(I’m listening to the “Stuck In The Middle With You” by Stealers Wheel)

We’re taking the girls on their first road trip.  It’s a rite of passage into being kids.  Littles is almost 4 and Tiny turns 1 soon, so we felt it was time.  We’re headed to Pagosa Springs, CO to relax and get away.  It’s about a 5 hour drive and no road trip would be complete without a playlist, so I’ve made two.  One is for the 90’s and 2000’s (because the kids need to know about good music and I feel it’s my responsibility to teach them) and the other is full of oldies (because you have to respect the classics).  I’ve been on a lot of road trips in my life.  Some have been with family, some have been with friends, and a lot have been by myself; but there have always been a few constants: good times, great memories, and excellent music.  It’s time to pass on that gift of music to my kids.

Great memories have a way of attaching themselves to music.  Those songs serve as a time capsule and once you open it and listen to them, a flood of great memories come roaring back.  When I was kid, we went on a few memorable road trips and I remember dad having the oldies station on.  It was a different time, before Walkmans, CD players, iPods, and smartphones.  I had to listen to what the two people in the front seats, my parents, wanted to listen to.  Oh, I could give some input, but we listened to music as a family.  Music was a way to bond; now, people listen to isolate.

Those early trips as a kid were great.  I received my musical knowledge from groups like, The Lovin’ Spoonful, The Spencer Davis Group, Simon and Garfunkel, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and many others.  That’s what was on the radio, so that’s what we listened to.

I’ll never forget the trip when I got my first portable CD player.  The trip was a massive 6,000 miles that took us through California, east to Texas, north to Iowa, and then back home to Washington.  I only had a few CD’s to my name but I remember them vividly: B-52’s “Cosmic Thing,” Bryan Adams’ “Waking Up The Neighbours,” and The Cars Greatest Hits.  I thank BMG to this day for those CD’s and I’ll always remember cruising in the back of my parent’s Nissan Quest.

 

As childhood gave way to semi-adulthood, it was time for me to go to college.  More road trips, music, and memories ensued.  I made the trip from my home in Washington to my school in Iowa so many times during those 4 years.  CD players were common in cars by then, and I had made a small investment to put one in mine.  Those trips were filled with everything from Pearl Jam, to Elton John, to 2Pac, to Tom Petty.  You name it, I probably listened to it.

One particular story comes to mind about a one hit wonder named Donna Lewis.  On the maiden voyage to school, my best friend, who was my college roommate, made me listen to it.  It was his and his girlfriend’s “song.”  I, being a 17-year-old boy, ribbed him mercilessly for it, but to this day, I love that song.  Whenever I hear that beat of, “bum bum bum, bum bum ba dum dum, I love you, always forever, near and far, closer together”…I think of that trip.  We were young, we had our whole lives ahead of us, we had no idea what was in store, and we were excited.

On one trip home from school, much to the chagrin of my mom, I drove straight through.  I covered 1,700 miles in just over 24 hours without so much as a nap.  Mom was pretty ticked when I showed up at our house just before dawn. I didn’t tell her I was going to do it.  I didn’t really know I was going to do it.  I had even told her I was going to stop for the night, but when I hit the Washington border at 9pm with Pearl Jam’s “Even Flow” blaring out of the speakers, I thought, “Well, I’m almost home now, might as well push on through.”  She wasn’t impressed, but I was.  There was nothing better than putting the AAA time estimation to shame.

The last trip from Iowa to Washington led me to discover one of my favorite songs.  I had checked into this cheap motel in Montana; the kind with no name and that looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since the 70’s.  I keyed into the room, locked the deadbolt, fastened the chain, and I turned on the TV.  There was this dude walking on a beach and singing, “look at the stars, looks how they shine fooooor you.”  The song?  Coldplay’s “Yellow.”  I will never forget hearing that song and how I wanted to listen to it so badly for the rest of the road trip. The problem was, the CD wouldn’t be released for another week.  I know, because I tried to buy it at a Best Buy the next day and they told me.  Keep in mind, this was before I could just go to iTunes, download it, and listen to it 6,000 times on repeat.  I would have to wait for the CD.  So there I was, sitting in silence, driving, and I had those opening guitars stuck in my head.  None of the other music I had with me sounded as good.  I just wanted to hear that one song over and over and over, and I couldn’t.

When the wife and I were dating, we moved her from Minnesota to Colorado.  We stuffed her whole life into a Volkswagen Rabbit.  She even had some of her bedding in those vacuum sealed bags, and they broke inside the car.  The bedding just filled in the gaps of where stuff wasn’t.  She literally rode with a backpack on their lap for 15 hours because there was nowhere else to put it.  I have a whole playlist dedicated to that event, but one song comes to mind:  Wyclef Jean’s “Sweetest Girl (Dollar Bill).”  Whenever I hear it, I’ll always remember starting our life together.

The point is, music is full of memories and now it’s my turn to make some memories for my kids.  Making these playlists has been a blast from the past.  It seems like every song I choose for the list has some sort of memory attached to it.  It’s like jumping into a time machine and listening to the soundtrack of my life.  I can’t wait to hit the open road, make some memories, and listen to some great music.  I just hope the kids think it’s as great as I do.  Regardless, one day, they’ll listen, look back, and remember.

(I’m listening to “Warning Sign” by Coldplay”

I don’t hate running, but I really don’t like it all that much.  It’s kind of boring.  Step after step.  Some of my friends who are runners say it gives them solitude or it’s refreshing or it gives them a challenge.  I can understand their point, but it won’t ever mean that to me.  To me, running is just a means to an end.  That doesn’t mean I don’t do it, I just haven’t done much of it lately.  Running is one of those things I don’t like to do, but once I do it, I feel good.

I wish I loved running.  I wish it was an adrenaline rush, or it felt like an accomplishment, but it doesn’t, at least not to me.  For those that it does, I tip my cap.  I’m envious.  I’ll never be the one with the 26.2 or 13.1 stickers on my car.  I’ve run a couple of 10k’s before, but that was just something fun to do.  Our route took us through all the major sports stadiums in Denver, a few of my friends were doing it, so I joined them.

With that said, I do need to run.  About 2 year ago, I ran quite a bit.  I was psyched up for a snowboarding trip to Silverton Mountain which was going to require a lot of hiking.  I didn’t want to be huffing and puffing at 13,000 feet, so I laced up the old running shoes and hit the trails by my house.  Sadly, that probably marked the last time I was in “good” shape.  In those two years, I’ve put on about 10 lbs.  I’m not a “foodie.”  I could live off of tortillas, spaghetti sauce, cheese, and water if I had to.  One time, the wife left town with the kids for a couple of days, and the fridge looked like this:

 I survived.  Anyway, back to those 10 lbs.  They just kind of appeared.  After that snowboarding trip, the wife was pregnant with our second child, Tiny.  Keeping on a decent diet with a pregnant woman is kind of like walking into a casino and saying, “I’m not going to gamble tonight.”  The wife loved what she called, “Her 4th meal.”  She’d eat right before she went to bed so she felt satiated and wouldn’t be sick.  I don’t blame her at all.  She was growing a human being inside of her, for goodness sake.  But, I’d get roped into the 4th meal.  So, the 10 lbs just appeared.

