(I’m not listening to anything this time)

I just got back from a run.  I had to do it, but the reason why was stupid.  I’ll explain.

When I started my blog, “Dad vs. Human” the point was to document the happenings of my life.  There are so many memories that have happened to me which I have forgotten. Have you ever had a conversation with an old friend and they bring up some ridiculous story and you were like, “Wow!  I forgot about that?”  That’s why I started this blog.  I don’t want to forget, and that’s the purpose for DVH.  It is never my intention for this to read as some sort of a “how to” guide for being a dad or a human.  I’m not great enough at either of them to be giving advice.  It is strictly so I won’t forget things and I don’t want to forget today.

With that said, I was a crappy parent today.  It was the start of the NFL season, and both of my teams, yes both (the Seahawks and Giants) were playing on TV.  I’m a fan of both because I lived in New York until I was 6 and then we moved to Washington.  I stayed a Giants fan after we moved, but living in Washington gave me a soft spot for the Seahawks as well.  I cheer for both.  Sue me.  Anyway, they were both playing today, the Seahawks at 2:25pm, and the Giants on the Sunday Nighter.  Living in Denver, it’s rare I get to see them both play in the same week.

The snag was the wife had to leave for a baby shower at 3:30pm, so I’d have to be super-fan #99 and dad at the same time.   After we got home from church, Tiny went down for her nap and Littles had her quiet time, so I got to watch the first quarter and a half of the Seahawks game by myself.  When the kids both got up, the wife played with them until it was time for her to leave, which took me to about halftime.  The kids came downstairs to watch football with me and to play, but Littles thought football was “so boring” so the wife and I decided she could watch a couple of shows on the iPad and I could entertain Tiny.

Normally, this would have been a decent plan, especially if the Seahawks are playing well.  I’m usually in a good mood and I don’t need to pay too much attention to it.  Today, the Seahawks didn’t play well at all.  This lead me to focus on the game more than I normally would and shifted my mood.  I know, it’s dumb, but sometimes I can take my sports a little too seriously.

We had been in the basement for about an hour or so.  Littles was happily watching her tablet, but Tiny was not happy.  She was whining and crying.  I wasn’t paying enough attention to her because I was watching the game and texting some friends about how bad it was.  Plus, I could just tell we had been in the basement too long.  So, we went upstairs so she could roam around the house and play in her room.  Littles was still happily watching her iPad.  By the end of the third quarter, the Seahawks looked like garbage.  They couldn’t block anyone, they couldn’t score, the defense looked tired, and I knew they weren’t coming back to win.  I was in a bad mood.

Then, it happened.  The iPad Littles was watching, went blank.  The battery had died after an hour and a half of watching shows.  I tried to explain to her the tablet would come back on, but we had to charge it for a little bit before that would happen.  Her response was a whiney, “I can’t wait soooooo long.”  I plugged in the iPad, but it wasn’t going to come on right away.  When I told her that, she had a meltdown.  Handling meltdowns usually isn’t that big of a deal, but since I was in a bad mood because of the Seahawks, my response was sharp and stern.  I said, “Listen, you’ve been watching the iPad all afternoon and you’ve already watched too many shows (if we let her watch it at all we let her watch 1 or 2 at the most).  If you can’t wait for a few minutes until it comes back on, we probably shouldn’t watch it at all anymore.”  As you could guess, that just made it worse.  We entered the second phase of the meltdown.  She started yelling at me to get the iPad and I told her if she kept yelling at me, she wasn’t going to get the iPad at all and she was going to get a timeout.  That didn’t help either.  Way to go dad. Ugh.

Meanwhile, Tiny was still walking around, but she wasn’t happy at all and was whining and crying about everything.  So, I had two kids who were whining and crying and I was in a bad mood about the Seahawks.  Finally, I turned the TV off and I said, “Okay, everyone outside!  We’ve been inside way too long, we’re all crabby, and we just need to go outside and jump on the trampoline.”  Tiny was all about it judging by her grunting and pointing to the door, but Littles was still fuming about the iPad.  I said to her, “Fine, you stay in here, and Tiny and I will go jump on the trampoline.”  Littles threw another fit as I carried Tiny out the back door.

