(No music this time.  I have M*A*S*H on in the background.  It seems fitting.)

The wife had surgery recently.  The doctor said it was a routine deal.  The wife had a cyst, likely benign, on her ovary.  We had known about it for a while, but due to certain circumstances, we decided to have it taken care of.  The surgery had been scheduled for a few weeks, but we really didn’t say or talk much about it.  I don’t know if we didn’t think we needed to or just didn’t take the time to do it, but that’s what happened.  Sure, we had discussed the procedure, what it would entail, but it was a logistical conversation.  Even the day before, we didn’t say much about it except for making sure plans were made for childcare.

Then the day of, about 10am, I walked into our room and I said, “I think it has just hit me that you’re having surgery today.”  She said, “Me too.”  We finally talked about the emotional side of it.  It’s kind of scary.  I know there are routine surgeries, but still, it’s surgery.  Call it routine all you want, but she was going to be under general anesthetic, intubated, and cut into.  That’s not routine and we both knew it.

In sickness and in health.  Those words are just part of the vows I took when I got married.  They might be the most overlooked.  Lots of people focus on the “for richer, for poorer” part.  The wife and I do.  We spend a lot of our time working, making money, and budgeting, but it’s strange how we don’t spend a lot of time talking about health.  Now that I think about it, I didn’t fully understood the seriousness of the vows I took.  Sure, I knew what I was saying, I knew what it meant, and I knew I meant it; but is it really possible to understand until you’re in a position of not having health?

Surgery made me think and it wasn’t all good.  When they wheeled her to the OR as I walked to the waiting room, it really hit home.  She’s having surgery.  I began to worry.  My mind began to wander.  You hear about people who go into surgery for something simple and bad things happen.  I don’t know if that makes me a pessimist, or a realist, or lacking in faith, or normal…I just don’t know.  My mind was racing.  That’s my wife, the love of my life.  We have two kids.  Kids take everything to a whole new level.  It’s different when it’s just the two of us, but throw the kids in there, and that’s…I just kept telling myself this is routine.  She had great doctors, great nurses, and this was routine.

What put me at ease was knowing everyone was so nonchalant about what was going on.  The surgeon told us how she was going to get a cheeseburger before surgery and what errands she was going to run afterwards.  I immediately thought, “That would be crazy to have a schedule that looked like, 1. Get something to eat, 2. Cut someone open, 3. Go to the grocery store.”  She said, “Yeah, I do this all the time.”  The nurses were talking about what music they were going to listen to in the OR, like they were going to be working in their garage; putting a new radiator in a car or something.  They asked what music the wife wanted to hear before they knocked her out.  She chose “Purple Rain” by Prince.  The wife was calm too.  The anesthesiologist’s name was Matt and the wife kept calling him Matt Damon because she thought he sounded and looked like him.  It gave everyone a chuckle.  He just laughed it off.  Even though I was nervous, those things gave me peace.  If everyone else was calm about it, I could be too.

Due to our Faith, the wife and I always tell each other that we’re not in control.  I thought about that a lot when I was in the waiting room.  We aren’t in control and in a strange way, that’s comforting.  I don’t have to worry, and usually, I don’t; but, when it’s right in front of your face, it’s different.  Either way, I must have been comforted by not being in control, because I drifted off.

About an hour later I woke to the voice of the surgeon.  She said, “The wife will be just fine.  She’s still on the table, but everything went as expected.  You can go back to sleep.”  You can go back to sleep?  It was then that I knew everything would be okay.

After another hour, the nurse came out and said, “Your wife really wants to see you.”  I couldn’t wait.  I walked into her recovery room.  She was a bit groggy and half asleep, but she managed to give me a smile and tell me she was doing well.  I asked her some questions to see if she’d give up any “secret information” in her goofy state.  No dice. We stayed in recovery for a few hours.  Whenever the wife dozed off, her oxygen levels would drop due to the drug cocktail.  She didn’t feel quite right, so we waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally, the drugs wore off.  Her oxygen levels were back to normal.  They discharged us and we headed home.  We talked about how amazing it was to be able to have surgery and be able to go home the same day.  We talked about how awesome Western medicine is.  We talked about the incredible skill of the doctors.  We even talked about Purple Rain.

