“Will we get another dog when Elka dies?” Anna asked.

“Probably” I answered.

The kids have been worried about our boxer who turned 10 years old a few months ago. She’s slowed over the past couple of years. Her back legs become stiff, and she hobbles around the house trying to keep up with four young, active children. She used to chase them around the yard. Now, she sits next to the window and watches.

Of course, she can’t help but greet the kids at the door when they arrive home from school. And she’s always the first to welcome me home from work each day.

The questions about Elka continued until Kim began playing the piano. Elka was curled up on one end of the couch while the rest of us tried to position ourselves on the remaining two cushions.

Only the small light at the piano provided any light to the room. The kids wiggled around for a moment before quieting down as Kim began.

After we bought our first home, Kim convinced me that we needed a piano. Although I didn’t play, I figured I’d enjoy listening to her and I was right. She’s taught herself many new songs, and each one she plays today brings back memories of the various stages of our life we started together twelve years ago.

As four kids, one adult and one dog made it onto the couch in various stages of comfort, Kim played a song from David Lanz called “Behind the Waterfall/Desert Rain”. The kids watched her fingers dance across the keys emitting a tune we’ve heard her play dozens of times, yet never tire of. I’ve told Kim it’s my favorite song she plays.

[audio:https://blog.nordquist.org/audio/waterfall.mp3%5D

I’m done trying to figure out what will help the kids settle down for the evening. Reading a story together works occasionally until one of the kids belches or worse and the kids topple off the bed in laughter. So I’m surprised when they all remain on the couch until mom plays the last note. Could it be the music has a calming effect on them? Either way, these impromptu concerts result in some of the best times we spend together as a family. The piano, not the television, has become the hub of our family, and has been worth every penny we paid for it.

Eventually the song comes to an end as does the peacefulness. Before long, balls and socks are being tossed around the room.

And that’s when I noticed that not once did any child pester Elka. Not even Kai. They left her curled up on the couch, and allowed her to rest. Even when it meant less room for them. I know they love her as much as she loves them. She just doesn’t have the energy to express it like she did when she was younger.

As I ran my fingers through her dark brindle fir, Anna approached me. It was clear she’d been thinking about her earlier question when she said, “When Elka is gone, I want a dog just like her”.

“Maybe this time we’ll get a tan and white boxer”, I added.

Luca was listening from the other end of the couch, and when she heard me, she said, “No way, Dad. Let’s get one that looks just like Elka”.

I hope Kim plays many more impromptu piano concerts for us. And I hope Elka joins us on the couch to hear a few more.

I was well into my teens before I began considering what I might do one day as a profession. Every idea was in play except teacher because I’d seen what my father had gone through. His work days were long and irregular which limited the amount of time he could spend with us. The pay didn’t seem match the amount of education it required. And I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy spending the bulk of my day correcting the bratty kids.

As I entered college I felt like I could find success in anything I went after. I didn’t have to accept the same old boring career path. While friends from high school attended law, dental and medical school, I studied German. I enjoyed the smaller classes that came with choosing a language studies program compared to business or law. Part of the excitement was not knowing what I’d do after graduation. And by not knowing, it felt like I could do anything.

And, frankly, I liked being different. Sitting in an auditorium with 700 other clones taking Marketing 101 made me feel like I was back at the Mission Training Center expected to fit in, tow the line, and do what I was told. I enjoyed a few of the classes but despised the attitude of those students studying business.

I was caught between playing it safe and following my heart.

As much as I learned in four years of college, the most valuable skills I learned came at night in my apartment when I’d take computers apart, study the pieces, and put them back together. Luckily, I had my tech savvy uncle to lean on during those times I ended up with a handful of spare parts and a computer that refused to boot.

As I look back on my career, I see how often I’ve played it safe with my choices. One of the few times I took a chance and followed my heart was the time I left a stable corporate job to join a small Internet Service Provider in Seattle. The amount of knowledge I gained there easily surpassed all other jobs combined, and I’m convinced it’s because I forced myself to step outside my comfort zone.

Why do I continue to play it safe when I know it results in learning less?

It was easier to take chances when I was single and certainly before we had children. Back then, if I took a chance, and it didn’t work out, I’d find something else. But now I can’t afford to go without medical benefits for my family. With the economic downturn and high unemployment numbers, playing it safe sounds like the reasonable choice.

And yet, this is probably the best time to follow my heart because I have so much on the line. I’d have to make it work. I couldn’t allow myself to fail because failure would affect many people.

I’m not betting with house money anymore.

But a small part of me says, “Go for it”.

Luca stood on the left side of the court while I stood on the right. We’d been hitting tennis balls off a large cement wall together for an hour.

I mentioned I was tired, but would finish hitting the last few balls until they flew out of bounds. Luca wasn’t worn out and began to lobby for me to continuing playing.

This past weekend is one of the few throughout the year we spend on the Washington coast with my in-laws. We enjoyed our time at the beach, but because the weather was cooler than normal, we found a school where the kids could work off some energy on the playground.

Luca did her best to keep the ball in play which kept me on the court longer than I’d planned. When the last tennis ball headed towards the grass, I handed my racquet to Lincoln and started for the car.

“But I want you to watch me play”, Luca said before I could get too far.

She wants me to watch her play.

