The Afternoon I Put My iPhone Down

Years ago I attended a banquet at Brigham Young University where Jeffrey R. Holland spoke. He was the president of the university at the time. He was introduced to the group by his wife who described him as the ultimate multi-tasker. She told us about how each morning he’d sit at the kitchen table eating his breakfast while reading the news, taking notes and conversing with his children. She explained how he felt like he was wasting time by not working on more than one thing at a time.

When I heard President Holland speak, I felt like a slacker. When I’m having bowl of cereal for breakfast, I struggle to chew and read the back of the cereal box at the same time. I can’t imagine adding a few more chores to my breakfast.

Over the years, I’ve thought back to this talk. Technology has made it easier to multi-task since then, but I wonder if we’re better off for it?

I’m not saying what President Holland does at breakfast is wrong. I’m not as busy as the president of a university and can’t imagine the demands it places on his schedule. But I don’t believe that juggling multiple tasks or responsibilities works in all situations.

I’ve been guilty of bringing my iPhone to the dinner table. I know I shouldn’t do it, but it’s not easy to keep it in its cradle while I spend those few minutes with my family. I’m on email for 12+ hours a day, so why do I need to add a 13th?

I took a day off work on Wednesday. When it came time to pickup Anna from the bus, I’d normally take my iPhone along in case I get bored. At the last minute, I placed it back in its cradle.

I made the short walk to the bus stop where I stood on the curb with my hands in my pockets wondering if Anna would be surprised to see me. The warmth of the sun felt good to my face. This is my favorite time of year in Seattle. Just enough blue sky and crisp air to get us through the cold, dark winter months.

The brakes on the bus squealed as the bus descended Lea Hill and turned onto our street. The bus driver waved at me as Anna came bouncing down the stairs. Her blond hair danced off her shoulders as she ran across the street to give me a hug.

“Dad, why didn’t you go to work?”

“Because who would have chased and tickled you after you got off the bus?”

She held my hand as we walked towards home. Well, I walked and Anna skipped and sang goofy songs. She explained why we should walk on the sidewalk and showed me where a mean dog lives. Every sentence is filled with excitement.

Not once did I think about my iPhone. But I did wish our home were a few blocks further from the bus stop.

Looking Up At The World

There’s a direct correlation between how quickly we get out of the house and the number of kid’s shoes to be tied.

Three kids x two feet = six shoes to tie unless we’re going for a ride and don’t care if the kids pair a flip flop with a Croc.

Last night we decided to take the kids for a walk. They were restless and we figured a walk would expend some of that energy. I noticed only Kai was walking around without his shoes tied.

Normally, I’d sigh realizing I’m going to have to bend down in order to reach his feet. And that’s after I expend 800 calories catching that rascal. What he lacks in size, he makes up for in speed.

I watched Kai speed around the basement with his laces smacking against the wood floor. He ran in circles paying no attention to anything except his own enjoyment. He giggled and yelled and I thought to myself, “I’m glad we didn’t cut off those long, blond curly locks”.

I asked Kai to come to me so I could tie his shoes and was shocked when he ran to me and put his right shoe out for me to tie. I knelt down next to him.

He watched closely and swapped his right shoe for the left when it was time. He grabbed my shoulder to keep his balance, but I could still feel him wobble back and forth.

When I finished, I looked up at his face. This is what the world must look like to him. Everything is big and up when you’re no taller than a yardstick.

Kai giggled and then ran off to join his brother and sisters.

Maybe it only happened for a few seconds tonight, but I saw the world from a child’s perspective. And yet that’s probably too strong of statement. A more accurate statement would be that I recognized that my son’s perspective is not the same as mine, and I would do well to remember that when I get frustrated at the time it takes for us to get going.

Plus it won’t be long before my shoe tying skills will be as valuable as the pottery skills I learned in high school.

Big Erasers Don’t Smudge

As I watched Luca do her homework tonight, I wondered how long it’s been since I’d used a number two pencil?

