When Will Mom Be Home?

It wasn’t until Kim pulled out the driveway that I realized I’d left the stroller in the van. I thought about calling her, but she was excited to get to Seattle with Luca and Anna to watch the Nutcracker Ballet. Although I sent her off with the portable GPS, she gets nervous driving down the narrow downtown streets looking for a place to park. I didn’t want to detract from their night out.

“When will mom be home?”

That left me home with Lincoln and Kai. I figured it couldn’t be too difficult to take Kai to the mall without a stroller. I’ll hold his hand and he’ll walk beside me like the three older kids did when they were two years old. Lincoln can help me keep an eye on him. That was my plan.

And that’s exactly how it worked from the car to the mall entrance. I must have run five miles chasing that kid around from one display to the next over the next hour.

Lincoln went up one of the more difficult sides of the climbing wall, and could not stop smiling once he reached the top and punched the buzzer. I bought him a piece of pepperoni and pineapple pizza. Of course, he counted each pineapple piece before eating any.

“When will mom be home?”

Afterwards, he wanted a frozen yogurt. He filled his cup with chocolate and eggnog flavored frozen yogurt and topped it with chocolate chips and gummy bears. He told me it tasted especially good because he didn’t have to share with any sisters.

We arrived home to a cold house. Kim and the girls would be a few more hours. I put Kai to bed and asked Lincoln what he wanted to do.

“When will mom be home?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Can we watch Home Alone 2?”

I grabbed the biggest blanket I could find and sat next to Lincoln on the couch. He’s by far our most mellow child. He’s content to be with me and does not ask for much. About ten minutes into the movie he grabbed a pillow and said, “Can I put my head on your lap?”

“Of course”

I see a lot of myself in my son. He’s cautious around me in the same manner I was around my father at his age. Luca would have grabbed a pillow and jumped on my lap without asking. There’s a mutual comfort level. Lincoln is more deliberate. He’s respectful if a bit shy. Maybe a bit awkward. But sweet.

I watched my son more than the movie tonight. I watched him giggle, smile, and repeat his favorite Kevin McAllister quotes. I combed his wiry hair with my fingers and tickled his neck. More than once, I adjusted his glasses so they wouldn’t fall off his nose.

I waited for it. Surely he’d ask again. The movie was nearly over, and I was certain he’d want an update on mom’s whereabouts.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t care if mom is late because I’m having so much fun tonight”

It Might Get Loud

It’s been a while since I’ve had a smile on my face through an entire film, but It Might Get Loud did that to me today.

My brother told me about the film a few weeks ago and we both watched it this weekend. That kicked off a number of email exchanges detailing our favorite segments and concluded with a two hour phone conversation this evening. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop talking about it.

The documentary is about three guitar legends: Jimmy Page, The Edge and Jack White. If you play music you’ll love it. If you love music you’ll love it. There’s not ten seconds of dullness to be found here.

My favorite segment: All three guys are chatting on the couch when Jimmy begins sharing a story about a manager who challenged him to expand on a section of chords he’d been playing around with. While The Edge and Jack watch, Jimmy grabs his guitar and strums that killer opening riff to “Whole Lotta Love”. The camera pans and you see both Jack and The Edge look on in wonderment.

It would have been easy for Page to dominate the film. Yet it’s his humble approach and willingness to play the music of fellow guitarists that makes this work shine.

An Uncertain Year

This year can be summed up by a question my son asked me tonight as we sat on the couch together and watched the lights on our tree.

“Dad, how come the lights at the top of the tree don’t work?”

Normally, I’d crack a joke. But not today. I didn’t have an answer for why a third of the lights didn’t work. I suppose I could look for the dead bulb or the short in the cord. Maybe one entire strand of lights hadn’t been plugged in. Not sure. Whatever the reason it didn’t seem to bother Lincoln so why should it bother me?

An imperfect tree to an uncertain year.

We didn’t send out Christmas cards this year. We handed out a few gifts to neighbors. We didn’t hang lights around our home. We didn’t give as much service as we had planned. Home and auto repairs seemed to drop out of nowhere. Our three oldest kids needed glasses and dental work done.

Nothing major. Just many small expenditures that add up over time during a year when my bonus was slashed.

These were my thoughts as I wrapped the last few presents with Kim tonight. In a few hours our kids will awake to find that Santa delivered fewer gifts this year than in years past. They won’t understand why that’s the case.

Yet if they do ask, I’ll explain to them that 2009 has been a difficult year for many people. Like our friends down the street who have been unable to sell their home for well over a year. Or another friend who lost his job three months ago and has yet to find work. Or the evening I returned home from work depressed because I had to tell several loyal employees I no longer had jobs for them due to a downturn in business.

This has been a year of drastic upheaval for many.

Too many good people looking for jobs. Too many people taking whatever work they can even if that means delivering pizza to keep the lights on.

In spite of the tough year, we’ve been incredibly blessed. Our kids were able to spend more time with their grandparents this summer than any before. We enjoyed our weeks at Longbeach and our summer trip to Ogden. We spent a lot of time around the table putting puzzles together, playing games and sharing goofy stories.