Once Tiny was born, running really wasn’t an option either.  Those first few months of a new baby, man, the wife and I just felt like zombies; half awake, half asleep.  Even with Tiny being a “unicorn baby,” meaning, she slept through the night at about the 8 week mark thanks to the wife’s sleep training education, running just wasn’t a priority.  Plus, I just figured chasing around a three-year-old on a few hours of sleep would keep the pounds off.  Wrong.

The next option was, well, I just figured I’d snowboard myself into shape.  With Tiny sleeping through the night and winter right around the corner, I figured that would do the trick.  I’m kind of weird.  I get more active in the winter and slow down during the summer.  I hate being too hot, and I love being cold.  So, during the winter, I usually shed the unwanted pounds naturally.  Yep, didn’t happen.  I went on another snowboard trip this winter and huffed and puffed up some of the hikes we did.  No bueno, but I made it and still had a great time.

Well, summer is rolling around again and I’m still carrying the ten.  I don’t obsess about my weight.  I’d say I have a range in which I feel good, and I like to be in that range.  Once I get to the top of that range, I start doing some mountain biking, skateboarding, and even running.  Combing that with watching what I eat a little bit more and I can usually get back down into that feel good range.

There’s one caveat though.  I’m actually getting older.  I’m approaching 40 and I’m realizing that, well, a chocolate shake will stay with me for a little longer than it used to.  There’s a little more jiggle these days.  Also, running doesn’t quite appeal to my body like it once did.  There’s a couple of extra creaks, but it’s not that bad.  I’m a firm believer  in “If you slow down, you get old,” so I don’t plan on slowing down any time soon.  Keep in mind, I am still in my 30’s, so it’s not like I’m getting fake hips and knees of something.  I’m still young.

The running shoes are starting to speak to me.  I can hear them in the closet.  They’re saying, “Hey, remember us!  We can help!”  Ugh.  They’re getting louder.  Here the are, the evil twins.

The funny part about me and running is that no matter how long of a layoff I have from it, I can just pick it up and run three miles at the drop of a hat.  It’s not easy, and I feel it for the next few days, but I can do it.  This frustrates the wife.  We actually had a conversation about this tonight and I said jokingly, “I can do it because I’m a man.  It’s just straight brawn.  It’s just science.”  We both got a chuckle out of that.

I’ll probably start running again.  The 10 lbs don’t really worry me though. The reason while I’ll start running again is simple: I want to keep up with my kids.  I consider myself a bit of an “older parent.”  We had our first when I was 35 and our second when I was 37, so I’d say that qualifies as a bit of a late start.  I just want to make sure I can keep up with them.  There’s lot of experiences I want to share with them and I just want to make sure I can do all the things I want to do with them.  I want to teach them how to snowboard, skateboard, ride a bike, play sports, etc.  I want to be as young as I can for as long as I can for them, and for me.  It’s part of my balance of being a dad and being human.

With that said, I’m off to bed.  A day on the mountain awaits.  Snowboard season is fading fast, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to be active, to be human, and be a better dad.

I hope those running shoes don’t keep me awake.

(I’m listening “Wild Horses” by The Sundays)

When I was 12 years old, I had a paper route.  It taught me a lot of lessons about life.  It taught me how to budget.  It taught me about hard work.  It taught me about responsibility.  It taught me about meeting a deadline.  It taught me about punctuality, and most important, it taught me about priorities.  Those lessons weren’t always learned the easy way; in fact, a lot of them were learned the hard way, but they were definitely learned.

My parents would probably laugh at the last lesson because, well, let’s just say that as a 12-year-old kid, the paper route wasn’t necessarily priority number one on my list.  I had other things to do, like becoming the next Tony Hawk, or brushing up on my skills for my career with the Boston Celtics.  Yep, there weren’t many things I’d rather be doing than skateboarding or playing basketball, and that included my paper route.

The funny things was, I was a pretty good paperboy. I had about 50 customers.  On days where the papers were thin, I could do my route from start to finish in under a half an hour.  That included folding the papers, putting rubber bands around them, loading them up on my bike, and chucking them on my customer’s porches.  I’d actually time myself to see how fast I could ride my bike and throw those papers.  I’d be bombing them from everywhere; the more challenging the throw, the better.  I was the Greg Maddux or Tom Brady of paperboys.  Overhand, side arm, underhanded, it didn’t matter the throw, I could nail it, while at top speeds on my bike.  I’d even pretend I was in a race with other paperboys and had to start at the back of the pack.  With every throw I completed, I’d move up a couple of spots; kind of like a NASCAR race.  Depending on the day, I’d make unbelievable comebacks, or I’d lead start to finish, and I always finished in first place.  On those days, I was a model of efficiency.  My priorities were right in line.

Not all days were like that though.  Some days, the true prioritization skills of a 12-year-old would take over.  There were a couple of common scenarios.  The first one was; I wouldn’t even get out of the gates because of a pick up basketball game going on in my own driveway or skateboarding in our cul-de-sac.  I got so good at my paper route that I figured I’d always have enough time to do it.  If the papers had to be delivered by 5:30pm, I could wait until 5:15pm to start delivering because I could race through it in under 15 minutes.  The problem was, 5:15 would turn into 5:17 and then 5:21 and then 5:25.  Uh oh.

The other scenario was: I had some friends that lived on my route and I would take a “pit stop” to play a game of hoops.  The worst was that one of my friends lived about 8 customers away from the “finish line.”  Looking back, it was kind of dumb.  I could have delivered those last 8 papers in about a minute and a half, circled back and played some one on one to 100, but no, I would stop instead.  My parents would start wondering where I was, take the car on my route, and find me shooting buckets, 8 houses from the end.  They couldn’t understand it.  They’d tell me, “Put down the ball down and deliver your papers!”  I could have and I should have, but at 12 years old, my priorities were out of whack.

Twenty-five years later, my priorities can still be out of whack from time to time.  I was reminded of that on today’s day off with my girls.  I thought about my paper route and that valuable lesson of prioritization.

