(Listening to “My Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen)

I enjoy going home, but the one time of year I especially enjoy going home is fair week.  Since the wife was out of town with Tiny, I decided to take Littles to my hometown, Lynden, WA.

Lynden hasn’t been my home for 19 years, but I still call it home.  It will always be my home.  My parents still live in the house I grew up in.  It looks a little different, but not much.  It’s still the same color and it’s still very well-kept; one of the handful of houses on the block that isn’t showing it’s age.  My parents had the house built.  The development was new at the time.  When we moved in, there were two empty lots on either side of us and across the street.  Only half of the block was somewhat complete.  The other half was a field with a dirt road.  I remember the construction of the other half.  The trenching for water and sewer pipes, electrical lines, and cables.  My friends and I played in those trenches and pipes, playing “army” and having dirt bomb wars.  I remember the road being paved for the first time.  The fresh black top was so smooth and would smell like tar when it rained.  More homes were built.  New friends moved in.  We scoured construction sites for scrap wood to build skateboard ramps.  Everything was just beginning.

That was a long time ago.  Now, the neighborhood is showing its age.  Concrete sidewalks my friends and I had carved our initials into have been worn away by years of Pacific Northwest rains.  Trees that were freshly planted are now fully grown.  Some of the most meticulously kept houses and lawns of my youth aren’t as maintained as they used to be.  A few of the original neighbors are still there, but many have moved away or passed on.  My neighborhood friends have all grown up and started lives of their own; some of their parents still live there though.

I love going home.  It’s one of the things in my life that never changes, sort of like a fixed data point in time to which you can always go back. My town has changed; people have moved away, familiar businesses have closed, places my friends and I used to hang out are gone, but my home hasn’t.  When I walk into my parents house, I feel like I’m in the scene from “Field of Dreams” when Moonlight Graham walks off the baseball field and turns into an old man, only the exact opposite.  I feel like a kid again.  I walk to my old room and hear the familiar creak of the door as I open it.  I set my luggage on the floor.  I can still see pinholes from where my posters used to hang on the wall.  The room still seems to smell like me even though it has been 20 years since I’ve lived there.  At night, in bed, I can still hear KISM’s Top 10 at 10 echoing off the walls from years past.  I’m baffled at how my whole life used to fit inside these four walls.  Going home means seeing my family and that’s always great.  We spend time together, catch up, reminisce, and laugh.   I also make it a point to see a few of my close friends who are still in town.

Another thing that doesn’t change in my hometown is the Northwest Washington Fair.  The fair is always an experience.  It’s a huge event for the community.  The whole town seems to either shut down or revolve its business around it.  Anyone within a mile radius of the fairgrounds are parking cars on their property.  Kids are selling bottled water and soda.  The most popular question when talking to someone becomes, “Are you going to the fair?”  The memories are timeless.  Whether you’re 6 or 60, if you have lived in that town, you probably have some great memories of the fair.  The demolition derbies, waiting in line for the Zipper, Moo-Wiches, elephant ears, carnival games,  running into people you know, the endless booths of merchandise, the grandstand shows, the 4-H barns; it’s all seared into your memory.  For the third week of every August, the fair is the place to be.

I love my home and the fair and am very happy I took my daughter to see them this past week.  It was very special to share them with her and it’s a trip I won’t soon forget.  With that said, here are some pictures!

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to “Detlef Schrempf” by Band of Horses)

To the parents of the child who screamed the whole flight…I feel you and I wasn’t at all annoyed. As a fellow parent, I can empathize. You couldn’t have known your child would react that way to his seatbelt. Let’s face it, we have no way of knowing how a 3-year-old is going to react to most things. With that said, when your child was crying so hard he made himself throw up and you tried to cover his mouth with your hand…well…yeah. I don’t have the words, just empathy.

