Category: Fatherhood

Most Days

Most days I set my alarm for 6:30 am.

Most days Elka nudges my arm with her cold nose if I try to sleep in.

Most days I hog the hot water with a long shower.

Most days I get dressed without waking Kim.

Most days I open the door to the garage without waking the kids.

But not today.

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Today Luca heard me leaving for work. She got out of bed and came downstairs as I was gathering my briefcase. She nudged herself close to me and put her head down. I could tell she was tired. Was everything OK?

I put down my briefcase and put my arms around her. She’s so warm and cuddly in the morning. In my rush to get out the door this morning I’d not given much thought to my family. I usually slip out unnoticed.

But today Luca noticed.

I picked her up and held her at eye level. She told me she misses me while she’s at school. I told her I miss her while I’m at work. She gives me a big hug around my neck. I kiss her forehead, and tell her we’ll see each other that night.

Most days I don’t give much thought to the time I spend away from my family.

But not today.

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Skip With Us

Luca held my left hand while Anna held my right . We were making our way through the mall looking for something to eat we could all agree on.

Mission impossible.

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In one ear I hear Luca chatting.

The other ear was getting a work out from Anna. 

“DAD! Nintendo. Pizza. DAD! Pants. Game. DAD! Pink. Candy”

It all starts to blend together.

But then we get to a section where the area is clear. No shoppers, strollers or kiosks selling blinking phone accessories.

That’s when I feel both my arms yanked forward in a violent motion.

“Skip with us, Dad! Come on!”

So the three of us skipped hand-in-hand through the mall last night.

That’s how I’d like to remember it anyway. Because if anyone saw us it probably looked like an an out-of-shape dad getting dragged through the food court by two cute little girls.

Late Night Scrambled Eggs

“One of my best friends moved to California”

One look at her face and I knew she’d had a tough day at school. Luca had followed me into the kitchen and I wasn’t sure what to tell a 7 year old who bid her best friend goodbye for the last time this afternoon.

I picked her up and placed her on the kitchen counter. As curious as I was to hear about her day, I didn’t want for her to walk through the painful memory again. So I asked if she wanted a late night snack.

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She nodded.

I figured she’d ask for strawberry milk, Pirates Booty, or a slice of bread with just the right amount of butter.

“Will you make some scrambled eggs? I know how to crack them”

So I stirred while she cracked ten eggs. It was almost midnight before we sat next to each other at the table trying to figure out how salt makes eggs taste better.

“I know why your eggs cook faster than moms”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because you turn the stove to eight and mom only turns it up to five”

As I sat there next to my daughter I told myself that I must keep my mouth shut and listen. She grabbed the salt and shook it over her plate. More questions followed such as, “Is pepper the opposite of salt?”

And then she began to tell me about her day. I know where this leads. Her raspy voice touches my heart.

She tells me about her other friends. She tells me how much she likes her teacher and how excited she is to give her report on Germany at the end of the month. She asks if I’ll help her choose a treat to share with her class.

And then she stops talking and puts her fork down.

She’s trying as hard as she can to hide the tears, but a couple escape down her cheek and onto the table.

I wish her friend had been able to stay through the school year. I wish I could tell her she’ll see her friend again soon. But I don’t have the magic words to make everything better. The best I can do is be there to listen. Sometimes that’s all I can do.

She helped me pickup the dishes before brushing her teeth for the second time. As she gave me a hug she whispered, “I’m going to pray that Rebekah visits me in the summer”.

“Maybe Rebekah will do the same”, I replied.

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Like Father

My father worked at the same job for the same school district for 32 years. dad

I’m on my 8th job in less than half that time. 

My father starts his day at 5 am.

I start blogging at 2 am.

My father is hyper-organized.

I barely made it in time for my own wedding.

In spite of our differences, we are close friends. As we kicked back in front of the TV watching football today, I recognized how much he has influenced my life. He looks for the positive in people and goes out of his way to give others the benefit of the doubt. But the trait I noticed at an early age is the one I’ve tried to emulate the most often: don’t hold grudges.

I’ve make a number of boneheaded decisions over the years. Some of them have caught my father’s attention. But he doesn’t dwell on the problem. Like the time I hit a speed bump that cracked the windshield of his new car. Or the time I borrowed his ten-speed without permission that was stolen when I forgot to lock it while I played pool.

I wish my father lived closer so I could spend more time with him.

I coax him to Seattle by telling him our kids miss him. And they do.

But the truth is I miss him just as much.

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No Problem

I grabbed Luca and jumped in our Honda Odyssey. She needed a break from her brother and sister. I needed a break from the computer.

