Month: July 2009

A Really Bad Day

I watched her walk up the Slip ‘N Slide after I told her to walk on the grass after she’d had a turn to slide. Before I could say anything, Lincoln dove head-first down the slide before crashing into Anna’s shins.

As Anna scampered away, Lincoln sat on the slide with tears running down his face and a goose-egg forming on his forehead. As I helped Lincoln to his feet, I yelled to Anna that her time on the slide was finished. She walked to the other side of the yard where she stood with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

annalynn

When one of Luca’s friends and her mother rang the door bell, the kids raced to greet them. Luca had been invited to her friend’s home. When Anna realized she wasn’t invited, she acted up, and Kim sent her downstairs in timeout.

I sat at my computer typing away. Music played in the background. I could barely hear Anna’s sniffling. She sat on a cheap plastic chair with her knees pulled up against her chest. Her scowl showed no signs of leaving. Her actions ensured she’d spent more time in timeout than playing.

It’s tough being five.

Kim and the gang were upstairs. I wondered how long Anna would stay on the chair. Would I have to remind her? Would she test me? I looked straight ahead at my computer screen while trying to watch her out of the corner of my eye.

When I felt enough time had passed I asked her to come sit on my lap. She wasn’t sure what to think.

“Let’s talk, Anna”

“About what?”

“About whatever you want”

She wiggled around on my lap so I could see her face. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her cheeks bright red. She wants to see me, but she doesn’t want me to see her. I figured she was done talking, but I was wrong.

“I’m just having a really bad day”

I’m not sure what constitutes a bad day to a five-year-old girl but, nobody would argue with her assessment today. I love Anna’s honesty. At times I’ve struggled to connect with her, and I know these opportunities don’t come along often.

“We all have bad days. Even dads have bad days”

“Do you cry when you have bad days?”

“Sometimes”

“I’m going to be good tomorrow, because I cried all my tears out”

With that, I picked her off my lap, gave her a hug and sent her on her way.

That Sickening Feeling I Can’t Shake

I doubt the feeling will ever go away. It’s a sickening feeling that sends a chill down my spine. I grit my teeth as the experience flashes before my eyes.

And it happens each time I pull into the garage and exit my car. It’s like a bad nightmare that becomes more engrained each time I think about it. I’m sure blogging about it won’t help either.

Nearly 9 years ago we lived in our first home in Woodinville, WA. We loved the huge trees that surrounded our small red house and the privacy our cul-de-sac afforded. Our home sat on a hill, and each morning I’d drive down through the morning fog that covered the roads and fields like a gigantic down pillow.

Seldom was I in a hurry. And even if I was late to work, I didn’t speed. Why rush my drive through the clouds? It was one of the few peaceful times of my day aided by the absence of traffic. I’d roll down my windows to hear the roosters crowing.

But my return trip home was anything but peaceful. Lots of merging and stop and go traffic. The crowing was replaced by honking. Driver’s with short fuses produced a lot of waving of the one finger variety.

By the time I’d pull up our steep driveway and into the garage I’d be worn out. Back then I drove a black VW Passat with a 5-speed. It was the first car I bought when I moved to Seattle after realizing a rear-wheel drive Miata wasn’t suited for Seattle’s wet roads.

On this warm summer day, I jumped out of the Passat and noticed my garbage bin was at the end of the driveway. As I took a few steps down the hill I decided to turn around. I don’t know why I turned around. I don’t remember hearing anything. But I instinctively turned my body to the side at the very moment my car’s front bumper skimmed my hip. I wasn’t hurt but I couldn’t stop my car hurtling towards the street.

In that split second my heart sunk. I was helpless. A number of children lived in our neighborhood. It wasn’t uncommon to see people walking their dogs down our street. As my car picked up speed, I looked towards the road and assumed it would crash into the house across the street.

But as the rear wheels hit the street, the front wheels jerked hard to the left. My car was going so fast that it made a quick U-shape before turning back towards my next door neighbor’s home. At this point the back end of the car smashed into my their sturdy mailbox before slamming into two decorative trees.

