Peace of mind from inside a bathroom stall

http://www.limaohio.com/articles/people_25777___article.html/restroom_time.html

Don't tell anyone, but I started writing this column from my bathroom.
I spend a lot of time in the restroom these days, and it's probably not why you think.
Lest anyone worry about my colon's health, it's just fine. The waterworks are just fine too. But I've found something while using the facilities I never noticed before.
Silence.
I find that as much as I like being a husband, a dad and a boss, sometimes you just miss that golden quiet that constantly surrounds you when you're younger.
It's harder and harder to take a deep breath and relax without some kind of interruption. At my desk at work or on the couch at home, there's always that threat of someone needing me to drop everything and come running for the crisis of the day.
That's the beauty of the bathroom. It's my fortress of solitude. No one would dare bother me in here.
The Fonz from "Happy Days" liked to ask people to step into his office, the men's restroom at Al's Diner. I, on the other hand, like people to step away from mine. I can't make a jukebox go by bumping it with my fist, either.
I always feel uncomfortable when people want to chat when they see me in the restroom at work. I've adopted this sanitary code: I try not to talk to anyone until we're both washing our hands.
Perhaps my joy at hiding in a silent stall is an indictment of how accessible people are nowadays.
If I'm within 10 feet of my desk, the ring of my phone or ding of my e-mail draw me back, no matter why I walk away.
If I'm within two floors of our children, the scream of a baby or pout of a first-grader push me into action, no matter how inconsequential her request seems.
That's the draw of the commode. It's out of hearing range from most other distractions. Most of the time, I wouldn't dare answer my cell phone from a seated position in that room.
And, most wonderfully, people feel uncomfortable interrupting your time inside a restroom. Apparently most assume you're doing more than taking a breather.
I hadn't realized how much time I spent in the downstairs bathroom of our home until our 6-year-old asked my wife if she could use "Daddy's bathroom." Apparently those five-minute visits made it mine. Perhaps she chalks it up to squatter's rights.
I love the people in my life dearly, but sometimes you just need a couple of minutes to yourself. Sometimes I'll pad out a visit to finish reading an interesting article. Sometimes I'll start writing something. Or perhaps it's just for a relaxing game of solitaire on the cell phone.
Some people solve their problems over a night's rest. I solve mine over five minutes in a restroom.
I'm not sure whoever decided the restroom was for the bladder and intestines only, anyway. I'll take my rest anyway I can get it - even if it seems like I'm flushing my free time down the toilet.

I’m not sorry, it’s going to be a girl

http://www.limaohio.com/articles/little_25122___article.html/someone_girl.html
July 7, 2008 - 6:44PM
David Trinko

They look back at you as if you'd just delivered awful news. Still, they don't want to acknowledge they think it's bad news.

"Oh, well, sorry to hear that," they'll say. "You can always try again. It'll happen for you someday."

What makes it such an awkward conversation is there's no bad news. It's good news. This is what I hear when I tell people my wife's expecting another little girl.

If you're keeping score at home, the expected delivery in September will make it three little girls, no little boys at the Trinko home. And that "no little boys" part is what leaves well-intentioned family, friends and occasional strangers stammering.

To listen to them, you'd think someone was diagnosed with something heart-wrenching ... perhaps cancer, emphysema or Alzheimer's. Instead, someone's been diagnosed with two X chromosomes.

There's a stigma in the world that you can't be a happy father unless you play catch with your boy. It's impossible to be a proud papa unless someone with your name on the back of his jersey throws the winning touchdown pass. Your family's not complete unless there's someone to pass on the family name for another generation.

That stigma is ridiculous. It's also incredibly sexist to assume that having another girl in your family is some type of letdown in life.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not opposed to having boys. I wouldn't mind someone else to blame if there's a misfire on a toilet seat. I wouldn't mind saddling him for life with a last name that everyone will ask him to spell, only to hear, "Oh, just like it sounds."

I wouldn't mind a little more testosterone in our home. It's difficult being the only guy in the house, aside from our dog, who was fixed and thus only counts as half a male. A little more cheering at the TV and a little less crying wouldn't hurt my feelings.

But that's not what drives you as a father. When the woman at the obstetrician's office told us our next child was a girl, my first question said everything: "Is she healthy?"

And, yes, she is so far, which forecasts another 18 years of dance performances and playing Barbies for me.

But it doesn't mean I won't be able to enjoy watching her play in sporting events or dominating a science fair. It doesn't mean she won't be able to read, write, joke or play just the same as any boy would.

I also chuckle to myself when I hear people ask my wife if she's going to "try again to give him a boy."

It's hard not to imagine reviving a scene from "Lion King," lifting baby Simba high above Pride Rock to present him to the adoring masses. Perhaps in my case, I'd lift a baby boy high above my head in the newsroom, proclaiming him the Junior Senior Content Editor.

I also don't believe my wife and I ever discussed plans to "give her a girl." Near as I can tell, we share our children.

Besides, it's my own "fault," if you must assign fault, that it'll be a girl. Last I checked, the guy provides the X or Y chromosome. Apparently my Y's are just too wild and free to hit their targets.

I don't know that we'll be aiming for any more children in our future. We have three lovely bedrooms in the house for the children. As someone who shared a room with an older sibling until I was 15, I'd rather not put my children through that kind of torture.

I'll be the first to admit I'm seriously outnumbered and always will be. As far as I'm concerned, it's great news just knowing they'll all be healthy and happy.

Three girls will be just fine, thank you.