I walked the wife in the door, put her on the couch, and went and got our girls from our friend’s house.  Littles couldn’t wait to see momma.  We walked in the door, gave hugs, and Littles said, “It’s good to have you home, momma.  I missed you so much!”  I couldn’t agree more.  Thank you, Jesus…in sickness and in health.

 

(I’m listening to “All I Want” by Toad the Wet Sprocket)

Dropping the kids off is usually an uneventful task, but last Tuesday, it wasn’t.

The day started off as normal.  The wife and I woke up the kids, got them dressed, put some food in them, made sure they had everything they needed for the day, packed it and them in the car, and were ready to go.  It was just like any other day.  About half way through the drive is where things took a turn.

As I was driving the kids to swim lessons, I pulled up to a red light.  I was in the right hand lane and there were two lanes headed each direction.  In the left hand lane, there was a beautiful, white, Tesla with tinted windows and chrome rims.  There was a man in the driver’s seat.  He was wearing dark sunglasses, his hair was perfectly combed, and he was in a suit.  He looked like he was seriously thinking about something.  Maybe it was a stock trade was going to make when he got to his office, or maybe a client meeting. Whatever it was, he looked confident and determined, like his whole day was planned out, and he knew exactly how it was going to play out.  As I was admiring this car, I looked to my right and standing on the street corner was a homeless woman.  She was holding a sign, that read, “Anything helps.  Thank you.”  She was wearing a ratty, grey, t-shirt, and dirty, green capri pants.  She looked like she had been standing there a while.  Her eyes sagged.  She might have been tired, but there was something more behind it.  Her eyes hanged.  She wiped her forehead with her thumb and her index and middle fingers, almost like she was trying to erase the events of the day before they happened.  The look on her face wasn’t just tired, it was despair.  Unlike the man in the Tesla, the look on her face was the opposite.  She had no idea what was going to become of her day and there was absolutely zero confidence and determination in her gaze.

I looked back at the man and back at the woman.  In the background, Macklemore’s song, “Glorious” was playing.  The lyrics, “So when I leave here on this earth, did I take more than I gave?” came out of the speakers and filled my ears.  I looked back at the man, then back at the woman.  I thought, “How can there be such a gap between these two people?”  Then, I looked at myself in my rear view mirror and looked at Littles sitting in her car seat.  She had a patient look on her face while waiting for the light to change.  She had no idea what was going on in my head or even the world around her.  She had no idea I was thinking about how some people can have so much and some could have so little.

I felt convicted.  I rolled down my window and said hello to the woman.  As she walked over to me, I grabbed my wallet, took out a bill, and gave it to her.  She didn’t even look to see what bill it was.  She just said, “Thank you and God bless you.”  I said, “You’re welcome, and God bless you too.”  Tears began to roll out of those hanging eyes, and she said, “You have no idea how much this helps.”  I didn’t.  I couldn’t.  We have more than we need.  I couldn’t possibly understand why this woman was thinking.  The light turned.  We began to move forward and the woman returned to her position on the corner.

I looked into the mirror again.  Littles asked me if I knew that woman.  I said no.  She said, “You talked to a stranger?”  I replied, “Yes.”  She asked, “Why?”  I said, “Because that woman is having a hard time, so I gave her some money.”  We talked about how some people don’t have much and need help.  We talked about how it’s okay for daddy to talk to strangers, but that she shouldn’t unless she’s with daddy or mommy.  We also talked about how we have so much and how fortunate we are.  I didn’t know if Littles understood, but I think I got a glimpse later that night.