I stood away from the court for a moment and took in the scene. My other kids were going down the slide or climbing on the monkey bars. My youngest was probably chasing bees on the soccer field. My iPhone was in the car updating itself with email and blogs to read.

I paused to think about how often I show up, play with the kids before taking off as fast as I showed up. Mom sees them regularly in school while I appear for the two hour field trip before racing back to work. I sneak in the back just in time to catch the piano recital. I’m like Spiderman without the climbing or web making abilities. I show up, complete my assignment, and head off to more important endeavors.

Don’t blink or you might miss my appearance.

I took a seat close to the court instead of one back at the van. Whenever Luca hit a backhanded or returned a difficult shot, she turned to see if I’d witnessed it before flashing a smile.

It won’t be long before she’s whizzing serves past my outstretched arms. There’s no guarantee she’ll always want me around to watch her hit tennis balls. Or play the piano or perform in the talent show. I didn’t always want my parents around during my teen years. 

But this time I didn’t race off to more important endeavors.

They don’t exist.

The clock on the stove said 11:33 pm.

I pulled the Costco sized basket of strawberries from the fridge, and began to cut them into slices. I was rinsing and slicing as fast as I could go, but it didn’t feel like I was making much progress. That’s when I noticed Kai’s tiny hand grasping two strawberry slices from the bowl. Before I could say a word, he was making a beeline for the living room while shoving them into his mouth.

With Kai at bay, I was able to fill a bowl full of strawberries while Kim rinsed a bowl of blueberries.  I put four small bowls on the table and filled each with whipped cream before calling the kids to the table.

As much as the kids love ice cream, they will do about anything for a snack of fresh fruit and whipped cream.

Most nights I’d be anxious wondering if their rooms were clean or if their dirty clothes had been tossed down the laundry chute. Last night I spent ten minutes explaining why the Slip’n Slide and inflatable pool couldn’t remain on the grass overnight. Glazed eyes and yawns started 30 seconds into that lecture.

And if every toy was in its place and every tooth had been brushed, I’d wonder why the kids were giving each other wedgies so close to midnight. Although, I must admit, if you’re going to be dishing out wedgies, midnight isn’t a bad time to be doing so.

Before I unleashed them on the fruit, I explained the only two rules:

1. Only one piece of fruit at a time
2. No intentionally painting face with whipped cream

They agreed and were soon grabbing strawberries and blueberries as fast as they could shove them in their mouths.  Luca told me this was “way better than a milkshake”. Anna said we should do this every night. Lincoln licked whipped cream off his arm.

Too many times I’m with my kids but my mind is elsewhere. How many times has one of your children asked you a question and your only reply is, “What did you say?” I’m afraid this happens to me much too often.

But tonight I’m going to celebrate a small victory over distractions. Sure, it didn’t happen until way past everyone’s bedtime, but I don’t care. It happened. That’s what matters. Because that’s what my kids will remember.

When I was young, my mom would sprinkle powered sugar over a bowl of orange slices. As much as I enjoyed the treat, I loved that my mom sat across from me and at table and made me feel important.  As was the case tonight, those moments oftentimes took place past my bedtime while my father watched Johnny Carson.

When the fruit was gone, the kids ran off to bed as quickly as they had arrived. I was left to ponder why I don’t do this more often while I stood at the sink rinsing dishes.

Oh, I’m sure they will be tired tomorrow morning. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I’d had enough.

Enough of the kids arguing over whose turn it was to play on the computer. Enough of trying to keep the neighbor kids out of our yard and my kids out of theirs. Enough of this or that that I had to remove myself from the mayhem.

But mom wasn’t home, and the care of our four children and dog were in my increasingly frustrated hands.

Sometimes the kids wear me down to the point that I’ll agree to any request no matter how outlandish. Fruit Loops and Red Vines for dinner? Sure. Pop Tarts and Teddy Grahams? Whatever it takes.

That was my mindset last night. To make matters worse, the house was hot and muggy. Temperatures in the Seattle area zoomed into the 90’s which doesn’t sound like much but isn’t comfortable without central air.

I sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. The clock over the mantel told me I was two hour late getting them down for the night. I turned off the lights and sat down on the couch.

I heard the kids brushing teeth and changing into the nightshirts that arrived that day from their grandfather. Cabinets were shut and the water faucet was turned on and off enough times that I began to wonder how many children were in there.

I even heard someone flush the toilet.

Some negotiating took place to get Kai headed in the right direction, but eventually the kids made it to their rooms without a major uprising.

I sat in the dark wondering when mom would be home. I wanted to lay down but we own the world’s most uncomfortable couch, and my butt was almost numb from the metal support beam. Instead I pulled out my iPhone and began to play a mindless game of Doodle Jump.

I was nearly asleep when I felt someone scoot next to me. It was Luca. I waited for her to ask me to get her a drink, or turn the hallway light on or adjust the fan. But she didn’t. Any minute now she’s going to ask to play a game on my phone. But she said nothing.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I just want to sit next to you”, she replied.

So I sat there next to my daughter on the most uncomfortable couch listening to the ceiling fan. Suddenly it didn’t matter that the house was hot or that it wouldn’t be entirely clean before mom arrived home.

If Luca sensed my earlier frustration, she didn’t mention it. But she knew I could use the company.

I learn a lot from my kids.

And often it comes at the most unexpected times.