spirituality has been pretty hands off.

“Well,” I started, carefully crafting my response, “I don’t know. Many people believe you go to heaven. Others believe you don’t really go anywhere. Others think you are born again–you know, as someone else.”

She didn’t say anything. She just sat in her car seat and peered out the window. The silence was killing me. “Where do you think you go when you die?” I asked.

Without looking at me, she responded: “I think you go to the hospital.”