As we were putting Littles to bed, she said she had to do something.  This can mean many things.  Usually it means she has to go potty, or find a special toy to sleep with, but this time I could tell it was something different.  I heard the little pitter-patter of her feet as she ran into the living room, then into our room.  There was a little pause, and then she came back to her room.  She said she had a surprise for us and that we should come see.  This is what we found.

Littles had placed one of her animals next to both mine and my wife’s pillow.  These are some of her prized possessions, the things she calls “pecial,” meaning, “special.”  She said we could sleep with them and they would keep us company as we slept so we wouldn’t be lonely.  The wife and I thanked her, and looked at each other and smiled.  The wife put a hand to her heart as if to say it was going to burst.  After we put Littles to bed, I said to the wife, “Wow! I’m surprised Little’s gave up her bunny and her pony.  She loves those things!”  The wife said, “That’s how she shows she loves us.  That’s all she has to give.”  I immediately thought of the homeless woman and the conversation we had earlier that day.  I don’t know if they’re related, but I’d like to think they are.

Littles has such a great heart and I can’t wait to see what she does in this world.  I’ll bet she gives more than she takes.

(I’m listening to “Breathing Underwater” by Metric)

I looked around the house, saw the kids toys and clothes strewn about in every room, and said to the wife, “We have crap everywhere!  We have to get rid of some stuff!”  And that’s how the great toy purge of 2017 began.  The plan was simple.  We’d start in the kids rooms.  Anything they don’t play with anymore or have outgrown, goes.

Purging the kids’ stuff is tougher than it sounds.  We found many items where we said, “Oh! Remember when Littles would play with/wear/do this?”  We’d both get a little nostalgic and then one of us would say, “Yeah, I know, but it’s got to go!  We’d say goodbye, take a picture of the sentimental item, and put it in the donate pile.

I don’t mind the stuff, but I’ll reach a tipping point of being driven crazy if enough stuff isn’t where it belongs.  It’s not just the kids stuff that bothers me, it’s the grown-up stuff too.  Things just start accumulating on shelves, a pile of mail starts magically reproducing on the counter, papers I meant to file for the past two months take up permanent residency next to the fridge.  Laptops, tablets, remote controls, and charging cords find places to live in the living room.  Mix all of it together and it just gets to be too much for me.  I can’t relax.  I’ll sit down to watch TV or write, and piles of crap will just be staring at me.  I’ll eventually reach my breaking point, catch the cleaning bug, and straightened it all out.

The grown-up stuff isn’t so bad, it’s the kids stuff that puts it over the top.  They have some serious stuff.  We bought our house with children in mind.  We knew we wanted them in the near future, so we wanted a house we could “grow into.”  When we moved from our 2-bedroom apartment, the house felt empty.  We had a love seat, a recliner, a coffee table, a TV, and a bed.  I remember thinking, “I can’t see how we’ll ever run out of space in this house!”  Seriously, one of the bedrooms used to be my closet; that’s how much space we had.  Six years and two kids later, our trusty castle can sometimes feel like a room at the Holiday Inn.

With kids, “stuff” goes to a whole new level.  Toys are everywhere, puzzles are half completed, and clothes are littered on the floor.  We have exer-saucers, johnny jump ups, multiple doll strollers, toy shopping carts…you name it, we probably have it.  Littles’ room is the worst.  Her bookshelf is just stuffed full and there’s no rhyme or reason to it.  She’s a little scavenger and when she finds something she likes, (like a rock from outside or and empty water bottle) it immediately becomes “pecial” (she says “pecial” instead of “special”) and it makes its way to her bookshelf.  Her floor doubles as her closet.  She also loves doing arts and crafts.  She’ll scribble on paper, wrap it up in another piece of paper (like a homemade envelope) and tape it shut.  These little treasures get immediate “pecial to me status” and have to be stored on the bookshelf accordingly.  It’s really sight to see.

