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.

The back of the station wagon was weighed down with ice which my father asked me to pickup for the award’s ceremony that evening. High school graduation was less than a week away, and I was busy planning for college and an LDS mission.

 
My father attending my graduation at the University of Utah

But I’d taken a wrong turn and became lost.

I turned the radio off and sat up as straight as I could. As if somehow that would help me find my way back.

My heart was beating against my chest so violently that I thought I could hear it. I had to concentrate if I was going to make it back to the school in time.

And that’s when disaster struck.

As I turned the corner and began to accelerate faster than I should, I heard the loud *SMACK* of the speed bump connecting with the car’s underside. But that wasn’t the worst part. As I slammed  on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road, I noticed large cracks in the windshield.

My first thought was “Dad is going to go ballistic”.

Most of the cars we’d owned over the years were older and had at least one major flaw. The Brown Hornet (Chevy Malibu) would catch fire and could only be driven safely during the winter when the flames under the hood could be doused with snow. The driver’s side door on the Temptation (Buick Skyhawk) could only be shut from the outside. I drove around Ogden, Utah for several years with my right hand on the steering wheel while my left arm held the door closed.

But this station wagon was different. It’s the first car I remember my father gathering the family greet as he pulled it into the carport under the prime spot without the water leak. It was as if we were welcoming a new family member.

It was a big 9 passenger Buick station wagon. Old school with the seat in rear facing backwards and bench seating elsewhere. Huge AC Delco radio ready for any Def Leppard to come across KJQ. As we all stood in awe of our new arrival, my mom asked, “So you bought a green wagon, Dave?”

“It’s champagne”, my father replied.

As I stood on the curb waiting for my father to arrive, I was well aware of the importance he placed on that car. And the thought of having to explain the accident was making me sick. The tailpipe was smashed flat. The windshield was broken. And only a mechanic could tell us what other damage I’d caused.

I watched nervously as my father finally arrived and began walking around the car to assess the damage.

I’m sure he could sense I was upset at myself. What I didn’t know at this time was that in about an hour I would be accepting an academic scholarship that would put me through my first two years of college. My father knew about it, but didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

Nor did he want to ruin my evening even though I’d basically trashed his car. I was expecting the worst. I deserved it.

And here is where I learned something about my father. Instead of ripping me to shreds, he walked over to the curb, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m just glad you’re OK. That’s why we have insurance”.

This is a memory I cherish as we celebrate Father’s Day. I’ve always admired how my father is able to see the big picture. He never dwells on the negative nor does he hold grudges. I know we can debate a subject fiercely yet walk away friends.

Nearly 1000 miles separates us today. Yet memories like this one make the distance seem small.

Thank you, dad. Happy Father’s Day.

My entire body was sore after I spent an hour chasing a small blue ball around a racquetball court tonight. Occasionally I caught up to the ball and smacked the little bugger. But the chasing outnumbered the smacking, and my legs felt like Jello.

As I walked from the garage to our home I thought, “I hope the kids are asleep”. Or, at the very least, Kim has pumped them full of Benadryl. The last thing I needed were four kids jumping on me or pulling at my sore muscles.

Piggy-back rides to bed will have to wait.

When I walked into the living room, the only person who looked like she was pumped full of Benadryl was Kim. The kids were wide awake and wild as could be. I plopped down on the couch.

“I get to sit by dad!

“So do I!”

“I called it first!”

I know their ploy. They hope I’ll hand over my iPhone so they can play the bubble wrap game.

So I sat there with one arm around each daughter watching “Jon & Kate Plus 8” and trying to imagine what my life would be like with twice the number of children. I also wonder how much Jon is getting paid to stay with Kate who is giving Spencer Pratt a run for his money as the least likeable character on TV.

I like that both daughters want to spend time with me. They don’t care if I’ve been at work all day or ran off to the gym tonight. I might be exhausted, but they haven’t given that any thought. All they care about is the fact that I’m home now, and they want my attention.

Over the next hour I will listen to Luca and Lincoln play a duet on the piano. I’ll wipe a few noses and hike a pair of pants over some plumber’s crack. I’ll listen to Lincoln read me a story about “Sam & Matt”. I’ll beat Luca’s high score on the bubble wrap game and record my name as “Anna” just to see her reaction. I’ll trip over a massive gathering of Polly Pockets and dinosaurs in the middle of the room. I’ll clean a few ears and chase kids up the stairs. If I’m lucky, we’ll say a prayer together without someone’s butt getting blessed.

The times I feel like I need a break as the dad are often the times my kids need their father the most.

Having a child is a lot like skiing. Everyone has an opinion. Sometimes you get wet and feel like crying. But most will tell you the experience improves over time if you show patience. 

Before Luca was born we read magazines and listened to advice from doctors and friends. We even went down the “must have” list that Babys “R” Us  gave us. As luck would have it, every item on the list was available at Babys “R” Us! Imagine that. 

I suspect there’s some psychology at work here on new parents. Having a list to check off provides a comfort during a stressful and confusing time. By the time Luca was born we’d finished off most of the list including the expensive digital thermometer which we later found out shouldn’t be used on babies.

Although we had no idea what we were doing we could solace in the fact we’d gathered dozens of items our newborn could not care less about. I lost count the number of times I was told how to use a car seat. Their insistence told me they assumed I was planning to drive around the streets of Seattle with one arm on the wheel and the other holding our baby out the window.

I tried my best to contribute and do whatever a new father is supposed to do. I was a mix of my own father on good days. And Al Bundy on bad days.

As far as I could tell my only two jobs were to empty the diaper genie and keep foreign objects out of Luca’s mouth. Loosely translated, that required keeping our dog’s chew toys away from our baby. Every item the baby came in contact with had to be clean. Like the bubble boy without the bubble.

I didn’t realize how much things had changed between the time Luca was born till today. Nearly 7 years has passed, and our fourth child, Kai, is almost 18 months old. This week Kai decided to put his face in our dog’s water bowl. Had Luca done that same, we would have been on the phone with a doctor asking if we should bring her in for a tetanus shot.

But we’ve changed. And I didn’t realize how much until I realized that instead of pulling Kai away from the water bowl, Kim grabbed the Flip Mino to capture his antics on video.

But don’t worry. There’s no need to notify family services.

Because he wasn’t able to down more than a few pieces of dog food before we grabbed him.