As we lounged around the house tonight, a friend dropped off a box of Cap’N Crunch Christmas Crunch. The kids followed me to the kitchen assuming I’d pull out plates and napkins to minimize the mess. They were surprised when I opened the box and tossed Christmas Crunch across the table in their direction.

Mom wasn’t home to put a stop to it.

And then it started. I blame Kai. He started the mayhem by reaching over to pilfer my red crunch berries. I had no choice but to steal Lincoln’s green crunch trees. Of course, Lincoln had to take back what he’d lost from his sisters.

Before long we had more cereal on the floor than in our mouths. But it didn’t matter because everyone was having a wonderful time. Kai giggled as he tossed berries across the table. We all laughed. Everyone got along. A Christmas miracle.

Maybe we should have read the Christmas story from the Bible tonight. Or acted out the nativity scene. Or sang songs together. But we didn’t. Instead we sat around a table and munched on Crunch.

It was an imperfect activity to end a great day.

Shark Tales

The story always starts with three guys who get themselves into a situation of imminent danger. Miraculously, a genie appears and grants each a single wish. The first two wisely use their wish to get themselves to safety.

But the third guy? Well, he’s not very smart. He foolishly uses his wish as a means of entertainment.

I’m not sure why my kids like these stories so much. One night I didn’t feel like searching for a book to read them so I made up such a story on the spot. Now I’m asked to create a new story each night. That’s a lot of pressure, and I’m beginning to run out of dangerous situations. I’ve used floods, volcanoes, earthquakes, lions, snakes, fires, and hurricanes.

Yet nothing will ever match the shark.

See, these three guys went scuba diving, but were quickly surrounded by a ferocious and very hungry shark.

“When was the last time the shark ate?” asks Lincoln.

“6 months. Maybe longer!”, I lie, hoping to convince the kids he’s one ravenous shark.

Suddenly, a genie appears out of thin air. Sensing the men are in danger, he grants each of them a wish. One guy wishes for a Jet Ski he rides to shore. Another is pulled to safety by a passing fishing boat.

But the third guy. He’s not very smart.

As the shark circles the third guy, the genie is perplexed when he asks for a large foam finger. Like the ones you see at college football games.

“That’s your wish?” asks the genie.

“Yep, one giant foam finger”

The genie grants his wish and a foam finger appears. As the genie disappears the shark races towards the guy. But at the last second, the guy pulls out the foam finger and pokes the shark in the eye. Embarrassed and sporting one incredibly bloodshot eyeball, the shark swims back to the ocean in search of easier prey.

Yep, this is how I spend my time with my kids. Maybe I should be at the park or the museum. Would they be better off if I read children’s classic literature to them?

Maybe so.

But nothing beats the shark.

My Favorite Group of 2009

One of my favorite iTunes features is the play count column. Occasionally I’ll sort my playlists using this column to see which songs I’ve listened to the most.

Looking over the last year, the top of my most played list is dominated by Ivy who I found through Last.FM this year.

The first song I heard, "Edge of the Ocean”, is my favorite. It’s both mellow and upbeat, and it puts me in a good mood when I’m down. It’s such a simple song with simple lyrics. I’m surprised I’ve not tired of it.

I love the soothing voice of lead singer, Dominique Durand.

There’s a place I dream about
Where the sun never goes out
And the sky is deep and blue
Won’t you take me there with you

[audio:edgeofocean.mp3]

One other song I enjoy is “Ocean City Girl”. Same smooth vocals, but a bit more reflective.

The night is falling; the streetlights start to glow
No one’s there when the cracks begin to show
They can’t hurt her like she’s been hurt before
No one here can get near her anymore

[audio:oceancitygirl.mp3]

Give them a listen and see what you think. What is your favorite group or musician you discovered this year?

The Voice of a 5-Year Old

I like to think that I do a good job of keeping my work at work. A 45-60 minute commute helps clear my mind before I arrive home. But occasionally work spills over into family life.

That’s exactly what happened on Friday.

What should have remained a minor misunderstanding turned into voices being raised. I had many opportunities to put an end to it. Instead I continued to fan the flames until a small issue had escalated into an argument in front of the kids. In the car. Where they could hear every single word.

I couldn’t have botched the situation any worse than I did. I could see it in Kim’s eyes. They said, “Why won’t you drop it?”

Sometimes how something is said carries more weight than what’s said. Yet I didn’t realize it at the time. I kept harping. Wouldn’t let it die. More gasoline on the fire.

I looked straight ahead as I drove. My eyes were on the road, but my mind was elsewhere. Kim was silent. And probably stunned that I came home in such a bad mood on a Friday of all days.

As I’m about to turn around and head back home, I hear the voice of Anna, our 5-year old daughter.

“Dad, you need to talk to mom in a nice voice. If you talk in a nice voice everything will be OK. I know you can do it.”

It took the words of my daughter to jolt me back into reality. I understood how unkind I’d been to Kim in front of four little sponges before being taken to task by a little girl who sleeps with a bed full of stuffed animals.

But on this night, that little girl acted more like an adult than her dad. I’m fortunate that fatherhood provides me many opportunities to redeem myself.