In all the mess, I’m actually amazed at the wife’s and my memory recall as to where our kids stuff is.  The wife and I will ask each other, “Have you seen Littles’ Wonder Woman cape?”  And I’ll be like, “Yeah, it’s under the chair in her room” almost like a reflex. “Have you seen Lightning McQueen anywhere?”  “Yeah, he’s on the windowsill behind the couch.”  “Do you know where Giant Baby is?”  “Yeah, she’s in the stroller downstairs.”  “Do you know where the last piece of this puzzle is?”  “Yeah, it’s under Tiny’s changing table.”  It’s uncanny.

The wife and I had talked about going through the kids stuff and ditching some of it, but the trick is finding the time in our schedule to sit down and do it.  It’s not a quick half an hour, spur of the moment job.  It’s a scheduled undertaking.  We carved out some time a couple of weeks ago.  So, we unloaded the girls’ rooms and put everything in the living room.  Here was the result.

And that’s like half of it.  I mean really, they have toys they’ve never seen before, books they have never read, clothes they have outgrown before they got a chance to wear.  So, we talked to Littles about giving some of her stuff away.  She was a bit concerned at first, but once we reassured her she’d be able to keep the things that were “pecial” to her and we wouldn’t give away her princess dresses and important stuffed animals, she was fine with the idea.  We told her she had so many toys and clothes and there are other kids that could use it.  So, the great purge of 2017 began.  We gave away a lot of toys they don’t play with anymore, returned items to the people from which we had borrowed them, we put puzzles back together, found missing pieces to toys, and took a load to Goodwill.  The rest we put back in its place.  Littles even helped.  When we were done, we had this:

It was a great accomplishment, but it’s just a step in the process.  Littles room is still a mess (we actually tell her if she doesn’t clean up her stuff it will disappear), but it’s progress.  It also felt good.  The house felt a little lighter, and everything was where it should be.  Now we just have to tackle the storage room and our closets…and the garage…and downstairs.  For now, I’ll just relax, and write.

(Listening to “Walk On the Ocean” by Toad the Wet Sprocket)

I had a birthday this past week.  As Littles would say, “What number are you?”  I joke with the wife and say 30-34 is early 30’s, 35-38 is mid 30’s, and 39 and 39 1/2 are late 30’s.  So, according to my math, I’m officially in my late 30’s.  I had a great birthday week and decided to set a goal I want to reach before I turn 40.

The Monday before my birthday, the wife said, “Pick somewhere to eat.  I hired a sitter and I have the rest of the night planned.”  Thinking of the places to eat near our house, I settled on Chili’s.

Even though Chili’s is exactly a mile from our house, we have never been.  I have a strange liking for Chili’s.  It’s a bit nostalgic.  Over dinner, the wife and I were talking about how, in college, Chili’s was some fine dining.  If I went on a road trip to Minneapolis with my friends, we always made a stop at Chili’s.  If I had a date I wanted to impress, Chili’s was on the short list.  If friends and I were heading to Sioux Falls or Sioux City, Chili’s was always an option.  Maybe it was because I didn’t have a lot of money in college, or there wasn’t a Chili’s within an hour of my campus, but Chili’s was “high society.”  The wife agreed.

After college, Chili’s was still a staple.  My first real job was in Sioux City, IA and my friends and I spent a lot of time after work at the Chili’s on Nebraska St.  We’d go there on Friday nights, get the bottomless chips and salsa, and the beers as big as our heads.  We called it “BBHFN” which stood for “Beers as Big as Our Heads Friday Nights.”  Then our company jacked up our health care rates and we had to have “Health Care Friday Nights,” which consisted of us all bringing a cheap six-pack to each other’s apartments and watching movies; but, we still found room for “BBHFN” in our budgets.

Anyway, I like Chili’s and it didn’t disappoint.  The wife and I ate, we talked about our stories of Chili’s, among other things, and we did it all without kids.  It was now time for “Baby Driver.”