At my day job, I’m the boss.  People rely on me for the business to run smoothly.  Today was anything but smooth.  I had people calling out, people calling me for things, and some “fires” to put out.  None of the issues were major and I have partners who are perfectly capable of solving these issues, but I made a mistake.  Just like that 12-year-old that couldn’t resist picking up the ball or skateboard; this 38-year-old couldn’t resist picking up the phone.  I don’t even know why I checked it.  Usually, I just leave my phone in my room, unless I’m taking pictures of the kids or something, but today, I checked the notifications.  Big mistake.  One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was “shooting hoops”; only in this case, that wasn’t the more fun priority.

My kids noticed, not because of me being on the phone, but because of what I was reading and what was being said to me on the phone.  I was getting frustrated and because I was getting frustrated, they were getting frustrated.  My kids are smart.  They know when I’m not paying as much attention to them as I should.  Then, they start competing for that attention.  Then the wheels fall off.  The, “in a minute,” and “hang on a second” comments start coming out.  They start acting up even more.  Finally the, “Could you be quiet for just a minute” came out.  Feelings were hurt.  Guilt was felt.  I knew I was wrong.  My priorities got mixed up.  Instead of, “Put the ball down and do your route,” I heard, “Put the phone down and be a dad!”  Apologies were made.  Hugs were given.  The phone was put down.  My perfectly capable co-workers were on their own, and my girls wouldn’t be.  Whatever needed to be fixed at the day job would be there tomorrow, but my today’s with my girls won’t always be.

I didn’t look at my phone for the rest of the day.  We played, rode bikes, had hot chocolate, built forts, listened to music, danced, bounced, hugged, smiled, and laughed.  “Put the ball down and do your route!”  That’s good advice, at 12 or 38.  I’m sorry girls.

(I’m listening to P.M. Dawn – I’d Die Without You)

The wife and I do a really good job of giving each other “free time.”  It’s intentional.  We realize it’s just as important for us to do things by ourselves as it is for us to do things together.  Today I’d spent some of my free time skateboarding and thinking about Mr. Brock, a man for which I mowed lawn when I was a teenager.

Rewind a bit to Thursday night.  Thursday night was girl’s night.  The wife had a night out planned with some friends.  She asked if I could please be home from work on time.  I surprised her by being home early (this scored some points).  She went out with her friends and had a great time.  I stayed home with the little ladies and had a great time.  She came home and we talked about our schedule for the weekend.  She said her work for the week was done so I could head up to the mountain on Friday before work.  Bless her heart.

My mom texted me late Thursday night.  She told me Bob Brock had died.  Mr. Brock was a customer on my paper route when I was 15.  He also had a large house with a huge yard and he was meticulous about it.  He mowed it four or five times a week.  He didn’t catch the lawn clippings; he just let them fall back into the yard.  It rivaled a professional baseball field.  That grass was so green and it just went on forever.  It was like walking on a sponge.  The yard was perfect.  It might have been the best yard in a town full of people who took extreme pride in their lawns.  Rumor has it there are laws in my hometown about how long your yard can be.  I think it’s six inches.  I’m not sure what the consequences are for being above the legal limit.  Maybe it’s called a “YUI” and there’s a fine, maybe jail time? I have no idea because I don’t think anyone has ever dared to test the law.  That town cared about its yards.  Anyway, back to Mr. Brock.

Mr. Brock was an older gentleman.  He was in his 70’s.  He had worked in the Reagan administration.  As it turned out, it wasn’t just his yard that was meticulous, everything about him was meticulous, but somehow it all had a purpose.  He was always dressed in khaki pants and a khaki shirt that had been pressed.  He wore a red had and always had a rag hanging out of his back pocket.  He also wore work boots that had many miles on them.  It was like he was the owner of a lawn mower store in the 1950’s.  He was very polite and professional.  He always called me “sir” and I always called him, Mr. Brock.

One day, I was collecting my monthly fee for the newspapers I delivered to Mr. Brock.  We began to talk about his yard.  He told me he was looking for someone to help him in the yard, particularly to mow.  I told him I had a little mowing experience from toiling away on my father’s yard for years and that seemed to be enough for Mr. Brock.  He told me to come back tomorrow after my paper route, I could mow his lawn, and he’d make a decision.

The next day, I was a bit nervous when I rode my bike to Mr. Brock’s house after my paper route.  It was kind of like da Vinci asking me to do a little work on the Mona Lisa.  I got behind the mower.  Mr. Brock started it up for me.  I had never heard a lawnmower hum like that before, or ever again.  It was perfect and I’ll never forget that sound, just a gentle, “Whrrrrrrrrrr.”  On the throttle, a thin line had been scratched on the metal.  I was told to put the throttle no further than that line.  If I did, the blades would spin too fast and it wouldn’t cut the grass as well.  Yes sir.  I began to mow.  Two laps around the outer boundary of the grass.  Every lap had to have the outside wheel track overlapped by the inside wheel.  Once I was done with the outer laps, I could cut diagonal lines across the middle.  I had to make sure to pick a fixed object to stare at, so at the end of the lap, I would have a straight line.  It was like Lawn Mowing 401.

I must have done alright because he offered me the job based on some conditions.  I would mow at least four times a week and at least two Saturday’s per month.  He would pay me $12 each time I mowed…after taxes.  Yep, he made me file taxes.  I mentioned he worked for Reagan, right?  If it rained, which it did a lot in Washington, I had to mow the first dry day that was available (except Sunday).  I had one request.  I asked it if would be okay if I wore a Walkman while I mowed.  For the first few weeks, he didn’t let me.  He wanted me to be able to hear the mower to make sure it was at the right speed.  He relented once I proved my worth.

I skateboarded or rode my bike to Mr. Brock’s house, almost every other day, for the next three years.  The last year, I drove my car.  I even quit the paper route.  Although it’s been more than 20 years since I mowed Mr. Brock’s lawn, I remember it like it was yesterday.  I can remember the exact patterns in which I would mow.  I can remember, the songs I heard on “Vancouver’s new music station, ZED 95.3!” Those songs have a special nostalgia associated with them when I hear them today.  I can remember the smell of the exhaust of the motor, the softness of the sod beneath my feet, and the green…man, that yard was so green.  I can even picture the view of Mt. Baker from his yard and feel the sun on my shoulders.

When I’m back home, I always end up driving by Mr. Brock’s home.  It’s very close to my parent’s house, so it’s hard to miss.  It hasn’t been Mr. Brock’s home for a while.  He and his wife moved a while back, although I don’t know where.  I just know he doesn’t live there anymore.  He couldn’t have.  The yard is run down.  The current owners planted pine trees in the yard.  Underneath the pine trees are brown circles where brilliant green grass used to be.  The wonderful flowers and plants are overgrown.  Everything looks 40 years older instead of 20.  The immaculate yard is gone, and so is Mr. Brock.  He passed away this week.  He was 95 years old.  I’m sure he’ll have the best yard in Heaven.  Even though I haven’t seen him in years, part of me will miss him.