Littles and I took a trip to Lynden, WA to see family and go to the fair!  It was our first time traveling with just the two of us.  We traveled without momma and Tiny because they were in Minnesota helping out Auntie Amber start her awesome new job!
Since I was in charge of getting us out of the door, I had planned to get up extra early so we would have plenty of time to make our 7:50am flight. I set the alarm for 4am. I woke up to it and forgot to hit snooze. Miraculously, I woke back up at 5am and the scene from “Home Alone” ensued. I was getting everything ready at the last minute. Sound machine? Check. Wonder Woman? Check. Sparkle pups? Check. Toiletries? Check. Electronics chargers? Check. Birth certificate? Check. I remembered to take Littles with me too.  (I’d like to take a moment to thank my awesome wife for making a pack list for Littles. We had everything we needed and I probably would have left half of it behind.)

With me wide awake from the stress of the morning and Littles a little groggy from her sudden wake up, we made it to the shuttle lot and I got a text on my phone saying we were delayed an hour. I welcomed the delay since we were cutting it close. We caught our shuttle and arrived at the baggage counter. We breezed right through. We went to security and breezed right through. We made it to our gate with an hour an a half to spare! There was nothing left to do but get some breakfast.

Sausage McMuffin’s with egg, hash browns, milk and Diet Coke…the breakfast of champions! Littles and I had bellies full of McDonald’s and we were ready to go, and we still had more than an hour to kill.

You or I would just happily put on headphones and listen to music, check out social media, or read the news on our phones and relax, but a 3-year-old isn’t wired that way. Despite the 5:30am wake up call, Littles was ready to go!  For her, it was time to explore, time to play, and throw out the occasional “I can’t wait so long,” whenever there was a dull moment.  Luckily, a gate agent at another airline saw us hanging out and gave us crayons and a coloring book (an airport angel)!  That killed quite a bit of time as we colored and played tic-tac-toe.

As with most 3 year olds, her attention soon drifted and another, “I can’t wait so long,” came out. We needed to find something else to do. After a quick trip to the potty, I got the dreaded text that our plane was delayed another half an hour. I did have a tablet with me, but that was for the flight or for “break glass in case of emergency” moments, so I didn’t want to show all my cards just yet.

That’s when we found it. The moving walkway. Littles was amazed. We did a lap. Then another. Then another. She would jump on, hang onto the rail, ride it all the way to the end, jump off, turn around, and do the same thing back the other way. She laughed and counted the whole time. We must have done 30 laps and she was drawing a crowd. We’d jump off and she would yell, “Another one, daddy!”  So, we’d take another lap!

After a half an hour on the moving walkway, our plane showed up and we boarded. We were almost home free. She had been such a good girl up until now, so I couldn’t wait to get on the plane and reward her with a movie from her tablet. Watching anything on her tablet is one of her favorite things to do.  It’s also very rare.  Anyway, we buckled in, took off, I got the tablet from her bag, turned it on, and immediately said, “oh crap!”

 

Littles wasn’t going to be able to watch her movie. We had downloaded “Beauty and the Beast” to her tablet a while back, but hadn’t “renewed the license” because tablets are for trips only. With no internet connection, we were in trouble. The movie would not play. I began to break out into a sweat. A two and half hour flight with a 3-year-old who had been on her best behavior because she was waiting to see a movie on her tablet? Oh man. The horror! The humanity!

I told her I had some bad news. She just stared at me with huge eyes and an open mouth, expecting the worst. I told her we weren’t going to be able to watch a movie because the tablet is broken. I stopped talking and waited for the fallout. My face scrunched up and my head tried to shrink into my shoulders like I was awaiting the impact of something that was about to fall on my head. I expected the reaction of a disappointed 3-year-old, whatever that could be, but her reaction was anything but. She really didn’t acknowledge what I just said. She just turned from me, took out the safety pamphlet and said, “It’s okay daddy, we’ll just read this.” What??? Who was I to argue? So, that’s what we did. She made up stories about the people in the pictures, which was interesting since they’re in emergency situations. It made no difference to her. She talked about how they were going on a trip and how their special plane could land in the water. I even caught the lady next to us giggling at Little’s imagination. Then Littles said some magic words, “I’m tired, I’m going to take a nap. Will you cuddle me?”

I was going to dodge this tablet bullet!! Of course I would, and that’s what we did! I put my jacket over her, my arm around her, she used Wonder Woman as a pillow, and she slept until the puking boy woke her up. Her response, “I had a great nap, but that boy is having a rough flight.” I replied, “Yes he is. Thank you for being such a good girl.” She smiled.

