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.

My parents lived less than 50 yards from McKay Dee Hospital. As a young boy, this provided a number of benefits. If I could convince my mom to give me 75 cents, I could buy a Ramlin Root Beer and a package of raspberry and coconut Zingers.

The other benefit came in the form of crank calling the bank of pay phones located just inside the hospital’s main entrance. I’d memorize the four phone numbers and use one phone to call the others. Passersby would tire of the ringing and take the bait. Seldom did I have much of a conversation with the pranked because my laughter would blow my cover.

It was all fun and games until a nurse or janitor called security. I can’t imagine how many times a uniformed security guard chased me down those carpeted hallways on my skateboard. No way does a middle aged, out-of-shape security guard catch a 12-year old mischief maker.

These were a few of my thoughts as we came across this working phone booth at Westport Marina this afternoon. My kids didn’t know what to make of it. They stared at it for a few minutes before going inside.

“Dad, why does the phone say 75 cents?”

“Because that’s what it costs if you want to make a call.”

“Why would someone pay to use a phone? And why’s the phone connected to a cord?”

Sadly, I was unable to find a number associated to this phone or I would have tried calling it from my iPhone. I considered telling my children about my past pay phone exploits. Explain why security chased me from the building.

But they will find out about my misspent youth soon enough.

I wonder what my son will do with his spare time when he turns 12 in a few years? Crank calling pay phones won’t be an option and that makes me sad.

Good thing I’m not out of bad examples to teach him.

Do you remember where you were when you heard that song? The song that must have been written for you because it grabs you and won’t let you go until it’s ripped through your soul?

I doubt it’s coincidence that music often hits me in this manner during turbulent times. That was the case with the Counting Crows which made the 2.5 hour drive from Ogden to Rock Springs less dreary by taking my mind off my crumbling marriage.

After the chips had fallen and papers signed, I was left with my computer, a cat and a 20-inch television that was wedged up against the wall because the broken stand alone wasn’t enough to keep it off the floor.

The speakers attached to my computer were so weak that I tuned my TV to MTV in order to listen to music while I typed away in the dark. But these were not happy times. I was 900 miles away from my family, I barely earned enough money to afford a one bedroom apartment in Seattle, and I had no idea where life was taking me.

I knew it would take a while to get back back on my feet. I decided to start working out each morning. I’d slip on my running shoes at 6 am and head towards Volunteer Park. It’s not uncommon to run through mist in Seattle, and I didn’t realize how wet my clothes were until I stopped to rest a few blocks from home.

Yellow earphones hung around my neck that were connected to an FM radio. As I was about ready to remove them, I heard a piercing harmonica followed by this woman’s voice that felt like a slap across the face.

But it was this lyric that stopped me in my tracks:

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet

When the song finished, the DJ mentioned the name of the song which I didn’t catch. Luckily, he mentioned the track was off the Jagged Little Pill album. On my way to work I walked by Westlake Center and bought the CD.

That’s what good music does. It compels you to buy it now. Not tomorrow, but right now.

That night I slipped the CD into my car’s player and headed east up I90 towards North Bend. I listened to Hand in My Pocket over and over. The lyrics were spot on. Over time, I began to see that I wasn’t as bad off as I’d thought. When I looked around, others were struggling. I wasn’t the only one who was confused. And that gave me hope.

What it all comes down to, my friends
Is that everything’s just fine fine fine

It took a while but I eventually began putting the pieces together, and my life began to take shape again.

When this song comes around today on my iTunes playlist, it takes me back to that misty Seattle morning where a young man stood soaked to bone wondering if his future was as bleak as the weather.

Yet I’m more optimistic today knowing that nobody really has it all figured out.

“Are we going swimming?”

“Are we going swimming?”

“Dad?”

“Are we going swimming?”

That’s what I hear as I open the door from the garage and look for a safe area to place my briefcase. But first I must make my way through the obstacle course of crayons, book bags, and rain boots my kids have designed for me.

And in case I didn’t hear him the first three times, Lincoln reminds me that tonight is the night I promised to take him swimming.

Only I don’t remember making that promise.

Then again, I don’t remember much that takes place from the time I come through the door to the time the kids head to bed. It’s one big blur.

The kids want to share what they learned at school. That involves each of them trying to talk over one another until my ears are ringing. Yesterday, Lincoln made me…something. It’s odd shaped, colorful and, according to Lincoln, would look great in my office. At first sight, I thought it was an Indian chief or Aztec art. If coworkers ask, I’ll tell them it’s Lady Gaga.

Eventually we end up at the dinner table where I select someone who isn’t inhaling a dinner roll or guzzling lemonade to give the prayer. On special occasions the food gets blessed. When Anna does the honors we keep our fingers crossed that God has a liberal sense of humor.

There are nights where Kim and I look at each other and wonder how we lost control. There are times when the chaos drives me to retreat to my computer where I drown out the noise with a set of headphones.

And that’s where I found myself tonight.

Just one more ESPN article. Better check Facebook. Where’s my iPhone?

And then silence. I’d better check this out. So I head upstairs to find Kim sitting in the hallway reading a book to the kids who are in bed: Anna and Luca in one room and Lincoln and Kai in another. Nobody is pulling faces or making noises to annoy younger sisters. No shoving, belching or giggling.

As the chaos turns to calm I begin to understand.

Kim continues to read until they’re asleep. The mood is peaceful. Only our dog can be heard walking through the kitchen looking for table scraps.

My head is no longer spinning from the day’s activity. It’s not always apparent on the surface. But I’m certain I will look back on nights like these and proclaim they were the best of my life.

I see traits I share with each of our four children, but especially Luca. The older she gets the more these traits surface. I tell myself that most are good, and only a few (picky eater, moody) will provide challenges.

Luca is reading the Harry Potter series. She made it through the first three books in less than two weeks. In that way, she’s like her mother. I enjoy reading, but am not able to read that rapidly. Both Luca and her mom read five book to my one.

I came home from work a few hours early today. After saying hello to the kids and the dog, I had to get back on email. As I was getting situated at my computer, Luca pulled a chair next to me. As I was about to tell her I needed a few minutes to myself, she told me that she wasn’t there to bother me.

All she wanted to do was sit next to me and read. And that’s what she did for the next 30 minutes while I worked through email.

When I was young I enjoyed watching my dad repair stuff around the house. I’d follow him around the yard from one task to the next. I probably got in his way more than a few times. But I never remember him shooing me away.

I remember one morning I ran outside to find my dad repairing a bike under the carport. He was working on the chain, and he had grease all over his hands, arms and face. I sat on the porch watching my father become ever more frustrated. The bike was not cooperating.

Of course, I had a few questions that quickly turned to suggestions. But my father was patient. He spoke to me in a calm tone while tinkering with the bike. Occasionally he sent me to the storage room where his tools were kept.

To this day, I don’t remember whose bike he was repairing. In fact, I’m not sure he was ever able to repair it. But I enjoyed the time I spent with my father. Seldom were my sisters around. It was just me and my dad.

There are times when I want to keep everyone, especially our children, away from an area while I work. Too often I ask Kim to take them to another part of the house so I can concentrate on the task at hand.

The next time I feel that way, I’m going to remember my father and the bike.

And if I end up with a little grease on my face, I bet my kids will overlook it.
After that nostalgia, I felt the need for a new bike so I asked my kids to find me deals online, they did great, we ended up using this: Best Hybrid Bikes Review 2017 – Top 12 You Can Get Now – BikeTitan

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.