I still stood there in my driveway. Too stunned to move. What if my car had hit a child playing basketball on the outdoor basketball hoop? Or a mother and father walking their dog? What if my car had sailed straight into my neighbor’s garage where their children often worked? What if I hadn’t turned around in that split second on my driveway?

Thinking about that afternoon gives me chills. The mailbox and trees were easily replaced. But my failure to engage the parking break could have caused unspeakable tragedy that day.

I wish I didn’t have to relive those feeling each time I get out of my car. But if it helps me reminder to use the parking brake then it’s a small price to pay.

Mouse Repairs

I sat at my computer this evening staring at my monitors. Like most nights, I had at least a dozen websites and programs splashed across my screen.

My mind was everywhere yet nowhere.

I cleaned the house on Sunday afternoon. Now it’s Friday and it’s still clean. That hasn’t happened since Kim and I were first married.

I’m accustomed to sliding my foot into my Eccos only to find a buck fifty worth of change. Yet this week I’ve got dressed without discovering any treasure. I’ve not had to hunt down my belt or keys either. It’s like getting an extra 15 minutes each morning.

Kim took the kids to Longbeach, WA to spend time building sand castles, visiting lighthouses and hanging out with her parents. I know they are having a lot of fun based on the pictures she sends me throughout the day.

The house was so quiet tonight. Our dog, Elka, only makes sounds when she snores. I was missing Kim and the kids as I sat at my computer goofing around on Facebook.

I noticed my mouse wasn’t working very well. It just wasn’t very responsive. I was about to slam it down against the desk when I noticed something. Where did these crumbs on my mouse pad come from?

Turning over my mouse over revealed two half-eaten Cheerios, no doubt a gift from my one year old son, Kai, who thinks my mouse is a TV remote he can use to change the channel in the room next door.

As much as Kai can frustrate me taking my wireless mouse on a tour around the house, I miss his little face looking up at me. If he can’t make off with my mouse, he enjoys sitting on my lap watching the iTunes visualizer and listening to music. If I’m lucky he’ll fall asleep on my shoulder.

No, I’m already very lucky.

Uncategorized

I tend to fight against being categorized.

Because I feel as though I’m expected to behave a certain way once I’ve been categorized or labeled.

The first time I recognized this was when I entered the mission training center in Provo, Utah. I felt as though I was being asked to check my personality at the door. I was expected to talk and carry myself in a specific manner. I had little control over what I wore even down to the length of my hair.

I felt like a clone and did everything I could to break the profile and exert just a small dose of my own personality even when it meant getting in trouble.

In high school I was known as a jock. When I speak with people from my graduating class they seem shocked that I work in technology and can form coherent sentences on my blog.

The only label I’ve come to value is that of father. There are books on fatherhood, but not one agreed upon standard. I’m not necessarily expected to father my children in the same manner my father raised his. I am given the chance to figure it out on my own.

No step-by-step guide required.

Technology Requires Patience

The problem with the first MP3 player I owned wasn’t the fact that it only held about eight songs. Or the poor display or sketchy ID tag support.

No, the real problem with the Diamond Rio 300 was that I spent more time getting mp3 files onto the device than I did actually listening to them. The same scenario was played out with another half dozen players until the iPod came along.

My iRiver H-120 had a number of features not found on the iPod. But what features the iPod had, it did well. Apple made it easy to get music on the iPod. Isn’t that what’s it’s all about? Actually listening to your music!

My more geeky friends talk about how their Zune has an FM radio or their Creative or Archos devices support more video formats. But those products are stuck in niche markets because they are difficult for non-geeks to use. Both my parents own iPods and never once have they called me for technical support. Apple make sure the important features work and avoid complexity. Even if it means cutting a few features.

I recently had dinner with friends about my age. Both are smart, well-educated people who work outside the field of technology. It was fascinating to hear them talk about technology in regards to computers and mobile phones. They want new phones but don’t want the hassle of relearning a new model. And how do they move all those contact and numbers over to the new phone?