I was supposed to go snowboarding this morning.  My wife had given me some free time. She took the girls on an outing with some other moms.  I slept in.  I didn’t mean to.  My body just needed it, I guess.  Instead, I rolled out of bed, got ready and got out my skateboard.  As I was rolling around our street, I felt something familiar.  I felt the morning air, the sunshine, and it felt like lawn mowing weather.  I thought of Mr. Brock.  I can’t believe the memories I have from mowing a lawn.

(I’ve been on a Coldplay streak for a couple of days)

I got a “do-over” today.  Yesterday, something told me not to go.  The mountains were saying, “Stay away.”  Today was a different story.  All systems were go.  The mountains were saying, “Come on in!  Let’s party!”  Thanks to the day job, I was able to rearrange my schedule and get to the mountains.  This isn’t all about snowboarding though.

The storm had passed.  The forecast was clear.  There was a fresh blanket of snow on the mountains.  The sky was as clear as I could remember.  Here is the view from the chair.

The day wasn’t without its hitches.  The hour-long drive to Loveland took a little over two.  A rock-slide closed the westbound lanes of I-70 .  Traffic was rerouted through Idaho Springs, a small town on the way to the mountain.  Normally, this would be a major inconvenience, but instead of getting frustrated, I looked.

Years ago, I lived in a mountain town.  It was one of the best years of my single life.  I worked, I rode, I rafted, and I learned a lot about myself.  One thing I learned is I want that experience again.  I don’t want it now, but I want it someday.  I thought about that while winding my way through Idaho Springs.  It was so peaceful; this small town, tucked away from the city.  It was almost like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Due to the melting snow on the roads, I had to stop and buy windshield wipers.  The old ones just weren’t cutting it.  For some reason, this always happens in Idaho Springs.  I think I’ve purchased at least four pairs in this town.  It makes sense, considering that’s usually where I start running into bad weather.  Anyway, I walk into the hardware store and four gentlemen are waiting to greet me.  I say hello and I tell them I need windshield wipers for our 2003 Honda CRV.  They tell me it won’t be a problem.  They get out a wiper catalog and look them up.  The find the wipers on a rack, hand them to a “kid,” he was probably about 20 or so, and he offers to put them on for me.  He even calls me sir.  The other gentleman rings up my wipers and I pay for them using a credit card.  He hands me a hand written receipt.  It’s like I traveled back in time; traveled back to a time where people mattered, manners were used, and technology was minimal.

I get back into the car and head for the mountains.  I think about my experience at the hardware store.  It stays on my mind while on the hill.  A simpler time.  I think about my time working on the ski slopes.  My job was to check people’s tickets.  A remedial job that, at the time, I didn’t realize how special it was.  It was a job, an $8.25 an hour job.  It wasn’t special then, but it is now.  I’d see people on vacation.  They would roll up to the resort in their fancy cars and I’d think, “Man, I can’t wait until I’m that person.”  Now, I am that person.  I don’t have to go on vacation to get to the mountains and I don’t have a fancy car, but I’m not exactly checking people’s tickets these days.  I just want to, but not right now.  Someday.  When I retire, I want to live in the mountains.  I want to bump chairs a couple of days a week to stay active.  I want to still be snowboarding.  We’ll see.

This all brings me back to today.  Being up in the mountains really makes me appreciate what I have.   It’s a reminder of a supportive wife who understands my passions.  It’s a reminder of a good career that supports my passions.  It’s a reminder of my wonderful girls, who will hopefully share my passions.  It’s a reminder of my health.  It’s a reminder of creation; a sky so blue it hurts my eyes to look at it, mountains so big that make me feel so small, and snow that is so white and so pure.  I have a great life and for that, I am thankful.

 

(I’m listening to “Oceans” by Coldplay)

It’s my “human” day.  The day I get to leave my “dad card” at home.  My introvert time.  Time to recharge my batteries.  I was well on my way, then I ran into this:

I’m somewhere in that mess of traffic on the left hand side of the picture.  I-70 westbound was closed due to an accident.  There was an alternate route, but it would be jammed.  I might not make it there until 11am or later.  An easy 1 hour drive could easily turn into 3 1/2 hours, and that was just the way there.  I pulled off the highway and into a park and ride to weigh my options.

I had a nagging feeling.  Something was telling me not to go; it just wasn’t my day.  I had been driving for about 40 minutes and made it about 18 miles.  Usually it’s an 18 minute drive.  The roads were icing over.  I had already seen spun out cars in the median, and I was just outside of Denver.  More snow was going to fall, and of course, the highway was closed.  I checked the traffic cameras on my phone.  “Well, it doesn’t look too bad after Idaho Springs,” I told myself.  I called the wife and let her know what was up.  She just said, “Just keep in touch and let me know what you decide.”  I just couldn’t shake that feeling.  Something was telling me not to go.

Now, I have driven in worse conditions, many times, and I have driven a lot.  I’ve driven 1,700 miles in 24 hours.  I’ve driven in snowstorms where visibility was zero. I’ve been the last person through the gates, just before they close a freeway due to hazardous conditions.  I’ve even followed a trucker’s taillights for 50 miles at 15 mph through a blizzard to get where I needed to go.  I was thinking about these trips of yesteryear, when, “Hey, the cars on the highway are moving!  They’re opening the road!”

“Alright,” I told myself, “It looks kind of dicey, but we can make it.  We’ll try to get to Idaho Springs and we’ll see what happens from there.”  I pulled out of the park and ride and made my way to the entrance ramp.  The entrance ramp was closed.  The gate was down and a state patrol car was blocking the road.  “What? Why?” I asked myself.  Cars and trucks were slowly churning up the highway, so why was the gate closed?  I told you, something was telling me not to go.  It wasn’t telling anyone else, just me.

I pulled into the park and ride again and waited.  I checked road conditions again, I checked forecasts again, I looked at the traffic cameras again; everything looked “just okay.”  I started to try to convince myself, “Yep, let’s go.  This is your day off.  You don’t have the kids. This doesn’t happen often.  You haven’t been up in a while.  You have to take advantage of this.”  Half convinced, I started calculating.  “Okay, if it takes me 2 hours to get up there, that’s 10:30am.  Then I can ride for a few hours.  Then it will be 1:30.  That will give me 2 hours to get home, just in case.  Then I can be home on time to pick up the girls.”