But it was Christmas day. Well, it was Christmas night by the time we slid our way off snow covered Lea Hill and into town looking for something to eat besides corn flakes and nachos.

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We weren’t picky. Pretty much anything with a drive thru would suffice because the only thing covering my feet were a pair of Land’s End slippers.

We drove by McDonalds. Closed.

Taco Bell? Closed.

Dairy Queen? Closed.

Arby’s and Taco Time? Closed and closed.

Only Jack-in-the-Box was open. As I pulled around the parking lot all I noticed was a line of cars snaked around the building. We got in line and waited our turn to order. About 20 minutes later we pulled up to the window.

Finally, a young man opened the window and said, “I’m so sorry. I just gave your order to the car in front of you. It will be a few minutes longer”

In years past I probably would have let out a loud *sigh* to express my displeasure. At the very least, I would have directed a frown his way.

But I didn’t do either.

I smiled and said, “No problem. It happens”.

He said, “Well, it’s happened a few times today, and I’m sorry it happened to you”.

I could see he was working hard to remake our order. But it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t upset. It was Christmas and here I am out driving around snowy roads in a minivan with my daughter wearing slippers.

And it gave me more time to chat with Luca who told me all about the sewing kit Santa brought her. I glanced at her cute smiley face in the rearview mirror as she explained how Santa knew exactly what she wanted. Her words sprang with joy, and she paused only to catch her breath between details.

Our food arrived hot and stuffed into two bags. I handed Luca the vanilla milkshake she received by promising not to tell her brother or sister. One lick of the whipped cream on top told me I should have ordered myself one.

As we slowly made our way up the hill to our home, I told myself that I’m going to give people the benefit of the doubt this year like I did tonight at the drive-thru. I’m not going to jump to conclusions and assume I know all the details. I’m going to listen more and talk less.

Even in those situations where a response or reaction is warranted, I’m going to do the unexpected and say, “No problem”.

We turned off the main road and slid around our neighborhood before making our way down to the end of our cul-de-sac. As we pulled into the driveway of our little yellow house, Luca said, “Dad, I’m glad that guy didn’t give my milkshake away”.

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Law of Threes

The podcast I look forward to more than any other is “The BS Report” by Bill Simmons of ESPN, otherwise known as “The Sports Guy”. Last week he referenced an article written by Mike Lombardi about the Law of Threes.

The Law of Threes states that on any team or organization you’ll have three types of people:

  1. Those who will do everything asked of them.
  2. Those who are undecided and don’t know what to do.
  3. Those who buck the system and want to disrupt everyone else. 

Lombardi used the Law of Threes to describe why the New York Giants continue to win football games in spite of the actions of one of their star players. He credits the coach for focusing on those players in group #1. This creates a culture where some of those in camp #2 step into line with the team. Meanwhile those in group #3 may occasionally cause drama, but aren’t able to bring the team down. If the coach has done his job, the players feel the team is greater than any individual player.

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Picture of Anna Lynn, tester of the Law of Threes

I’ve been giving some thought to how the Law of Threes plays out in our home. Our first three children easily slide into each category. If I were to ask each of them to grab two Diet Cokes from the fridge downstairs and return to the kitchen here’s how it would play out:

Luca would immediately grab them and return.

Lincoln would casually head down the stairs. Halfway there he’d forget why and where he was going and return to the kitchen with a confused look on his face.

Anna would do a little dance, smack her butt, and give me a high five before running off to catch the next Scooby Doo on Boomerang.

According to the Law of Threes, I should focus my energy on Luca and hope Lincoln eventually falls into place. But, unlike a coach, I can’t trade Anna to another family for a daughter to be named later. I must drum up the patience to work with her. To love her. Although she can be frustrating, she brings a large dose of comedy to our home.

I wouldn’t trade her for anyone.

Even Lebron.

The Block Toss

While Kim and the three older kids were putting ornaments on our tree, I was in charge of watching Kai who recently turned 1 year old. I placed him in his Bjorn Babysitter Balance and put a basket full of toys within his reach.

But he wasn’t interested in the blocks or stuffed animals, and he began tossing them under my feet. It wasn’t long before the basket was empty.

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I put the toys back in the basket, and he proceeded to toss them at me again.

He wanted my attention.

So I gently lifted him out of the Bjorn and placed him on my lap. I tried to type, but Kai’s little hands were too fast. He pounded the keyboard making it impossible to do much on the computer.

He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t tired.

I handed him a plastic block. He looked at it as if to say, “Is this the best you can do?”