Soft, dark lead trailed her every stroke. When she was finished writing her name at the top of each sheet of paper, I watched her tackle a page-full of math problems.

Occasionally, she’d ask for help, but I knew from her eyes she didn’t need my help. By asking questions every so often, Luca was able to keep me nearby. Her brothers and sisters were downstairs watching a Scooby Doo movie.

When she moved to the spelling and vocabulary section, I watched her find vocabulary words within the word search. Her eyes darted back and forth while she used the pencil to keep her place.

I didn’t want to be the one to tell her she’d have to wait to see the movie another night because she refused to practice the piano earlier. She still had homework to complete, and why upset her now?

She finished Monday’s homework and started in on Tuesday’s assignment. I stayed with her. She scooted her chair next to mine and sat on her knees as close to the table as possible. I watched her whip her pencil around like a symphony conductor.

“It’s important to have a big eraser or it smudges”, she tells me.

She works her way through the next two days worth of homework without a word about the movie.

“Should we wait on Friday’s homework so you’ll have something to do later?”, I ask.

“Nope, I want to finish it now, and you can help”

It’s not often that Kim has the kids corralled downstairs and I’m able to focus my attention on Luca for an hour. I like to watch her work through problems. Sometimes she doodles words in the margins or reworks math problems out loud.

I know she’s finished when she asks to see my iPhone so she can check the weather. She’ll check the temperature in Ogden and St. George Utah because that’s where her grandparents live.

Maybe knowing the temperature makes her feel a little closer to them.

Anna Makes a Call

My day in the office started out like most. A Diet Coke kept me awake while I made my way through my inbox.

Delete. Delete. Forward. Delete.

I checked MSNBC to catch up on the latest Republican scandal before running off to a meeting.

I emerged two hours later. Mind fried. Too many issues fighting for my attention. I chased three aspirin with another Diet Coke before heading back to my office.

And then my phone rang. I could see it was Kim and sent her a text saying I’d call right back.

But should I?

Sometimes it’s best to cool down. Let my mind and emotions rest a bit. I can’t say I’ve mastered keeping work induced stress from seeping into my relationships. Plus, the aspirin hasn’t kicked in and the Diet Coke buzz is wearing off.

But I feel I should call, and when I do, Anna answers:

“Dad, guess what happened at school? One of the boys in my class ran home at recess. He didn’t even look for cars!!”

She was out of breath from laughter after witnessing one of her classmates make a run for the border on the first day of school. Who hasn’t felt like pulling the same stunt to get away from the moment?

And he didn’t even look for cars. Hilarious stuff to a 5-year old.

She tells me about the cushy seats on the bus. She’s excited about her teacher and recess, but right now mom is taking her through the McDonalds drive-thru where she’ll order a cheeseburger with “everything on it except pickles and onions” so she needs to run.

Anna’s call caught me off guard. My kids seldom call me at work. I was composed this morning as I watched her walk up the bus steps with her new Hello Kitty backpack hanging off a shoulder. But as I listened to her voice, I’m far from composed as I hunch over my desk wishing I could be with her.

Sharing a cheeseburger.

Tuned In Or Out

One of my jobs around the house is to empty the garbage. I also feed the dog and replace burned out lights. Occasionally I’m called on to kill a spider or open a jar of peanut butter.

On the weekends I’ll mow the lawn if the stars align.

But fatherhood has brought with it a number of smaller tasks that one can’t plan for. Some are simple such as replacing batteries in the Nintendo controller. A few are more difficult like trying to retrieve a Matchbox car my son had shoved down his diaper that Luca alerted me to.

It’s easy to miss these opportunities. There are times when I want to be left alone immediately following work. It’s natural to slip on headphones at my computer and tune out the kids. Tune out the world, for that matter.

I found myself in this situation tonight.

Kim was next door helping a neighbor make homemade salsa. I was the adult supervision in the house but in name only. Luca was watching her sister and brothers outside.

I couldn’t hear a thing except the music piping through my headphones. But I began to wonder what I was missing. I was just a fixture in the house at that point. I was there but I wasn’t.