After about 5 minutes of jumping on the trampoline with Tiny, Littles knocked on the back sliding door and waved.  I waved for her to come outside so she did, her head hanging a little bit.  We talked.  I apologized for snapping at her.  I told her it wasn’t her fault and dad was in a bad mood because of a dumb football game.  I could tell she understood that I was saying sorry, but I knew she couldn’t understand the reason being a football game.  Looking back, I can’t really understand it either.  I should have apologized to her for being a crappy parent and putting an iPad in front of her for an hour and a half while I watched football.  Anyway, she apologized for yelling at me and acting like a fool (my words, not hers).  We hugged and had a fun hour playing outside and the fresh air.  Then we came back inside and ate dinner and did our bedtime routines.  Everything was smooth.

The kids were in bed.  It was 7:30pm.  The Giants game started at 6 and I had wisely set my DVR to record it.  The Giants were playing like garbage too.  I was in a bad mood all over again.  The wife came home and we talked about a couple of things, then she went downstairs to talk to a girl we have living in our basement very temporarily.  I watched more of the game and it didn’t get any better.  I was feeling restless because of my bad mood, but I didn’t want to do anything.  Finally, I convinced myself to get changed and go for a run.  I went downstairs to give the wife the monitor and I said to her, “I’m in a bad mood so I’m going for a run.”  She said, “How did you teams do today?”  I replied, “They both played like crap.”  She said, “That’s why you’re in a bad mood.  Have fun on your run.”

After I got back, I felt great.  I knew I would.  The bad mood was gone and the “stress” was gone.  I sent a text to one of my good friends, and fellow Hawks fan, I was texting earlier in the day.  We started texting about the game and some other things.  Earlier in the day, around the end of the 3rd quarter of the Seahawks game, he told me he was fed up and was going to clean his garage.  I laughed and said I’d join him.  When I texted him after my run, this was our exchange:

I’ll admit, there are some “lol’s” in there because it’s uncomfortable for me to admit some of those things, but, I know they’re true.  My parenting took a back seat today and I let a sports team put me in a bad mood.  The second part I think is normal; I’m allowed to be disappointed in something like that, but the first part shouldn’t happen.  I owe my kids more than that.  The deserved my attention, my time, and their father.  I didn’t give them that today.  That’s why I went on my run.  Sure, I might have been frustrated at the games, but I think I was more frustrated at my parenting.  I’m not perfect, but I’ll learn from that and move on.

With that said, I might catch a few minutes of a live game here and there, but I’m going to DVR the games and watch them after the kids go to bed.  That will probably require me to go radio silent on Sundays, but if I’m being honest with myself, I should probably be doing that anyway.  Hopefully my next run will be for a different reason.

Sorry, Littles and Tiny.  I’ll be better next Sunday.

 

(Listening to “Close Enough” by Brett Young)

I bought a truck a couple of days ago.  I had no idea the purchase would come with a touching lesson about the Vietnam War.

The wife and I have purchased a lot of cars over the years because of the Dave Ramsey plan.  Back in 2009 I blew the motor in my Audi while driving to Breckenridge.  The repair tapped out our meager newlywed savings and we quickly realized that we could “afford” the payments, but we really couldn’t afford the cars.  So, we sold both of our newer cars, bought old and reliable cars that wouldn’t require payments, and began “debt snowballing.”  It took about 20 months, but by the end, we had no car payments, no student loan payments, and no debt.  From 2009 to 2013, the wife drove a 1998 Honda Civic, I drove a 1994 Jeep Wrangler.  Both of them weren’t much to look at, but they got us from point A to point B and allowed us to start saving $300 a month in a car fund.

We eventually bought a house and had a kid on the way, so we decided to update the wife’s car.  We bought a 2003 Honda CR-V.  Then I upgraded to a 2000 Jeep Wrangler.  We were blessed with another bundle of joy, so we bought a 2007 Honda Pilot and said goodbye to the Civic and the Jeep.  After some convincing, we recently bought a 2002 Ford Ranger.