And their kids know more about the computer than the parents. This brought back memories of every high school computer course I took. By the third week, the students were doing the teaching.

Maybe I should be happy that technology is still difficult to use since my job relies on non-geeks paying people like me to help them wade through their options. If we ever get to the point where technology is easy to use, I will be looking at a career change.

But technology is still much too difficult to use. Computer and phones are still a mess. Occasionally I come across a product that works as advertised like the Flip Mino, but they are rare.

I don’t know if the iPhone is the best gadget ever or if my judgment is clouded by the fact I wanted to throw my Windows Mobile phone against the wall every day. Does Windows 7 feel good because Vista was so bad? Now iTunes wants to update itself and trick me into installing the Safari browser. Where did that toolbar come from?

Can we trust anyone?

No wonder my friends decided to stick with their old phones and computer when companies promise improvements but only if we’ll hand over our wallets.

I’m baffled by what we’re willing to put up with. It’s time we begin demanding products that work as advertised. 

Crossing the Bridge

Few cars were on the road at this time of night. With the moon roof down, I could see a group of stars in the dark, clear sky.

I don’t know what is about driving on a bridge over water. 65 mph feels like 85. Cops are rare so maybe I was doing closer to 85. Either way, I had the the I90 bridge all to myself as I zipped around the stretch from Mercer Island and into town.

With the top open, I extended my hand to deflect the crisp air onto my face like I did when I was kid while sitting in the backseat of our station wagon. I love the cool air of Seattle. It makes me feel so alive.

My iPod was playing Till Brönner’s “River Man”.

If he tells me all he knows
About the way his river flows
And all night shows
In summertime

It’s been nearly 15 years since I first crossed the bridge on my way to Seattle where I moved into an a tiny studio across from the University of Washington.

But tonight I exited the bridge and jumped onto I5 which goes through downtown Seattle, past the glowing pillars of Safeco Field. Taking the 45th Street exit put me on “the Ave”.

A lot has changed over the years. Tower Records was gone. The corner computer shop had been replaced with a used clothing store. My favorite used record and CD joint was now a copy store. I was happy to see that Bulldog News and Haagen Daz were still around.

But the vibe I remember was gone.

On the drive home I thought about how my life has changed since I moved to Seattle. I’ve lost track of all the jobs I’ve held. I’ve lived downtown and far from town. I’ve commuted to work by bus, train, bike, scooter and ferry. We bought our first home and raised our first child and adopted our first pet.

But the largest change (besides meeting Kim) is that I now have four children that call me dad. And a few other names on occasion.

I arrived in Seattle as a self-centered brat who felt like the world owed me something for sticking out four years of college. Having children has softened the edges. Toned down the attitude.

I’ve got a long way to go. But I feel like I’m a better person than the one that drove a U-Haul over the bridge back in ‘94.

I’m going to take my kids to the Haagen Daz next week.

Before it’s replaced by another gas station.

I’m Not Ready

I’m not  ready to accept that I’m down to one grandparent.

As we plan a vacation to Utah to visit family, I keep telling myself I need to make time to swing by and visit my grandparents.

But only my grandmother on my mother’s side is left.

Growing up both grandparents lived about 30 minutes from our home, and I saw them at least a couple of times each month.

My grandfather bought me my first calculator, and I stayed up all night pressing 1+1 over and over till I fell asleep just shy of 10,000.  My grandmother would take me to ZCMI Center each fall to buy me a new outfit for school. So many good memories.

By living in Seattle our children haven’t had as many opportunities to spend time with their grandparents. When they do, it’s a treat and something they don’t take for granted.

Last summer we made a trip to Utah so my grandma on my dad’s side could see our new baby. It was the first and last time she was able to hold Kai because she passed away the day after we left.

During these times life feels so fragile. The separation feels too abrupt.

In a couple of weeks the six of us will make the 15 hour drive to Ogden. Each trip down could mean the last time I see my grandmother alive. Sometimes age has a funny way of changing one’s personality. She may not be as patient as I remember. She may repeat the same story or become confused.

