As I stood off the deck to our home, I thought, “Is this where we should be raising our children?”

It’s hard to believe we’ll have lived in Auburn five year come September. I figured we’d last three and move on. Because that’s what we’ve done in the past. Maybe head north towards Seattle or further east. Maybe back to Woodinville where our first three kids were born.

But each month it becomes more difficult to leave. Our kids have made friends. They love their teachers at school and church.

Whenever I consider moving away, reasons not to flood my mind although they seldom have anything to do with me. How could we find another piano teacher who reaches Luca like Mrs. Bird? What would Kim do without her best friend who lives next door? Lincoln and Anna have already moved around three times in their short lives. How would they handle yet another?

There’s a peacefulness that comes from staring out over the yard from the deck. Rain droplets hit my skin. The misty kind that deceive you into thinking you can’t possibly need a jacket.

Tall slender trees dot our property line. I watch as they sway in unison to the gusts of wind moving through our neighborhood. I notice that one tree is dead. Instead of swaying with the others, it just stands there as each wind gust tosses dead branches to the ground. Kim told me it was dying two summers ago. But I wasn’t in a hurry to remove it. Who knew how long we’d stick around?

This deck is where I come to think. The kids are down for the night and I don’t have to worry about mosquitoes feeding on me quite yet. And I begin to realize something I haven’t given much thought to: this is where we are raising our children. I don’t know if this is where should be long term. But we are here today, and I’d be wise to spend more time with my children than concocting scenarios where we might be happier.

Just like the kids, I too have made many good friends. I’d miss playing basketball and racquetball with them each week. I’d miss the twisty road leading up the hill from the valley. I’d miss Frugals fry sauce. I know I’d miss chasing Kai as he rode his toys around the cul-de-sac.

I’d even miss our neighbor down the street who collect swords, but shares books with my daughter. When Luca told him she’d left her backpack containing the third Harry Potter book at school over the weekend, he delivered his copy to her a few minute later.

I don’t know how long we’ll be here in Auburn. But I’m not going to worry whether it’s another five, fifteen or fifty years. Whatever we do, I’m sure our kids will adapt.

Maybe it’s time to remove that tree.

A late afternoon rainstorm made for a sluggish commute home from work a few days ago. As I pulled up the street to our home, I flicked the button to the garage door opener. I  couldn’t wait to set down my briefcase and relax on the couch.

But as I stepped foot inside the house it sounded like Kim had started a daycare without my knowledge. I stood just inside the door, staring at the ceiling.

The kids laughter muffled my arrival home. I could stay downstairs until things settled down.

But that didn’t last long.

What was going on upstairs? I was curious.

I heard Kim yell, “Will you guys eat pancakes?” By the time I walked into the kitchen she was on the phone. Her friend (our neighbor) wasn’t feeling well. Kim offered to watch three kids while their mother rested.

Of course, none of this surprises me. Kim has a way of sensing when others need help. It’s a trait she’s exercised for so many years that it comes naturally.

I stood back and watched her flip pancakes, make scrambled eggs, set the table, and round up seven children. All with a phone to her ear. Just one of those activities would give me trouble.

Even then, I considered grabbing a plate of food and bolting downstairs to avoid the chaos. But I thought better of it when Kim mentioned to me that Anna had a difficult afternoon. I decided to sit next to her, but we ran out of chairs.

I picked up the piano bench from the living room and set it next to the dining table. Kim placed a plate stacked full of pancakes on the table. Over the next few minutes I watched the kids interact with each other. There was a lot of laughter and excitement in their voices. It was loud with each child raising his or her voice to be heard over the others.

Except for Anna. She sat next to me with her head down. I asked if she wanted maple syrup on her pancake. She agreed if I’d cut it into pieces for her.

And then someone asked Lincoln to tell us about the worm he peed on that morning.

Anna turned to me and said, “Oh dad, you’ve got to hear this story!”

So I sat there on an uncomfortable piano bench surrounded by kids eating pancakes and scrambled eggs while listening to Lincoln tell us why he peed on a worm.

I don’t know what I signed up when I became a father, but I’m sure it didn’t include this scenario.

But other than adding padding to the bench, I wouldn’t change a thing. 

I sat through a meeting this morning where all but two attendees brought laptops. I brought my iPhone and one person brought a pad of paper.

Although the meeting didn’t require my participation, I tried to keep my phone overturned on the table.

I put my hands on the table and looked around the room as I listened to fingers tap-dancing on keyboards. No one was paying attention to the information being projected to the screen. Ten people were present in body only.

I felt strange. Like I’d stumbled into a meeting where I hadn’t been invited.

But I’ve had some to think about that meeting. And I wonder if I exhibit the same behavior around my children at times?

When I’m reading a magazine at the table, how much attention am I able to give to my children? Not much.

Or when I’m at my computer with headphones draped over my head. Or when I give them a ride to school with the radio blasting classic rock? Maybe Lincoln wanted to tell me a story. Maybe Luca would like to play a game. But I wouldn’t know because I was jamming Dark Side of the Moon.

Can you give someone anything more valuable than your attention?

Whatever the cause, attention has become a rare commodity. It sounds simple yet it’s rare when I have someone’s full attention. I’m almost shocked when I have it anymore.

That’s one of many reasons I will miss visiting with my grandmother who passed away a few weeks ago. She gave me her full attention. It didn’t matter if I was describing a book I was reading or sharing the news that Kim and I were expecting a baby. She would slide close to me, take my hand and look me in the eye. And then she would listen. She wouldn’t interrupt. She was fully engaged in our discussion.

She had a way of making me feel like I was the most important person in her life. What an amazing trait to possess!