All of the cars above, except for the Civic, have one thing in common.  They all went to our mechanic, John, before we purchased them.  The Civic didn’t and on the way home from the corner lot dealer, the check engine light came on.  It needed a new transmission.  The dealer told us it was our problem now.  The wife drove it for a year with a slipping transmission.  It got to the point where she had to manually shift the automatic through the gears.  One day, she called and said, “I can only get it in second gear.”  I told her, “It’s time.”  It was a $3200 lesson.

John is the best.  He’s an honest mechanic.  He treats our cars as if they were his own.  His favorite phrase is, “If it were mine, I would do…”  He has never steered us wrong.  I found him shortly after the wife and I moved to Denver.  Something had gone wrong with one of our cars and we needed a mechanic.  I found John in the yellow pages.  I looked him up online and other patrons had raved about his customer service.  We have been taking our cars to him ever since.  He gives us great deals, and we make sure to get him and his crew Christmas gifts or buy them the occasional lunch.  I’ll wait at his shop for a repair to be done.  We’ll shoot the breeze about baseball and pretty much anything else.  He always calls me “sir” and I call him the same.  John isn’t just a good mechanic, he’s a great person and so are the two guys he employs.

A couple of days ago, I went to go look at the Ford Ranger I was interested in purchasing.  The seller was a man named Rick.  He had recently retired and was looking to upgrade his vehicle.  He bought the Ranger with 11 miles on it 15 years ago.  It now had just more than 94,000.  The vehicle was well taken care of and the motor purred like a kitten.  I wanted to make a deal right then and there.  I called the wife and told her this was the one and wanted to make an offer.  She said, “Well, we have to take it by John first.”  In my head I was thinking, “Oh man.  That’s just going to take more time,” but I knew she was right.  We had been burned before.  I asked Rick if we could take it to my mechanic and he agreed, so I set up an appointment for the next day.  I am so glad I made that appointment, not because I knew I was buying a good truck, but because of the interaction between two veterans I would be privileged to witness.  I come from a military family and both of my parents served.  My mom was a First Lieutenant in the Air Force and my dad retired as a Captain in the Army.  Both are proud of their service, and I am deeply proud of them for their service; which made the interaction I was going to see even more special.

I met Rick in the morning and we went to John’s.  Rick was wearing a Vietnam Veterans hat.  He had been in the Navy during that time.  In previous conversations with John, I knew he had served in the Air Force in Vietnam as well.  He is very proud of his service to his country, as he should be.  We pulled up and John immediately noticed Rick’s hat.  As John surveyed the truck, they began to talk about their tours in Vietnam.  They told each other where they served and what years they were there, but they weren’t talking like they had just met each other.  They were talking like they had known each other their whole lives.  They confided in each other about how they don’t really talk about their time over there with anyone else because it’s too painful and they lost too many friends.  They just had this unspoken connection between them.  I could only imagine as a stood there and listened.  These two men, more than 50 years removed from their separate situations and experiences, shared this unique bond of brotherhood.

John and I went for a test drive in the Ranger.  He listened to the motor.  He checked to make sure the alignment was correct.  He checked the acceleration, the braking, and the turning.  He said everything checked out fine, just as I had suspected.  He told me if I didn’t buy this truck, he would.  We pulled back into the shop and I got out and told Rick we had a deal.  I paid John, thanked him for his time, and shook his hand as I always do.  Rick and John both shook hands, then Rick asked for John’s business card.  John went into his office to grab a card, walked back out, handed it to Rick, and they shook hands again.  Hands clenched, John looked Rick dead in the eye and said in the most sincere tone, “Welcome home, brother,” and Rick replied in the exact same manner, “Welcome home to you too, brother.”  I nearly teared up.  I think they almost did too.

Rick and I got into the truck.  He looked at the business card and said what I already knew.  Rick said, “He’s a good man.”  I replied, “Yes he is.  I trust him and that’s why I wanted him to see the truck.  Thanks for understanding.”  Rick replied, “No problem at all.  I’m glad I met him.  I’ll be giving him a call.  It’s always good to help a brother out.”

It had been 56 years since either of them had stepped foot in Vietnam.  Judging by the conversation they had, it seemed like it had only been two weeks.  I could see it on their faces; memories from half a lifetime ago were as fresh as the day they took place.  I can’t possibly imagine what they went through, but because of my little truck, I caught a glimpse.  Thank you, sirs…for everything.