Littles did get a little antsy toward the end of the flight, but it was nothing a little milk I had stashed away from McDonald’s couldn’t fix. We had made it through without a hitch and Grandpy and cousin Tara were waiting to pick us up!

 

We got in the car and made our way north to Lynden. I even fulfilled my movie promise. Littles was able to watch “Trolls” on Netflix during the 2 hour drive to Grandpy and Grammy’s.

You just never know how kids are going to react. One kid flips out about a seatbelt another takes a broken tablet in stride. The roles could have easily been reversed; and I would have actually expected them to be. That would make sense, but then again, does anything make sense with 3-year-olds?

Anyway, I’m looking forward to the rest of our trip. The fair and family await; plus, I have the best traveling buddy one could ask for.

(Listening to “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by The Proclaimers)

My good friend threw a 40th birthday party this past weekend, so I went.  It was 500 miles away and I surprised him.  He had sent out the invite a few weeks back, so I got in touch with his wife and said, “I’ve always joked with John about stopping by when he posts about watching the Royals or having movie night (he has a projector that he sets up outside and displays it on his garage door).  Well, I figured his birthday party would be the perfect time to swing by.  I want to surprise him by just showing up.  It’s a pretty short drive from Denver to Lincoln.  Do you think I could pull up some floor or crash on a couch that night?”  She replied, “He’d be surprised and honored.  Of course!  You always have a place to stay with us!”  I cleared it with the wife and put it on the calendar.

I love to drive.  It gives me a little introvert time.  It gives me time to think.  I really enjoy driving this stretch of I-80 from Denver to Lincoln.  I’ve made the drive across Nebraska many times, going back and forth from Iowa to Colorado.  It’s flat and boring, but it’s a nostalgic piece of road for me.  It reminds me of making snowboard trips in college.  We’d leave Friday afternoon after class, ride Saturday and Sunday, and head back Sunday night.  We were young, we could do anything we wanted, and we did.

Through college and into my 20’s, road trips were pretty common.  I’d drive from Washington to Iowa for school, spring break trips to snowboard, and trips up to the twin cities.  Driving a thousand miles was nothing.  My friends and I would do them on a whim.  Now, I need a pretty dang good reason to hit the road, and John’s party was a great reason.

John and I are great friends from college.  For three years we lived two doors down from each other in Northwestern’s Colenbrander Hall.  If I think of any memory from that time, chances are he’s a part of it.  We have kept in touch over the years, but like a lot of college friends, I hadn’t seen him in a while.  Life just gets busy.  People get real jobs, get married, have some kids, and before you know it, 5 or 10 years go by since you’ve seen a really good friend.  That’s what happened to us.  What separates great friends from the rest, is when you do see each other again, you pick right up where you left off.  That’s exactly what happened.

When I pulled up to his house, he was outside setting up for the party.  He saw my car and immediately knew it was me from the Colorado license plate.  He was shocked.  He asked what the heck I was doing here, and I told him I just happened to be in the neighborhood.  We had our “Red and Andy hug” then got right back into the old rhythm; cracking jokes, conversations, and talking about old stories.

The party was a great success.  He had a ton of friends there.  We tapped the kegs, we ate, drank, played Polish Horseshoes, and fired up some old school Nintendo on the projector and garage door.  Then once the party cleared out, we cleaned up and talked into the morning; about stuff that was going on in our lives now, and funny stories about the past.  We had a couple of beers and enjoyed some cigars.  We brought up people and names we hadn’t talked about or thought about in years and filled in blanks in each other’s stories.  There’s not many people I would drive 500 miles for, but John is one.  He’s a great friend and my life is better for knowing him.  Isn’t that the point?

With that said, here are some pictures from the trip:

 

 

 

(Listening to “Ferry Boat #3” by Chris Cornell)

If one or more of your cars look like this…

…then you might have kids.