I turned the volume down and flipped off my headphones.

In less than two minutes, Anna needed a sliver removed. Lincoln asked me to retrieve the Nerf ball from the tree. Luca proudly showed me the tree she drew with mom.

As water routes around most barriers put in its path, the kids were routing their evening around me. It wasn’t until I put my headphones down that they decided to involve me.

I wonder what other barriers I put up at home and at work making it less likely I’ll be asked for my help or engagement?

Later tonight I found myself laying next to Luca on the bottom bunk. She had to situate the fan, blankets and pillows just right.

“Are you excited to go back to school in a few weeks?”

“Kind of”

“Could I interest you in barely used Matchbox car?”

We both laughed so hard I fell off the bed.

If The Van’s A Rockin

I waited in the van with the kids tonight while Kim went inside the library to return books.

And the second Kim closes the door, all hell breaks loose. Not with the kids, mind you, but with the only adult left in the car.

I remove the CD from the player because if I hear “All the Single Ladies” one more time I may poke my ears out with a pool cue.

“What should we listen to now?”

The kids know the drill.

“That one song with the whistle! Yeah, and turn it UP LOUD!”

Before you can say, “you should have put a ring on it” I’ve got Paradise City blasting through the speakers in the Odyssey.

They can barely wait for the whistle part which comes in at 1:20 in this video.

They go crazy. Seat belts fly off and we’re dancing around the van. And then, without missing a beat, Lincoln rips off this lyric:

“Take me down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty”

He’s only six year old. And he nailed it. Word for word.

“Dad, here comes mom!”

The high fives will have to wait for now.

When Parents Intervene

As my children grow up, I’m faced with more opportunities to intervene on their behalf. My natural instinct tells me to pull back and let things play out naturally.

For example, when Luca signed up to play soccer, we didn’t scout teams and setup an interview with the coach. We didn’t research how many of his former players made the high school or college soccer teams.

Doesn’t matter to us. She was six years old at the time.

We allowed the league to place her on a team without interfering. But I’m starting to wonder if we are in the minority. Many parents work behind the scenes to make sure their children are on the teams with their friends or the best athletes or the most experienced coaches.

Doing so when the children are 4-6 years old feels like overkill to me.

I know a women who drove her child to an elementary school outside her boundary line because she didn’t like a teacher. The next year she switched schools again when she didn’t like the principal.

I wonder how many times she’ll bounce her children around from one school to the next because she doesn’t like the basketball coach or the band instructor?

What lesson are these parents teaching their children? Every time you encounter a challenging situation or a person we don’t like, we’ll step in and change it for you?

I don’t plan to orchestrate every detail or outcome of my kids lives. Nor do I think that’s best for them. Sometimes we have to play the hand we’re dealt.

I learned early on that my parents were not going to intervene unless it was absolutely necessary. I did not like my third grade teacher at all. Her name was Mrs. Britain, and she was one angry women. She carried a yardstick around the classroom and was not afraid to use it. During recess one day, I ran home and demanded my mom yank me out of her class and put me in the other third grade class.

My mother listened to my complaint before walking me back to school. But she didn’t storm the principal’s office demanding a teacher swap. She didn’t make a scene with Mrs. Britain, nor did she yell at me in front of my friends.

She walked me to entrance of the school and calmly told me to return to class. I’m sure she hugged me goodbye, and I know to this day she cared deeply about my education. But she wasn’t going to intervene because I didn’t hit it off with my teacher.

I want my kids to understand that I will fully support them in their endeavors. But, like my mother did years ago, I won’t intervene or demand special treatment.

We can’t change much of what life throws our way. Although we can select our friends, we can’t always choose our teachers or our boss or our coworkers. Sometimes we have to collaborate with someone we may not choose to interact with outside of the office or classroom.

Looking back, I recognize that many of these experiences resulted in the most growth. I learned to work with many personalities and backgrounds. That’s helped me become a better manager and help further my career.

I never did learn to like Mrs. Britain. But I learned a lot from her. I still remember her showing me how to find the various continents on the globe.