Yet when she uses her left hand to prop up her right hand in order to grasp my hand, I know exactly what she means.

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Approachability

I’ve never had a job that required I wear a suit unless you count the two years I spent in Germany as a missionary. I had to wear a suit, white shirt and tie each day regardless of the weather.

I didn’t like the dress code back then and never got used to it. ties

By the time I was released, I was so tired of wearing a suit I vowed I’d never take a job that required I wear one each day.

So far so good.

My first job out of college had a firm business casual dress code. My current job has the same but is more flexible. I can occasionally wear jeans and mock turtlenecks without being sent home.

I think back to my days as a missionary and remember how much more approachable I was when I wasn’t wearing a suit, tie and name badge. When all decked out in dark suit, many Germans assumed I was selling something, and wouldn’t converse. But on our preparation day I wore jeans and a t-shirt and fit into the landscape. I was a lot more approachable which made sharing my message a lot easier. There were times when I taught more people on preparation day than the rest of the week days combined.

I know that serving a mission and working in an office are two entirely different activities. But I wonder if some of the same walls I built as a missionary show up in the office?

Why would any of my far more relaxed technicians want to talk to a guy sitting behind a desk wearing slacks and a tie? I know I wouldn’t.

I’m much more likely to hear from my crew if I spend time playing basketball with them as opposed to sitting in my office in nicely pressed business casual attire all day.

Does it matter how much time I spent polishing my shoes, ironing my shirts and pressing my pants if I don’t hear how my team is doing and connect with them on their terms?

How approachable are you?

Photo by Geekgirly

The iPhone Has Reduced My Reliance on Windows

Kim took the kids to Longbeach, WA last week. While she was gone I kept in touch with her by phone, but also SMS and email.

We both used Facebook to update our friends and family. We both updated Twitter a few times each day. We watch YouTube videos and read blogs in Google Reader.

Kim took pictures of the kids and sent them to me over email where I optimized and cropped them before posting to Posterous or Facebook.

We both checked the weather and played a few games. I updated my blog and listened to music. I even traced her route back to Auburn using Google Maps.

None of these activities are unusual. I suspect many families use similar technology to keep in touch. 

But here’s what I realized this weekend: At no point did either of us use any Microsoft software. image

We used our iPhones. Having an iPhone has reduced our reliance on Microsoft software. Not only did the iPhone replace our Windows Mobile phones but it’s also replacing many activities that used to require a PC.

Should Microsoft be concerned?

Kim and I will spend more on iPhone apps this MONTH than we will on Microsoft software this YEAR.

It’s not that we’re intentionally avoiding using Microsoft software. It’s just that we don’t need it very much.

The iPhone isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty darn close. Each week I see more iPhones show up on Microsoft campus. What does it say about Windows Mobile if your own employees are leaving it for the iPhone?

The game has changed. But does Microsoft realize it?

Home Alone

This morning I woke up to the sound of my alarm instead of the sounds of kids arguing over the Nintendo.

I ate breakfast without Lincoln begging me to make chocolate milk.

I took a shower without Anna Lynn flushing the toilet right as I was working Tea Tree Shampoo into my scalp.

I grabbed my keys and briefcase. Wow, my iPhone was right where I left it the night before. I didn’t have to follow the fart sounds in order to find my phone in the hands of my oldest daughter hiding deep in the couch cushions.

I didn’t have four kids grabbing every limb of my body begging me to stay home and take them to Chuck E Cheese.

I left the house minus the yelling and the begging and the arguing.

But it wasn’t the same.

I pulled my car out of the garage and looked back towards the house. All I saw were two recycle bins.

Most days I see three kids waving their arms so violently you’d think they were stranded on an island.

I rolled down the car window expecting to hear voices yelling, “We love you!!”

But all I heard was my neighbor’s sprinkler.

I’m glad the circus rolls back in to town tomorrow afternoon.

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