It just comes with the territory.  In the picture above, there are milk splatters, broken gold fish, pulverized animal crackers, raisins, stray french fries, and abandoned veggie straws.  It’s just what kids do.  Littles is alright with food in the car, but Tiny, she has no regard for a clean car.  Her actual mission in life is to make a mess, and smile while doing it.

The wife’s car bears the brunt of the damage because it’s the workhorse.  The kids spend the most time in that car.  They ride in my car, but it’s usually to drop them off or pick them up from childcare.  Since it’s a 5 minute drive, it usually doesn’t require snacks or milk, so the cleanliness of my car stays intact.  When I am home with them, we’re usually staying put, save for the occasional going out for lunch or a trip to the hardware store.  Again, not enough time to cause any significant trauma to the tidiness.

The wife, on the other hand, takes the kids everywhere in her car.  She’ll run multiple errands, make trips to the grocery store, and take the kids on play dates; all requiring lots of time and snacks, and the occasional drive-thru lunch.  After a while, the kids take their toll.  There are crumbs everywhere, dirt from the park, a plethora of toys the kids couldn’t leave home without, wrappers from snacks tucked away in the door panels, and the car starts smelling funky due to a rogue sippy-cup or something.

That’s where I come in.  I’ll drive the wife’s car to fill it with gas, take it to get repaired, or just drive it to make sure nothing is wrong, since it does carry precious payload, and I’ll think, “Whoa, this needs to be cleaned.”  So today, that’s what I did.

I had the day off today and the wife had a play date set up with a friend of hers; a girls only deal, so she asked me if I would clean her car while they were gone.  She knows I love to clean cars.  I know acts of service are her love language.  Winner, winner chicken dinner.  So, while they were doing this…

…I was doing this.

I love to clean cars.  I always have.  I have no statistical evidence to back this up, but a clean car runs better.  Plus, there are few things better than getting behind the wheel of a freshly cleaned car.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve given someone a ride and they’ll get in and say, “Wow, your car is really clean.”  I’ve always been that way, ever since my first car in high school, although I can’t really put my finger on why.  I know part of the reason is because my dad taught me to take care of my things, especially my car.  I think the other part of the reason is you never know who you’re going to give a ride to.  In high school, maybe a girl I liked would ask me for a ride somewhere.  That didn’t happen much, but I had to be ready in case it did. I couldn’t open the door and have to push away clothes, fast good bags, or pop cans, and be like, “Uh…here you go.”  What kind of an impression is that?  As I got older, maybe I’d have to give a coworker a ride home, or even a boss.  I didn’t want them thinking I was a slob.  I guess I’ve just always thought a car could make an impression on someone, so no matter what car I drove and no matter what shape it was in, my car has always been clean.  To this day, I’m still a bit anal about my cars.  If a french fry falls down a crack, I get it.  If change rolls out of my pocket and under the seat, I’ll get it.  Any trash in my car gets taken out after the trip.  Like I said, you never know who you’re going to give a ride.

Now the wife, she was the cute girl in high school.  I didn’t know her then, but I was curious about what was in her car in high school.  Tonight I said to her, “When you were in high school, I bet you had your cheerleading clothes in your car, your books and stuff like that.”  She said, “Oh yeah, and my work outfit.”  This is what I love about her.  She’s type A.  She’s a planner.  She’s ready for any situation, and she is still that way.  She does a lot of things for our family, so she’s always prepared and always multi-tasking.  If I went into her car on any given day, I’d find a yoga mat and a towel, a blanket, maybe her laptop, her doula bag, a diaper bag, her coffee cup, and maybe a couple of dishes because she had to get the kids ready and took breakfast on the run.  Add all that up, plus the damage of the human tornadoes, a.k.a. our kids, and she deserves to have a clean car.

I clean her car to show her how much I appreciate the things she does for our family.  It speaks to her love language and fills her love tank.  I love it when she gets in her car for the first time after I’m done cleaning it.  Her reaction gives me all the thanks I need, even though she makes sure to say it too.  Plus, it’s always fun to back the car into the driveway on a sunny day, turn up the radio, haul out the vacuum, and get out the cleaning supplies, just like I would have done for a date when I was 18.  The last date I went on has lasted 9 wonderful years, and yes, my car is still clean…and so is hers.