Then, the dad card, the card I thought I had left at home, kicked in.  Maybe it was the thought of my girls.  Maybe I second guessed my calculations.   “Wait a minute.  You saw the resort cameras.  There’s 4 inches of new snow up there…4.  It’s not a foot and a half.  If you were supposed to go, why was that gate closed, even though the road was open?  Besides, the roads are snow-packed and icy.  The tires need to be replaced at the end of the summer.  I wish I had done that sooner.  Whatever.  We could still make it, but why risk it?  For 4 lousy inches?  You have to be back by 4pm.  Is it worth it?”

Recently, I took an avalanche safety course called, “Know Before You Go.”  There’s 5 steps to follow in order to keep you out of an avalanche.  On the mountain, they’re extremely valuable.  They’re life-saving.  With that said, I never really thought they could apply to the drive.  I guess sometimes, the journey can be more dangerous than the destination.  The 5th step is:  Get Out of Harms Way.

Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have blinked.  I would have gone and I most likely would have made it and had a great day.  I was human then, but that was then.  Now, I’m a dad.  I have responsibilities.  I’ve made promises.  That takes priority.  Today, all signs said, “Stop.”  Something was telling me not to go, so I didn’t.  It just didn’t seem worth it.  The mountains will be there tomorrow and I’ll live to ride another day.

One of my favorite snowboarders, Jeremy Jones, once said, “Sometimes the mountains are saying, stay away.  Other times, they’re saying, come on in!  Let’s party!”  Today, they were telling me to stay away.  They weren’t telling others, just me.  It’s good to listen.

I got home, unloaded my stuff, and put down my phone.  I’m not going to check the road conditions for the rest of the day…well, maybe once, when it’s time to get my girls.

(I’m listening to “Unknown Legend” by Neil Young)

On the dad versus human scale today, I’m 100% dad.  Every day is my parenting day, but Monday’s are different.  On Monday’s, I find out what I’m made of.  On Monday’s, it’s just dad.  Mom is at work.  My safety net is gone.  My margin for error is razor thin.  I can run the whole gauntlet of emotions on these days, within 5 minutes.  Sometimes, these days are a piece of cake and sometimes…oh man.

I love these days.  It’s my day with the girls and I know someday, they’ll be gone.  Someone once told me that having kids is “long days, but short years.”  That couldn’t be more true.  Both Littles and Tiny are getting bigger and it’s a blast to watch them grow and develop. Plus, they’re really funny and cute…and mobile.  These days are ours, and I want to remember them.  So, here’s a running diary of my day with my little ladies.

1:20am. Got up because Littles lost her blankets. Had to cover her back up. This is my favorite kind of wake up because it’s one minute long. I barely have to wake up for this. The wife and I have sort of an unspoken agreement; whoever doesn’t work in the morning, gets up if the kids do. I don’t work today, so I’m up.

4:00am. Littles got scared of the dark. I had to comfort her. As bad as this seems, this is my second favorite type of wake up.  I get lots of snuggles and Littles thinks her dad can protect her from anything.

7:43am. Rise and shine! Everyone slept in! I hear Tiny rolling around and jabbering. I decide to let the wife sleep in some more, so I’ll handle the kids. I walk into Tiny’s room and she whispers, “Dadadadada.”  She just started saying that lately, but she’s been saying, “Mamamamama” for a few month.  We’re off to a good start here.

7:47am. I go into Littles room. She’s still out like a light. I would be too if I woke up 2 times that night. Oh wait, I did, but I still have to get up.

7:48am. I go into the kitchen to get a bottle and a sippy of milk.  I hope bottles are made and some sippies are clean. It’s the worst when they aren’t.  Then you have to clean them yourself and old formula has a unique smell that you’re not prepared to deal with first thing in the morning.  Good, everything is clean.

7:50am. Littles is still out. I offer her milk with ice cubes in it (her favorite). She reacts by grunting and sucking her thumb. I pull open her blinds and turn her sound machine off. It’s like waking up an angry badger sometimes.

7:51am. I give Tiny her bottle. She pounds half of it and she’s smiling and ready to go. I change her diaper and we go into Littles room.

8:05am. Littles is awake. It’s like someone flipped a switch.  She’s all smiles. Two minutes ago she could have been an 80-year-old man that just had his yard walked on. Now she’s great. Can’t wait for the teen years! Anyway, it’s time to go invade momma.

8:07am. I wake up the wife by throwing two little girls at her.  The wife got to “sleep in” until 8:07 so she’s in a great mood. Snuggles all around!

8:35am. Momma is leaving for work, but not after Littles has to say goodbye with hugs three times.  We finally stand out on the porch and watch momma drive away.  Littles has started doing this with either one of us.  It’s cute and you also have to build a few minutes into the morning schedule for it.  You can’t leave the other person with a meltdown, not when it could be avoided with an extra hug.

8:40am. Breakfast time! Littles wants a bagel with strawberry cream cheese. We don’t have strawberry cream cheese. I compromise by saying I’ll make some by mixing cream cheese with strawberry jam. Compromise accepted. Thank goodness.

9:17am. Tiny is getting tired so it’s time for her nap. You can tell because she just crawls around and moans.  She doesn’t cry.  She just moans and smiles while moaning.  It’s kind of weird.  Anyway, I put on a “Sofia the First” for Littles while I put Tiny down. “Sofia the First” is just as effective as cement shoes.  She won’t move an inch.

9:32am. Tiny is out. It’s just me and Littles. She wants to “snuggle and watch another Sofia.” She had me at snuggle.  This is also a time where I might steal an extra snooze.

10:04am. Littles tells me to turn the TV off.   Good girl!  She tells me she wants another bagel. I give her the other half. We put on some music. We listen to “Rocketman” and start singing along. I love her singing.  She matches pitch really well.

10:32am. Tiny is done with her nap. Littles goes in to check on her while I get a bottle ready.  Littles asks me if she can play with Tiny in her crib. Yep! Voluntary containment!

11:02am. They both want to get out. Now they’re playing with Littles kitchen set. I love watching them play together. Littles is making food for Tiny. My heart overflows.  Littles always cooks and bakes with the wife.

11:40am Tiny crawls into the master shower, probably to poop. (That’s her thing)

11:45am. Yep, Tiny pooped. Wow.

11:54am. Lunch time! Littles won’t eat because she had a whole bagel today, so that might sustain her for the next 3 days, but Tiny is taking it down.  Green beans, mac and cheese, and cheerios.  She’s a garbage disposal.

12:09pm. I’m peeling bandaids off of a toy flamingo. It’s like trying to get gum out of hair.

12:17pm. I’m a full blown waiter, except one of my customers can’t talk. She just acts distressed until I get her something she likes. The other customer is happy with milk.  I hope I get a good tip.

12:18pm. I’d like to note that I haven’t showered today.

12:22pm. Tiny makes herself throw up by gagging herself with her finger. Mashed up green beans, mac and cheese, and cheerios come out. Awesome. The smell is distinct.