I’m making small changes such as not carrying my phone in my pocket around the house. Not blasting music in the car when my kids are in the backseat. And keeping my magazines away from the dinner table.

I’ve got a long ways to go before I’m in same league as my grandmother. But if she were around today, I’m certain she’d be thrilled it’s something I’m working to improve.

Sunday afternoon. It’s my favorite time of the week. It means we’ve survived the previous three hours of church with kids. Honestly, I don’t know why we do it when much of our time is spent in the foyer. I guess it’s a tradition. My parents had to retreat to the foyer when I was a child so I’m obligated to make the same sacrifice with my children.

But if we last the entire three hours, our kids are exhausted when we arrive home. I’m tired too, but this is one of the ideal times of the week to write without interruption.

Yesterday, I found a blanket and made my way downstairs to my computer. But when I swung my chair around, it was occupied. Luca was sitting in my chair, using my computer to read my blog.

I pulled up a chair next to her, not sure what to expect.

When I began blogging several years ago, I didn’t give much thought to how it would impact my family. But it made me wonder how much I knew about my parents when I was Luca’s age (9). With over 1500 posts spanning nearly ten years, there are many details of my life for Luca to read about. Some I’m proud of and many I’d rather she skip past.

Maybe she’ll come across the post about how I walked away from a job. Or the one I mentioned going through divorce. Or the hundreds of posts that detail my mistakes on some level. It’s all there for her to read someday.

Will she think less of me because I goofed around in college? Will she think I’m weak because I went through a few struggles living in Germany. Do my actions match the expectations I’ve held her to, or will I come across as a hypocrite?

If she reads enough, she’ll understand how imperfect her father is.

Luca scrolled down the list of blogs I’ve written. I enjoy watching her do about anything and understand she won’t always invite me into her life. But for now, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Have you learned anything about your dad today?” I ask.

“Yep”, she replies.

I don’t know what to expect. But I don’t want to press her either. So I decide to keep watching. She makes quick work of a few posts. She smiles, even laughs a few times. She finishes reading each page before clicking “previous entries”. She’s made her way through the past couple of years worth of posts.

And then she comes to a post I wrote about missing her pumpkin carving. I assumed she’d skip over it. No need to dredge up the time your dad botched the starting time of the Halloween party.

But she didn’t skip it.

When she finished, she left her chair and jumped on my lap before giving me a hug.

“Show me your favorite ones”, she said.

I should have asked what she was going to teach me today.

There was a time when my most important decision of the day was whether I’d play pinball or pool after class. I made very little money and spent even less. Every important decision was somewhere out there in the future. I had plenty to time to figure things out.

I don’t know when the future become the present. But if I had to guess, it was probably around the time kids arrived.

Telling friends and family that a baby is on the way is like asking them to give you advice for the rest of your life. Make sure to pack a thick three ring binder because you’ll want to take notes.

Don’t forget the house! In fact, start with the house. Get the biggest purchase of your life out of the way and everything else will feel like a bargain in comparison.

Eventually you accumulate so much stuff that you can’t keep it in your house. So there it sits in the garage all boxed up and ready for the next move where it will sit in an even fancier garage.

Of course, you’re going to need a job in order to finance all this stuff. So you pimp yourself out to the highest bidder.  Play hardball like Scott Boras and negotiate the highest salary possible. Forget the stock options and other golden handcuffs. That’s a fools game. Take the money and run.

Get used to the running. Running errands. Running kids to the doctor and soccer practice. Running to the bus and runny noses. Doesn’t matter where just run like hell.

At some point life got complicated. Even the seemingly small decisions had big repercussions and each one triggered five more. Work became more about the health insurance than the…work. Church callings began feeling like church jobs. And the kids learned to work the Tivo.

It all happened so fast I can barely remember the days of pinball or pool.

And then my son asked for help with his report on alligators. And my daughter put her head on my lap so I could hold an ice pack to her aching head.

Having them close recalibrates my perspective.

Is it all worth it?

I guess we’ll see.

I didn’t notice Anna standing to the side, out of the way of her older brother and sister.

I didn’t notice because I was in the middle of a game where I’d kick a soccer ball towards Luca and Lincoln. Whoever caught the ball scored a point with the opportunity of earning another point by kicking it back to me in a fashion where I could catch it.

It’s not uncommon for Luca and Lincoln to drag me into one of their games. Their favorite games are those I make up on the spot and modify over time when one of them takes advantage of a loophole in the rules.

Such was the game last night.

We played for a while until Kim called to me. She mentioned that Anna was feeling left out.

And that’s when it hit me: I hadn’t noticed her.

Anna is our peacemaker. She’s the first to give up a toy, get off the computer or change the channel if one of her siblings asks. Or complains. Or demands.

Anna longs for the approval of her older brother and sister that she often put their desires before her own. She can be goofy. Maybe a bit out in left field at times. But she’s sweet. She wants nothing more than to be involved in whatever her older siblings are doing.

I asked Anna to join Lincoln and Luca on the grass. I kicked the ball to each of them over the next 30 minutes. Anna didn’t catch the ball a single time. I’m sure it was difficult to watch her sister and brother make catching look easy. But she never complained. When the ball would bounce off her hands or shoulder, she ran after it with a smile on her face.

Kim and I are protective out of little peacemaker. She’s big for her age and hasn’t quite grown into her body. What she lacks in coordination, she makes up for in spirit and enthusiasm.

When I tucked the girls in bed last night, Anna was wide awake. She sleeps on the bottom bunk making it more difficult to reach. But tonight she lunged towards me with open arms. As she gave me a hug she said,

“Dad, I was really good at kicking tonight, huh?”

“Yep, you were great”

“I’m going to practice so next time you kick the ball, I will catch it”.

Every home should have a peacemaker.