(Listening to “Narcolepsy” by Third Eye Blind)

The wife and I both Labor Day off, so with the temperature forecasted to be in the 90’s, we decided to take the kids to the beach!  Finding a beach in Colorado is difficult, but we found one at the Aurora Reservoir and it’s a great time.

I grew up in the Pacific Northwest and one of the things I miss most about living in Denver is the water.  In Washington, water seemed to be everywhere.  From where I lived, it was a 20 minute drive to Birch Bay, it was a 25 minute drive to where some of my friends lived on Lake Whatcom, and a lot of water also fell from the sky.  I’ve spent my fair share of time near water and I loved it.

Colorado is different.  Obviously, it’s land locked, so going to the ocean is out of the question, and there aren’t a lot of lakes here either, save for a few reservoirs.  The wife had been to the Aurora Reservoir a few weeks ago and I had never been, so when we were trying to think of something to do for Labor Day, we said, “Let’s go to the beach!”  So, the wife made us lunches, packed the cooler, we grabbed our beach gear, and off we went! As it turns out, it’s a really cool place and $10 well spent.

From our house, it takes about 30 minutes to get to the Aurora Reservoir Recreation Area.  Once we got there, it felt like we were 4 hours from home.  There was a big body of water and a nice sandy beach.  The place was busy due to the holiday.  Sun canopies were everywhere, grills were going, lifeguards were on duty, people were either in the water or lying on their beach towels soaking in the rays.  It had a 1950’s feel to it, except the bathing suits were different.

It was a great time and a great little way to escape the city without having to go too far.  I know we’ll be going back, and we’ll probably be taking some people with us.  Anyway, here are some pictures from our time at the beach!

The great thing about going outside and spending time in the sun is the kids were beat.  When we got home, Tiny took a nap, I mowed the lawn, and the wife took Littles to get pedicures.

If you’re ever trying to think of something fun to do, make sure to keep the Aurora Reservoir in mind.  You can’t beat a day at the beach, even if the beach is in Colorado!

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to Johnny Cash tonight)

I bought the wife Lady Antebellum tickets for our anniversary.  I hired a sitter for our kids and everything.  It was an official date.  This fit right along with our recent decision to start buying experiences instead of stuff.

The wife and I don’t go to many concerts together.  We like to, but we just don’t.  There are a few reasons why.  It’s hard for us to find a show we both want to attend, which would justify buying tickets and springing for a babysitter.  That could be a $200 night out and if one of us isn’t really “into it,” then it doesn’t make sense to us to spend the money.  When that happens, the other person is like, “Why don’t you just go with a friend and I’ll stay home with the kids.”

We have a hard time finding shows to go to because our tastes in music are a bit different.  I’m a little older than the wife.  The age gap doesn’t make much of a difference for anything else in life, except for the fact that I could be a U.S. Senator or president and she couldn’t, but it actually does play a role in our music preferences.  My years of high school were 1992-1996, which were great years for almost any genre.  Alternative Rock was getting into full swing and had fully taken over from the hair-metal days, R&B and Hip-Hop were mainstream, rap became popular with everyone in urban areas to suburbia, country music was transforming from its twangy sound into a more youthful tone, and some 80’s bands were still making some new albums.  Heck, even pop music was catchy!  Musically, it was a great time to be in the prime of my youth.  The wife, she was still a kid during those years, so when I say, “Oh! (Fill in the name of the 90’s band) is coming to Denver, do you want to go?”  The answer that’s most common is, “I’ve heard of them.  I think my brother used to really like them.”  That means, “I’ll go if you want me to, but feel free to go by yourself or with a friend.”  I’ll say that to the wife too.  During the wife’s formative years, I had already been set in my musical ways.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t or wouldn’t listen to new music, but I just didn’t really get into the musicians that were popular during her time.  We have some crossover; for example, we went to a Coldplay show together a while back, and we’ve seen Counting Crows together, but, finding something we both like and can justify spending the money on can be tricky.