Donut and Muffin Factory

Unless you know where to look, you’d never notice the Donut and Muffin Factory tucked between the Godfathers Pizza and Little Caesars. The first two years we lived in Auburn, I drove past this red bricked hole-in-the-wall on my way to the train station. In truth, to call it a hole-in-the-wall is being kind because it looks like a run-down laundry mat in a seedy section of town.

Even pulling into their parking lot requires insider knowledge. “Is this where I turn?” I ask Kim not wanting to overshoot the lot. Two one-way streets make it difficult to get turned back around. It’s as if the donuts are so special, the owners don’t want anyone just passing by to enjoy them.

I maneuvered my way into the parking lot.

“Is it even open?” I ask Kim.

“Well, I stopped by before noon a while back and they’d run out of donuts”

How does a donut shop run out of donuts?

The place didn’t look open. No neon “OPEN” sign hanging from the window. No cars parked out front. I couldn’t tell if any lights were on, so I told Kim to stay in the van while I checked it out.

I walked to the entrance and peered through the windows. We’re in luck. A woman behind the counter motions me to come inside. I returned to the van to retrieve Kim and the kids. A bell jingles as we open the door. The kids immediately run towards the counter and begin pointing at any donut with sprinkles.

This isn’t Krispy Kreme. It’s not even Winchell’s. You won’t find a fancy menu, $4 coffee, or a cooler full of healthy salads. In fact, you won’t find many donuts behind the display case because the owner will have most of them on a tray next to her while she hand frosts each one.

The last time I stopped by she was mixing up a batch of frosting. When I asked what flavor she was making she replied, “Strawberry or vanilla. You pick.”

But what the place lacks in amenities, it makes up for in personality and authenticity. When you walk through the door you’re greeted by a copy machine. 15 cents a copy. It must be 20 years old. Above the copier is a local business bulletin board. Today’s featured business is “Busy Beaver Movers”. Only a couple coverless fluorescent lights flicker overhead.

While Kim and I choose flavors, the owner grabs two handfuls of glazed donut holes for the kids. That was almost enough to keep Kai’s tongue off the display case. Almost.

And good luck making sense of the menu. Most donuts are 65 cents. A few “fancy” ones are 75 cents. It’s not clear which are fancy. Bulk discounts kick in with half and full dozen orders. But it doesn’t matter much because the owner seems to ring up maybe half your order. Feels like I asked for about $20 worth. “That’ll be twelve fifty”, she says.

Kim was excited because three cruellers were there for the taking. She let me have the strawberry on my birthday. The kids devoured a few of their own before we took a dozen home with us.

So if you’re in Auburn and looking for a Starbucks-type experience, the Donuts and Muffin factory near the train station is not your best bet. But if you’re after a great tasting donut with absolutely no fanfare, you’re in luck.

Just get there early before they run out.

Staring at the Ceiling

I turn 42 years old today.

Don’t worry. I’m not looking to buy a Corvette, splurge on a Tommy Bahama wardrobe or hook up with an obscure Brazilian model.

If I were a professional baseball player, color commentary guys would mention my age before each bat as if every game could be my last.

In many ways I’m not where I thought I would be at this point in my life. To say I’ve stumbled into a career in technology would be kind. I got into tech because of the money and I’ve stayed for the money. Yet it’s the money which makes it difficult to leave.

I admire people who put their heart and soul into their job, placing it above everything else. I’ve seen these employees at every company I’ve worked for. Work and life are one and the same.

Actually, I don’t admire them.

What I admire are people who found their passion in life and went after it regardless of pay or glory. I admire people like my father who worked as a teacher for 32 years because that was his passion. He’s a natural leader whom students wanted to be around. One can’t fake that.

He didn’t do it for the overtime because there wasn’t any. Nor were there annual awards waiting to be bestowed upon him. Yet he had a lasting influence for good over hundreds if not thousands of students who walked the halls and ran around the bases.

That’s what I admire, and that’s what I was thinking about this morning as I stared at the ceiling from my bed. Before I could head downstairs to the shower, Kim plopped Kai next to me and ran off.

I’m 39 years older than Kai. I hope to be around when he’s my age. I want to see how he turns out. I wonder what he’ll think about his father when he’s my age? Will he be as proud of me as I am of my father?

But for now, he’s giving me that “don’t touch my bottle” look. I love his floppy blonde hair that strangers and family tell us is too long ensuring it will only grow longer. Kai is probably our last child. It feels strange to write that.

Finally, he finished his bottle. He inched closer to me. I could feel his cold feet rub against my legs. I remained still because he’ll seldom lay next to me for more than 15 seconds. But this morning was different. He stopped only when he couldn’t move any closer. Just as I thought, “no way will this last” he rubbed his cheek against my chin until it tickled too much and a giggle escaped.

I went back to staring at the ceiling with a smile on my face. A few minutes passed and I assumed Kai had fallen asleep. I watched as his chest took in one deep breath after another.

His feet were no longer cold.

Yet when I turned to look at his face, I could see he was staring at the ceiling just like his father.

I’m going to pretend he gave me an early birthday present.