And I still think Greenland shafted.

Tiger Takes Backseat

I spent a good portion of church this morning walking Kai up and down the halls. He saves his outdoor voice for those times we’re indoors and takes it up a notch while in the chapel.

I held his tiny hand as we walked up as many stairs as I could find. My goal was to tire him out to the point he’d fall asleep. But I wore out before he did and kicked back on a recliner in the lobby while Kai tried to pull the glasses off my face.

Sunday afternoon is my favorite time of the week. After a quick lunch the kids usually rest while I watch sports and relax. I needed a break after chasing Kai around the church grounds.

I sat in front of the TV with my laptop and earbuds and watched Tiger turn a three shot deficit into a two stroke lead on the front nine. The final nine holes of the Bridgestone looked to provide much excitement.

As I settled in for a couple hours of kid-free relaxation, Anna came bounding down the stairs. She jumped on the couch and curled up next to me.

“Hey, this isn’t a kid’s show”

“I know. It’s called golf”

I removed my earbuds and looked at my daughter. As much as i wanted to watch Tiger, I didn’t want Anna to hop off the couch. But I was tired and what if Harrington forces sudden death?

I guess that’s where ESPN comes in.

“What do you want to watch?”

“Can you show me what’s on?”

I grabbed the remote and cycled through the channels.

And finally my focus is where it should be.

Her legs dangle off the edge of the cushions as she leans forward to see the program list scroll by. In just over a month, she begins kindergarten. As much as Kim will miss having her around the house, I can’t wait to drop her off at the bus stop each morning.

Tiger may be the best golfer and most popular athlete in the world.

But today he took a backseat to a five year old little girl and Huckleberry Hound.

Mouse Repairs

I sat at my computer this evening staring at my monitors. Like most nights, I had at least a dozen websites and programs splashed across my screen.

My mind was everywhere yet nowhere.

I cleaned the house on Sunday afternoon. Now it’s Friday and it’s still clean. That hasn’t happened since Kim and I were first married.

I’m accustomed to sliding my foot into my Eccos only to find a buck fifty worth of change. Yet this week I’ve got dressed without discovering any treasure. I’ve not had to hunt down my belt or keys either. It’s like getting an extra 15 minutes each morning.

Kim took the kids to Longbeach, WA to spend time building sand castles, visiting lighthouses and hanging out with her parents. I know they are having a lot of fun based on the pictures she sends me throughout the day.

The house was so quiet tonight. Our dog, Elka, only makes sounds when she snores. I was missing Kim and the kids as I sat at my computer goofing around on Facebook.

I noticed my mouse wasn’t working very well. It just wasn’t very responsive. I was about to slam it down against the desk when I noticed something. Where did these crumbs on my mouse pad come from?

Turning over my mouse over revealed two half-eaten Cheerios, no doubt a gift from my one year old son, Kai, who thinks my mouse is a TV remote he can use to change the channel in the room next door.

As much as Kai can frustrate me taking my wireless mouse on a tour around the house, I miss his little face looking up at me. If he can’t make off with my mouse, he enjoys sitting on my lap watching the iTunes visualizer and listening to music. If I’m lucky he’ll fall asleep on my shoulder.

No, I’m already very lucky.

Uncategorized

I tend to fight against being categorized.

Because I feel as though I’m expected to behave a certain way once I’ve been categorized or labeled.

The first time I recognized this was when I entered the mission training center in Provo, Utah. I felt as though I was being asked to check my personality at the door. I was expected to talk and carry myself in a specific manner. I had little control over what I wore even down to the length of my hair.

I felt like a clone and did everything I could to break the profile and exert just a small dose of my own personality even when it meant getting in trouble.

In high school I was known as a jock. When I speak with people from my graduating class they seem shocked that I work in technology and can form coherent sentences on my blog.

The only label I’ve come to value is that of father. There are books on fatherhood, but not one agreed upon standard. I’m not necessarily expected to father my children in the same manner my father raised his. I am given the chance to figure it out on my own.

No step-by-step guide required.