“Baby Driver” is a movie I had heard about when the wife and I went to “Wonder Woman” a few weeks back.  I saw the previews for it and was hooked.  It’s a movie about a kid named Baby, who is a wheel-man for a criminal mastermind.  Due to a car accident he was in as a child, Baby has a permanent ringing in his ears that he drowns out by constantly listening to music.  He’s also a really good driver.  Because of that, the movie has an amazing soundtrack to go along with the car chases.  The wife remembered I had wanted to see it and planned a dinner and a movie date for my birthday.  Yes, she’s great.  The movie is good, but it’s a little violent.  Fifteen years ago I would have watched this movie without batting an eyelash.  Last week, I was kinda like, “Hmmm, well, this is a little violent, I guess.”  I blame the late 30’s.

I had been thinking about my age 39 goal for a while, but Monday night’s Chili’s visit cemented it.  One of the questions my wife asks when we have a birthday is, “Do you have any goals for this year?”  Some years I struggle to answer that question, but this year was different.  I knew exactly what I was going to say.  As we sat there eating bottomless chips and salsa, I told her that this year I’m going to get into the best shape of my life.  I’ve always been in decent shape and stay active with snowboarding and other activities, but I want to be in great shape when I turn 40.  In my 40’s, my kids will be starting new hobbies, possibly taking up sports, and I want to be able to keep up with them.  The next day, when I felt like I had spent the last 12 hours licking a salt block, I knew my goal was good, so that’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to watch what I eat, carve out time to workout, run more, and get in the best shape of my life.

Wednesday was my actual birthday, and it was the most typical day of the week.  I got up,  dropped off the girls at swim, went to work, interviewed people for 8 hours, and called it a day.  There was nothing special about it, except my boss did buy me a cake.  But, when I came home, the family had a nice surprise for me.  The wife made one of my favorites, salmon, for dinner, and then Littles and the wife baked me a white cake with chocolate frosting, complete with sprinkles.  I am loved.

The wife also got me a gift.  She knows gifts are one of my love languages and she came through in fine style; getting me a vinyl I had been wanting for a while.  She knows me so well.

I did sort of buy myself an early birthday present.  Jack Johnson came to town on Thursday and I had bought my ticket a few months back.  At the time, I asked the wife if she wanted to go, but I already knew her answer would be no.  I love his music, but she doesn’t.  She says he sounds whiney.  If whiney means awesome, then she’s right.  We love each other in spite of our faults.  Anyway, I went to the show by myself as I do from time to time.  Since I’ve become a parent, if the wife doesn’t want to go, then sometimes I just don’t want to interact with anyone.  I just want to be.  That doesn’t mean I don’t like going with friends, but sometimes the process of contacting people, seeing if everyone’s schedule works, buying tickets, and collecting money from everyone is just beyond me.  Anyway, Jack was great and I enjoyed the show.  It gave me the chance to be human for a few hours and that’s a good present in itself.

That pretty much sums it up.  Thirty-nine is off to a great start!  I had an awesome date with the wife, had a wonderful birthday with my family, and took in a show.  I’m looking forward to what this year has to offer and I’m looking forward to being in the best shape of my life.

Thanks to my family for a great birthday! I am fortunate and blessed.  

 

 

(I’m listening to “Chrysalis” by S. Carey)

It’s always great to go on vacation and it’s always great to come home.  The family and I spent the last 9 days in Wisconsin and Minnesota visiting the in-laws.   During this particular stretch of time from June 27-July 6, there’s a lot going on.  It’s the wife’s dad’s wife’s birthday, it’s our niece’s birthday, and the 4th of July is sandwiched in between.  Lots of celebrations and lots of family get-togethers are had.  It’s a fun time to be around.  Plus, the wife’s mom and dad both live on lakes so there are always plenty to do with the kids.