This bring us to Lady Antebellum.  The wife calls them “Lady A.”  I don’t know them well enough to call them that.  It’s kind of like when you barely know someone and they have a nickname, but you call them by their real name because you feel like you don’t know them well enough to call them by their nickname because it would be weird.  I’ll still call them “Lady A” because it’s shorter to type, but just know I feel weird about it.  Anyway, the wife has always wanted to see Lady A and she had dropped a couple of hints, so I decided to get the tickets and surprise her for our anniversary.  The wife likes country music.  Me, it’s not my first choice unless I’m driving through Wyoming, Montana, or South Dakota.  I have about 50 country songs in my iTunes catalog, and when you take out Johnny Cash, that number dwindles to about 25.  Those 25 are in there mostly because of nostalgic reasons; they remind me of old friends I went to high school with and they listened to it, so I sort of like those songs.

I want to back up a bit.  I like country music, I just don’t like the “new country” music.  I can listen to Johnny Cash, Kenny Rogers, Conway Twitty, Waylon Jennings, or any “twangy” country with a slide guitar in it, all day.  Back in 1992-1996, country music began getting younger and this “new country” music started coming out.  The country music stations were even branding themselves as “the new country music station.”  It had more of a pop sound to it, and to me, it just sounded like they were trying too hard to cater to the younger crowd.  It doesn’t mean it was bad, in fact, a lot of it was very good, it just didn’t suit my fancy.  Because of that, I just didn’t get into it.  (A sidenote: In the not too distant past, one of my friends explained to me that Garth Brooks was never a part of Brooks and Dunn.  I thought I knew that, but if I was on “Who Wants to Be A Millionaire” and that was the million dollar question, I would have had to phone a friend just to be 100% sure.)  Anyway, country music continues to get more hip and blur the lines.  Some musicians who began their careers in country are now pop musicians.  If I go to a country show, I expect belt buckles, boots, cowboy hats, and American flags, not skinny jeans and tennis shoes.  Maybe that’s just me.

So now you have an idea of where my head was at buying Lady A tickets.  The two, most important reasons I purchased the tickets was that I knew the wife would love them and I was buying an experience for us, instead of a some stuff for her.  Needless to say, we had a blast.

We saw the show at an outdoor venue called “Fiddler’s Green.”  It was a perfect night to be outdoors.  We spread out our blanket in the GA section and took our seats on the grassy hill.  Brett Young was the opener and I really enjoyed his set.  He’s an up-and-comer in the country music scene and you could tell it was a thrill for him to share the stage with Lady A.  I liked his whole set and will probably purchase his CD.  I like to support new artists.

Kelsea Ballerini was the second act, and needless to say, we lost a little interest.  After her first song, the wife said, “She’s trying to be Carrie Underwood.  She’s actually like a cross between Brittney Spears and Carrie, except not as good.” So, we started to people watch.  We’d try to guess if people were on dates, or how hard people tried to put together their wardrobe for a country show.  We watched the people in front of us who had their new baby and a 4-year-old at the show and playfully said to each other, “I’m glad we got a sitter.”  We talked to the mom behind us who had brought her 8 and 10-year-old daughters to the show and how that was going to be us someday.  We just took time to be ourselves, spend time together, and celebrate our anniversary.  Keep in mind, Kelsea Ballerini was still on stage.  She did an acoustic version of “Closer” by The Chainsmokers (which further supported my theory of country music become more pop).  We started to get itchy to see Lady A, but the second set never seemed to end.  Just when we thought she was wrapping up, she’d introduce another song.  She was talented, but just wasn’t our cup of tea, I guess.

Finally, the lights went out and Lady A came on stage.  Everyone stood up.  The wife got excited.  Lady A is very talented.  They have great voices, one of the band members can play like 15 instruments, and they are very entertaining.  I knew exactly 4 of the songs they played, 5 if you count the cover of Beyonce’s “Crazy In Love,” but it was a great show.  Like true parents who had a sitter, we left a couple of songs early to beat the traffic because we had an early morning ahead of us.  The wife had a medial procedure scheduled for the next morning.

Lady A didn’t disappoint, and the wife and I shared a great experience together.  I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a night than with the woman I promised do this stuff with 9 years ago.  Happy Anniversary, honey!  I hope you enjoy Our Lady Peace as much as I enjoyed Lady A!

 

 

 

(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.

 

(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.