12:28pm. People are getting tired around here.

12:29pm. I realized I’ve had to pee for the last hour.

12:37pm. Littles has reached her “no” phase.  She does this when she gets tired.  I’m telling her the plan for the rest of the day and everything is met by “no.”  I could tell her we were going snowboarding, going to the moon, or turning into mermaids, and it would be met by “Nooooo.”  Rest time is imminent.

12:52pm. It’s nap time once again. Tiny is nodding off and Littles is playing piano. She’s 3 and hasn’t had a lesson. I’m using the word “playing,” loosely. I can hear where she is while I’m putting Tiny to bed, so that’s a plus.

1:02pm. One down, one to go.

1:04pm. The battle to get Littles to go potty begins.

1:12pm. I win the potty fight. Littles is resting. As it turns out, Tiny is not asleep.

1:19pm. Tiny is down again. I hear noises from both of their rooms. It’s like sitting in a minefield.

1:26pm. Tiny is refusing to sleep, Littles doesn’t want to rest. She says she wants to poop. Funny, I’ve had that feeling for a few hours. How does it feel to want something?

1:28pm. Tiny might be on crack. She’s squealing and pounding in her crib. It sounds like she’s tunneling out. I’m going in.

1:31pm. At least someone is sleeping around here.

1:32pm. Sometimes I think Littles poops out trolls. She’s an angel now and resting wonderfully.

1:44pm. Tiny is out. She smells a bit like throw up and poop, but she is out.

1:46pm. Peace and quiet.  LET’S DO ALL THE THINGS!!! I’d like to think I’ll use this time to do something productive. I’d like to think that. The reality is, I’ll clean up the war-zone that is my house, use the bathroom, and shower so that I’ll feel like a human.

2:10pm. Rest time is over for Littles.

2:11pm. Littles offered to clean the bathroom while I showered. Bless her heart.

2:12pm. She “cleaned” for a minute. I actually think it’s more dirty. Oh well. She tried. Now she’s walking around like a herd of elephants. I hope she doesn’t wake up Tiny.

2:25pm. SO FRESH AND SO CLEAN CLEAN!!! I’m ready for the rest of the day!

2:29pm. OUTSIDE!!! Time to jump on the trampoline!

3:08pm. Everyone is up, even the cat. We’re having a ball in the sun room.

3:12pm. The wife sends a great text. She’s going to be home early! The girls and I are having snacks and listening to Elton John again. Life is good.

3:43pm. MOMMA’S HOME!!! Life is great!

3:47pm. Tiny poops her pants. WELCOME HOME MOM! Life couldn’t be better.

That obviously wasn’t the end of my day.  When the wife came home, we all played together, made dinner, went out for ice cream for Littles 3-and-a-half-year-old “birthday,” then put them to bed.  I just made that all sound easy, but it’s not; however, it’s a heck of a lot easier when the wife is here.  She’s amazing.

Today was a “dad” day for me, but tomorrow will definitely be a “human” day.  The forecast is calling for 8-10 inches of snow in the mountains, the kids are at school and day care, and the snowboard is ready.  Life is good.

(Josh Kelley’s “Home To Me” is the song of this entry)

“Can we do this again sometime, daddy?”  Those were the words I wanted to hear from Littles at the end of our day together, and she said them loud and clear.  That was the goal and they were music to my ears.  I can’t really describe the way she said them, but they really hit me.  They were part humble request, part matter of fact, and part hope.   She sounded like a grown up and a kid at the same time.  It was like she was checking to make sure this wasn’t a one-time thing, but the word “sometimes” made it sound so casual.  “Can we do this again sometime, daddy?”  I’ll never forget how she said them.

Do you remember in the movie “Field of Dreams” when “Shoeless” Joe plays baseball with Ray on that new field for the first time?  After they’re done playing, Joe asks, “Hey, can I come back again?”  That’s how Littles sounded; like it was too good to be true.  Of course, Ray’s answer was, “Yeah, I built this for you.”  My answer to Littles was, “Of course we can, sweetie; and we will.  That’s why we got this snowboard for you.”

Yep, I took Littles  snowboarding for the first time.  She calls it “towboarding” because she can’t combing the “S” and “N” yet.  It’s adorable.

In her short life, Littles has seen me leave to go snowboarding many times.  She watches me collect my gear, bring it upstairs, and she’ll ask, “Are you going towboarding, daddy?  I’ll reply, “Yes, honey.  I am going snowboarding.”  Snowboarding is my release.  It relieves any stress I might have.  It’s just me and the mountain, me and the challenge, me and creation, me and God.  Everything else just fades away.  It keeps me human, which makes me a better dad.

“Are you going towboarding, daddy?”  Today, my answer to Littles question was different.  Dad and human would collide.  I got to say the words I’ve been dying to say!  Instead of saying, “Yes, honey.  I am going snowboarding,”  today, I said, “Yes, honey.  I am going snowboarding.  Would you like to come with me?”  Her eyes lit up.  She wasn’t expecting it.  “Yes!” She said with surprise in her voice.  “And I can use my new towboard!”  We both got our gear, loaded up the Pilot, and we were off!  She made sure to bring her Barbie and Princess, her toy dog, with us.  We were both smiling ear to ear as we drove down our street toward something I had been dreaming about for a while.

I must admit, I’ve been nervous about this day.  What if she doesn’t want to do it? What if she turns into a limp noodle on the hill?  And my worst fear, what if she just doesn’t like it?  Like I said, I’ve daydreamed about this day a lot.  Teaching her how to do something for which I’m so passionate.  I picture myself, years later, sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop and a cup of coffee.  It’s a Friday.  The sun hasn’t come up yet.  There’s a dim glow from a lamp; the only light on in the house.  I’m checking the snow report.  I go into Littles room and say, “Hey Pen.  Wake up.  There’s a foot of fresh.  Grab your stuff.  I’m keeping you home from school and we’re going to the hill.”  What if she doesn’t want that? What if she’s not interested?  What if she doesn’t share my passion?  That’s why I’m nervous about this day, even though it’s years away.

I usually do ride alone.  There are times when I go with someone else, but they’re few and far between.  My schedule allows me to go on some weekdays.  It’s a great perk of the day job, but that’s not a luxury many people have.  Littles could be my riding buddy.  This could be something we do together.  This could be our special “thing.”  This could be something which she fondly looks back on.  This could be some of our memories.  That’s my dream, but I know it might not be hers.  I’ve already decided that if she likes it, she likes it, and if she doesn’t, she doesn’t; but it will be her choice. I can’t force it and her interests might be different that mine.  And, that will be just fine.  I just want her to do things that make her happy.  I also realize I’m thinking way too far ahead. Let’s focus on today.  “Can we do this again sometime, daddy?”  Perfect.  I’ll take it.