The kids.  Yes, we brought them along of course.  Everyone loves to see Littles and Tiny.  Littles is “three and three-quarters,” as she would say, and loves to play with her cousins.  She’s a breeze to travel with at this age.  She plays independently, stays out of trouble, and when all else fails, you can read her books or put a movie in front of her and she’ll give everyone a break.  Tiny, on the other hand, is nuts.  She’s 14 months old, walks like a baby deer, puts everything in her mouth, climbs on everything, is in constant motion, and does it all with a huge smile on her face.  She’s cute, crazy, and exhausting.  It’s like following your drunk friend around at a bar, making sure they don’t do anything stupid; only they don’t know they’re drunk, they don’t know they’re doing stupid things, they don’t understand you when you tell them not to do dumb things, and the more dumb things they do, the better time they’re having!

At home, it’s easy to limit the “damage” Tiny can do.  We have our house baby-proofed and she can roam around and do pretty much whatever she wants.  No sweat.  When we’re somewhere else, that home field advantage goes out the window.   We’re worried about stairs, outlets, anything that can be swallowed, etc.  In short, the “vacation” becomes a trip.  Vacations are relaxing.  They’re a time to take a break from the daily routine, a time to unplug, unwind, kick the feet up, avoid responsibility, and chill.  Vacations don’t happen with young kids; trips do.  That’s because we still have the wonderful responsibility of the kids.  Granted, we do get a lot of amazing help from the family, but we’re still ultimately responsible.  It’s still a very fun time, but there are different levels of fun.

In fact, about half way through our trip, the wife introduced me to something called, “The Fun Scale.”  It’s something she read online and found when Tiny had woke her up at 4:30am.  It’s pretty self-explanatory.  Without further ado, here’s the fun scale.

Type I Fun – True fun, enjoyable while it’s happening.  Good food, snowboarding in powder, margaritas, spending time with old friends, great shows, etc.

Type II Fun – fun only in retrospect, not fun while it’s happening.  Things like working out, going to a yoga class, or running a marathon.  One time some friends of mine and I hiked a ridge at Schweitzer mountain in Idaho.  We hiked this thing for quite a while before we got to a place where we could drop in on our snowboards.  Our lungs were burning, we had frozen sweat on our faces, and we were worked.  We snowboarded down and at the bottom, one of the guys says, “Anyone want to do that again?”  We all did.

Type III Fun – not fun at all, not even in retrospect.  As in, “What the hell was I thinking? If I ever consider doing that again, somebody slap some sense into me!”

She brought up the fun scale because there were times on this trip where we had all the types of fun.  Type I – seeing family and friends, celebrating birthdays, etc.  Type II – having to chase Tiny around everywhere.  I remember telling the wife, “I don’t remember doing this with Littles.  Was she ever this crazy?”  The wife reminded me that we didn’t travel with Littles between the ages of 14 months and 24 months because she wouldn’t have sat still on a plane.  We went to Hawaii with my family when Littles was about 18 months.  We flew grandma in to take care of Littles because we couldn’t fathom her on a plane for 8 hours.  Smart move.  Type III – Thinking the 6:30am flight was a smart move.  We woke up at 3:00am, got packed and ready to go, then woke the kids up at 4:00am.  “They’ll go back to sleep, right?”  Wrong.  They stayed up the whole time.  We almost missed our flight because of the Disneyland line at the Frontier desk and only made it because and angel of a Frontier employee escorted us to the front of the line because our shuttle took FOREVER to get us from the parking lot to the airport.  All throughout the rest of the trip we called out what kind of fun we were having.  We’d just say, “Type II” or “Type III” or “Type I” and just giggle.

In retrospect, the trip was great and most of it was Type I, but Type II and even Type III definitely happened.  With that said, here’s a photo diary of our trip:

We had a great time with our family and friends.  It was so good to see everyone and celebrate so many different things; but, there is something to be said for being home after 9 days away.  We had all the types of fun, I, II, and III, and it’s great to be in our own beds, back into our routine, and to have a real changing table.  What a trip!  Until next time.