I didn’t really have much to post this week, but I’ve been noticing something. As parents, we all want to react better. Teach better. Lead better. But I’ve realized something uncomfortable about myself. The moments when I get the most frustrated with my son are often the moments when he’s struggling with something I struggled with. Sometimes it’s big things like emotional regulation or impulse control. Sometimes it’s small things like a motor skill or learning something new. For a long time, I think I labeled those as “weaknesses” I would see in myself. But that’s not actually true. They aren’t weaknesses. I’ve grown through those things. I’ve built systems. I’ve matured. I function well. If they were truly weaknesses, I would still be stuck there. What they really are…are insecurities. Old ones. When I see him struggle, it taps into a younger version of me that remembers being behind, or being corrected, or feeling embarrassed, or feeling out of control. And that’s when I get the most cross. Not when he’s in danger. Not when it’s about health or safety. Those moments are clear and protective. It’s when my own unresolved stuff resurfaces. That’s the part I have to own. Because if I’m not careful, I won’t be correcting his behavior. I’ll be reacting to my past...and that’s not fair to him. So the lesson for me right now is this: Before I correct him, I need to check myself. Is this about his growth or is this about my old wounds? If it’s the second one, that’s my work to do. Not his. I’m curious if anyone else has noticed this in themselves.

Lately, my son and I have been doing something simple every morning. After breakfast, we set a five minute timer and we “be gorillas.” That’s it. Gorilla time. It started as basic roughhousing and nonverbal play. Chest pounding, crawling around, making ridiculous noises. The kind of physical father son play every study says is good for kids. But it’s become more than that. Sometimes we stay in full gorilla mode. Sometimes we’re gorillas while listening to his Toniebox. Sometimes we’re gorillas who count. Sometimes it’s just exercise and eye contact and figuring each other out without words. A few things I’ve noticed about it: We set a timer. When the timer goes off, we’re done. That structure matters. It’s teaching him that activities have boundaries and that transitions are part of life. It’s his choice. I don’t bring it up. If he wants gorilla time, he asks for it. If he loses interest halfway through, the timer keeps running and we move on when it ends. I don’t chase him to re-engage. He’s starting to learn that if something matters to him, he has to prioritize it. There’s physical play, which builds connection. There’s nonverbal communication, which we’re still working on. There’s structure. There’s agency. And it’s five minutes. I love movies. Sharing a film with him feels special. But if I’m honest, there have been plenty of times we’ve just vegged on the couch. That’s not really connection. That’s proximity. Gorilla time feels different. It’s intentional. It’s active. It’s ours. I don’t think everyone needs to “be gorillas.” But I do think every dad should have something small, repeatable, and special that belongs just to them and their kid. Even five minutes can mean something. What’s your version of gorilla time?

Anyone else feel like being a father is a proud title you earn after you pass your genes to another generation. All while fulfilling a natural position as a man. …while being a is about getting regularly disrespected by a tiny human who you just want to get dressed for the day? 🤣🤣🤣

Earlier this week I asked a question here about my son’s behavior, and I wanted to reflect on it now that I’ve had some space. What I’m realizing is that it isn’t just “bad behavior.” It’s a storm of things coming together. His actions, his emotional regulation, the way excitement can tip him past the point of self-control, our expectations as parents, and the explanation we hear a lot: “I wasn’t thinking.” And here’s where I’m landing. “I wasn’t thinking” can be an explanation, but it can’t be the end of the conversation. It isn’t an excuse. At first, it feels like progress just getting to that awareness. Okay, we know this happens when you’re overstimulated or overly excited. But the next step matters. The next step is asking why the situation got there in the first place. Why were you in that position? Why were you close enough, involved enough, unchecked enough for this to happen? Those questions are harder to answer, especially when shame shows up. I can see that in him. He feels bad. But I’d rather him sit with a little discomfort around honesty now, if it helps him build awareness and do better next time. This hits close to home for me. I was diagnosed with ADHD young. I’ve been medicated, unmedicated, all of it. I don’t love making it a defining identity, even though I recognize it shapes how my brain works. I actually believe it can be a strength when you build the right systems around it. What I’ve always struggled with is when it’s used as an excuse instead of an explanation. Saying “I can’t do this because I have ADHD” feels very different to me than saying “This takes me longer, and here’s how my process works.” One avoids responsibility. The other owns it. I see the same tension with my son. I understand “I wasn’t thinking.” I’ve been there. I still end up there sometimes. But I don’t want him to stop there. I want him to learn how to recognize patterns, put guardrails in place, and be better than I was at that age. That’s where discipline gets complicated. I don’t believe consequences alone teach someone like us how to regulate or reflect. But I also believe consequences have to exist, because life will hand them out regardless.

How do you handle disciplining your kids? I know there’s a wide age range in this group but if there a certain point, we all need to tell our kids had a behave. Anybody have any tricks for keeping their cool in these situations?