So, today we went to Loveland Ski Area.  It’s a great little ski area that’s about an hour from our home. I love it at “The Love” because it’s everything I look for in a ski area.  It’s close to home, it has challenging terrain, the lines are short, it’s a great price, it has a great vibe, and it has great snow.  It’s a locals hill and I feel at home there.

The plan for today was to take it slow and make sure she had fun. I figured I’d pull Littles around on some flat areas, let her slide down a couple of gentle slopes under my watchful eye, and avoid any major crashes. That was not Littles plan. I strapped her into that board and she was ready to go!

I pulled her up the hill a little ways, turned her around, and let her slide back down into my waiting arms.  We did that a couple more times.  She wanted more.  She wanted to go up the magic carpet.  So, I put on my boots and board and up we went to the top of the bunny hill.  On our way down, I rode behind her, holding her arms, and she thought that was awesome.  “Faster, daddy!  Faster!”  At the bottom, she said, “Let’s do that again!”  When we got back toward the top of the magic carpet, I said, “Okay, we’re getting close, I’ll help you off the magic carpet.”  Her reply was, “You don’t need to hold me.  I can do it myself.”  She totally did.  After another run, she points and says, “I want to go on the chair!”

I wasn’t expecting her to want to go on the chair lift.  I didn’t think we’d tackle that on the first day.  I was obviously more nervous about it than she was.  I just didn’t know what to expect.  What if she got scared of the heights and tried to slide off?  I can’t have her go all limp noodle on the chair with me.  I don’t want to scare her on her first day.  Well, I was totally wrong.

Littles wasn’t scared at all; in fact, she was just the opposite.  “Look how high I am, daddy!  I’m bigger than all those people down there!”  She loved it.  The day wasn’t without it’s hitches.  Littles did take a spill or two.  Some tears were shed, but she’d be quick to brush herself off and get back up.  I was proud.  We took our final run and she decided she was tired.  “Carry me daddy!”  She laid down in the snow and that was it.  I knew our day was done and I knew I didn’t want to push my luck.  She had fun and that’s all I wanted.  I carried her back to the car.  We got changed, got cozy, and headed home.  As we were leaving the parking lot, that’s when she said it, “Can we do this again sometime, daddy?”  Success.  We will.

 

 

 

(I’m listening to “Sometimes Always” by The Jesus and Mary Chain)

Our oldest daughter, Littles, has always been a talker.  She didn’t walk until she was 15 months, but she was talking at 10 months.  She had a few words early on, and it just exploded from there…and it has been hilarious ever since.  We never know what she’s going to say or when she’s going to say it.

For example, when the wife was pregnant with Tiny, her two and a half year-old sister decided to give birth in Costco’s cereal isle.  I’ll never forget the text the wife sent, but more importantly, I’ll never forget my reaction.  The text read, “Littles just gave birth in Costco.”  I wasn’t even surprised.  I just laughed, shook my head, and thought, “That’s Littles for ya.”  As the story goes, Littles stuffed her doll down the front of her princess dress, squatted, and proceeded to grunt and push the baby down her dress and onto the floor.  The, she yelled triumphantly, “Momma!  The baby just come out of my uterus and my vagina!”  Then she took the baby, held it skin to skin, and put it to her chest to feed it.  My wife was very proud.  The onlookers?  Well, to my understanding, there were mixed reactions.

At the time, the wife was pregnant and a birth doula on the side, so Littles was exposed to a lot of stuff.  She knows her parts.  She knows her momma’s parts and she knows her dadda’s parts.  We taught her.  Littles isn’t above telling people she’s on her period.  She’ll grab a pad from the bathroom and say, “My tummy hurts, I think I’m having my period.”  While the wife was pregnant, Littles told everyone who would listen that there’s a baby in her uterus.  When we asked her who was in mommy’s tummy, she’d give answers of, Justin Bieber, or Baby Levi (our friend’s new baby) or, our personal favorite, baby Jesus, before settling on BABY SISTER!

The point is, she says funny stuff and she says cute stuff, and I don’t want to forget any of it.   The wife and I were sitting around tonight watching some old videos, and we’d remember things that she said and we’d say to each other, “Ohhhhh, do you remember that?”  The truth was, we’d both refresh each other’s memory, and at some point those memories will fade.  So, without further ado, here’s a glossary of Littles greatest hits!

“Wubby!” = I love you.  This was one of the first “sentences” she said.  It is absolutely adorable.

“Pile” = Smile.  Little hasn’t put consonants together yet, so we get some cute stuff out of this.

“Pell” = Smell.  Same consonants, same cute result.  “Somefing pells dadda. Pell my bref!”

“Pill” = Spill.  “I pilled, dadda.”

“Nilk” = Milk.  “I pilled my nilk!”  Milk is her favorite beverage.  It can be 95 degrees out and the kid hydrates with milk.  She loves her milk.

“Fumbs Up” = Thumbs up.  If she likes something, she’ll give you a “Fumbs Up.”

“More-gan” = More again!  If we were playing and she’d want to do something again, she’d say, “More-gan daddy!  More-gan!”  The excitement she had need two words and she didn’t know the difference, so she just combined them.

“Tores” = Snores.  One of her favorite books is, “The Bear Snores On.”  So we’d let her read it and she’d say, “And the bear tores on.”

“Pie-cy Water” = Spicy water.  We have a carbonated water machine, and she calls it, “Pie-cy Water.”  “Can I have some pie-cy water, dad?”

“Pecial” = Special.  “I fink you’re pecial, dad.”  Or, “Can you hold my toy, it’s pecial to me.”

“Towboarding” = Snowboarding.  “You going towboarding, dadda?”  “Can I go towboardig wif you?”

“Towman” = Snowman.  “Do you want to build a towman?”  “Frozen” is one of her favorite movies.

“I see!  I see!”  When she was old enough to realize we were taking pictures and videos of her, she would do something funny or cute and IMMEDIATELY say, “I see? I see?”  She would say this while simultaneously trying to pull the phone out of our hand.

“Yemenaid” = Lemonade.  We’d have lemonade and the question of whether she could have some would soon follow.

“Ba-nain-a” = banana.  The middle syllable has a very hard “A.” We’ve wondered many times where that accent came from.

“Hosible” = Hospital.  “Momma has to go to the hosible to help a momma get a baby out of her uterus.”  This is funny, because I used to say “hosible” when I was little.

“Tuggle” = Snuggle.  “I want to tuggle wif you dadda.  Tuggle wif me!”

“Baby Yo-ey” = her baby sister’s name.

“Pee-NUS” = Penis.  “Daddy has a pee-NUS!”  Huge emphasis on the “NUS.”

“Woman Woman” = Wonder Woman.  That’s her hero.  I can’t tell you how much Littles loves Wonder Woman.  In Littles mind, the wife and Wonder Woman are the same person.  She can think that, because the wife is pretty amazing.

“It’s for you, Bob!”  This is the last line in the book, “Giggle, Giggle, Quack!”  It’s one of Littles’ favorites.  She says, “It’s for you, Bob,” in the lowest possible tone she can.

Here’s the last one.  Littles has a song she sings to her sister when Littles thinks her sister is being naughty.  It goes like this, “Baaaaad baby, you always cry, baaaaaad baby, I never know why, you never ever do the things that you should (voice cracking), oh baaaaad baby, why can’t you be good?”  The funny part, besides her singing this song, is that the word “baby” is interchangeable with “momma” or “dadda,” so at any moment, any one of us could be the target of her song.

I write these so I won’t forget, because I already know there’s more I’m missing.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, the 3-year-old and her “baby” are doing just fine.  Wubby, Littles. Wubby.

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to Primitive Radio Gods – Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand)

“You guys gonna try for a boy?”  As a father of two girls, I get that question a lot.  I thought about that question today when our family was on the way home from REI.

We bought Littles a snowboard.  We didn’t really mean to, it just happened.  It was an uncharacteristically cloudy day in the Denver metro area, we were sitting around at 3 in the afternoon, and we were wasting the day.  The wife and I didn’t feel like doing anything, but we couldn’t just keep sitting around, so I suggested going to REI because they have an indoor play area for which the girls could get out their energy.  Plus, I always have a coupon, a dividend, or a gift card to REI.  I’m kind of frugal like that.  The wife said, “Perfect, Littles needs a water bottle for school.  Let’s go!”  We loaded up the girls, and we were off.

We get to REI and did our water bottle shopping.  Littles could barely contain herself.  She knows about the play area at REI.  If I’m planning on taking her to REI to shop for an hour, forget about it.  Here’s what an hour at REI looks like with Littles.  I’ll have 2 minutes to shop, the next 10 will be spent telling her that we’re not done shopping yet, the next 42 will be spent in the play area, and the last 6 minutes will be used convincing her to leave.  Every visit is like that.  What can I say?  She loves the slides there.

So we’re at the play area, and as it turns out, this isn’t an original idea on a dreary day.  There are lots of kids and lots of parents.  Littles isn’t shy and we hear her say, “Can I play with you?”  It melts my heart when I hear stuff like that.  Littles is such a kindhearted kid.  We hear the other child say, “Sure!”  We know she’ll be fine, so the wife and I decide to look around in the kids area. (By the way, aren’t kids awesome?  I learn a lot from watching them.  They just accept each other and don’t ask questions. There are no judgments.  All it takes is a, “Can I play with you?” And they’re best friends for the next 42 minutes.)

Anyway, I had been to REI a couple of weeks before and saw a snowboard that was Littles size.  I want to get her started in it.  We’ve been up a couple of times and she rides on my board with me on the bunny hill.  From the, “Again daddy,” and the, “Faster, daddy,” she seems to like it.  Plus, it’s something we can do together.  The wife has given it her best shot, but I just don’t think it’s in the cards for her.  My little ladies will be my best shot for companionship on the hill.

Littles is 3 and she’ll be 4 by the start of next season, so I bring the wife over, just to have a look.  She says, “Well, it is something we’re going to have to invest in, it’s a great deal, so yeah, let’s do it.”  I don’t know who will be more excited at the point, me or Littles.  We call Littles over from the play area and say, “Hey Littles!  Do you like this snowboard?”  Here’s our answer!

We’re both excited!  Littles first “towboard!” (She says “towboard” instead of “snowboard.”  It’s really cute.)  We grab the snowboard, spend our 6 minutes convincing Littles to leave the play area, pay for the snowboard, and head home.

On the drive home, Littles is tired from the play area, but she asks if we can go “towboarding.”  When we tell her we’re going home, she’s disappointed.  She thought we were going snowboarding now!  The wife and I reassure her that we’ll go soon and we start talking about our schedules and how we’ll be able to make it work and how much fun we’re going to have.  I start thinking about Littles and me on the hill, having the time of our lives.  Me passing down one of my passions to her.  That’s when I think about the question, “You guys gonna try for a boy?”

I don’t know why I thought of that question.  Is it a social norm?  Do I subconsciously want to raise a boy since I’m a man?  Is it subliminal advertising?  I don’t really have a good answer.  What I do know is I don’t mind answering that question; I actually enjoy it.  It seems natural to ask that question to a dad with two girls.  It makes for good conversation.  I can understand where the questions comes from, even if I can’t explain it.  The truth is, the wife and I always thought we were going to have a boy, but we didn’t.  We were blessed with two little ladies.

So, “You guys going to try for a boy?”  Nope.  I’m perfectly happy with a family full of ladies.  I’m fulfilled.  I love my girls and they are amazing.  I can do anything with my girls that I would do with a boy; and I do!  Can I teach them to snowboard? Yep!   Can I teach them to throw a baseball?  Yep!  Can I help them with their homework? Yep!  Can they be super heroes?  Littles already thinks she’s Wonder Woman (or “Woman Woman” as she says).  I’ll play princesses with them, I’ll play cars with them, I’ll jump on the trampoline with them, I’ll teach them to ride a bike, and I’ll teach them about the greatest musical era of all-time…the 1990’s.  My girls can be anything they want to be, and that’s how I’ll raise them.

In college, I dated a girl from a family of two girls.  The dad loved me!  He’d call me to play golf with him, he let me drive his farm equipment, we had coffee together, we’d talk man to man.  He appreciated me.  I think he actually took it harder than his daughter did when she broke up with me.  He called me to make sure I was okay.  We played golf a couple of more times.  Maybe he saw the son he never had in me.  I don’t know.

I’m sure I’ll feel that way if my girls get married to a couple of nice men, but it won’t be because I wanted a son.  I’ll feel that way because those boys parents will have taught them that girls can be anything they want to be.  Those boys will treat my girls as I do.  My girls will expect that, and those boys will have some stiff competition with this daddy.  My girls will know what it’s like to be loved, they’ll know what it’s like to be respected, and they won’t need to go anywhere else to get affection because they’ll get if from me.  They’ll eventually seek the affection of another man; but when they do, it won’t be because they need to.  They’ll make that decision because they want to and they’ll have someone that’s worthy of their decision.

Aside from being a faithful follower of Christ and a great husband, I can’t think of a greater responsibility and joy than raising two amazing ladies.  They’re my girls and I’ll love them the rest of my life.

In the end, we did get a water bottle.  The wife ordered it on Amazon, from the 3rd story of REI.  Mission accomplished.