I reached over and grabbed it out of his hand assuming he was about to toss it at my computer screen. I figured he’d start whining. 

But just the opposite happened.

He laughed and giggled himself silly.

So I gave him the block again and quickly grabbed it out of his little hands. I did this over and over till he had tears streaming down his face from laughter.

You’d think I’d understand this by now but children love interaction. They love to see your face and look into your eyes. They love to see you smile back at them. They crave the back and forth reactions that make them feel loved.

For all the time and money I’ve spent making sure Kai has a place to sit or bounce or sleep, nothing beats being embraced by a loved one.

Hopefully next time he won’t have to toss blocks at my feet in order to get my attention.

One Book I’ve Never Read

When I moved to Seattle in 1994 I rented an apartment across the street from the University of Washington and less than a block away from the student bookstore. I was working my first job out of college and didn’t have the money to purchase many books. On my days off I’d walk down the back stairs of my apartment and take a hard right around the corner to the bookstore where I’d gather a stack of books. The stack was mostly filled with computer and programming books but I enjoyed reading about art and history as well. Some days I’d spend 10 hours sitting on the floor readingbook-spock book after book. 

But there’s one type of book I’ve never read. I’ve never been interested in reading books on parenting. Not even the Dr. Spock book it seems like every parents reads before their first child arrives.

I used to feel guilty about having no desire to read about how someone else feels I should raise my children. Yet I read books that make me a better manager. Maybe even a few articles here and there that make me a slightly improved husband. But nothing directly geared towards parenting.

Given that New Year’s resolutions are just around the corner maybe I should head on down to the Barnes and Noble (the one with a Starbucks inside) and check out the latest batch of parenting books. I’m sure there’s something from Stephen Covey and Dr. Phil. And a few thousand more from experts may not have children of their own. 

So with that, if I can find a parenting book that answers the following questions, I’ll buy it.

  1. How many hours of Scooby Doo in a week is appropriate for a 5 year old.
  2. How to remove a plain M&M from the nostril.
  3. How to teach your children to Tivo without deleting Season Passes to Desperate Housewives, The Hills, and The Office.
  4. How to keep your kids from belching (among other sounds) during the quiet times at church.
  5. How to put shoes on the right feet.
  6. How to flush the toilet!
  7. How to help your kids find their inside voices.
  8. How to keep from backwashing Cheerios into dad’s Diet Coke.
  9. How to sleep past 6 am on the weekends.
  10. How to beat your kids at any Nintendo game and live to gloat about it.

We’ve only been raising kids for a few years and have many more to go. So far they seem fine. Half the battle is keeping track of them. Maybe we’ve been blessed with good children. Or maybe they have an awesome mom that makes up for many of the father’s faults. It’s probably a combination of many influences.

One day I’ll be able look back and see how each of them turned out. I’m sure I’ll be able to see what worked and what didn’t. Both Kim and I believe in teaching our children correct principles but allowing them the freedom to learn and grow and make choices that occasionally bring consequences.

As I tucked the kids into bed tonight each of them gave me a hug and kiss to my forehead. When I got to Anna she said, “You’re the best dad in the whole world”. I smiled and was feeling pretty good about myself as I began to leave. Until she added, “But I’m going to ask Santa for a new dad if you don’t let us decorate the tree tomorrow”.

Is there a book for that?

What Makes a Good Father?

I used to believe a good father was one who built the largest home for his family.

Or drove the fanciest cars.

Or had the coolest sounding job title. image

Or wore the finest tailored suits.

Or played 18 each week at the country club.

Or owned the neighborhood’s only riding lawn mower.

That’s what I thought anyway. I assumed fathers were supposed to focus 95% of their energy on work and the remainder doing yard work and watching football.

No worries though.

Mom to the rescue. She’ll be there to wipe the tears and bandage the scrapes. She’ll attend the field trips and parent teacher conferences. She knows my favorite snack is Cap’N Crunch from 7-11 cup and chocolate milk from the carton.

In other words, she’s everything the father isn’t.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. It shouldn’t be this way.

What makes a good father?

I’m still trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. At best, the border is in place. 

What I choose to wear or drive makes no difference.

But how much time I spend reading to them does.

So does raking leaves together, camel rides and hot chocolate runs.

One piece at a time.

The Answer Escapes Me

When I graduated from college I thought I knew the answers to a number of questions about history, and music and accounting.

A few months into my first real job I figured I knew all about hiring, training and butt kissing. image

When I got married I received on-the-job training in showing courtesy, diplomacy and kindness.

Now that I have four enthusiastic young kids running around the house I know that I don’t know JACK SQUAT.

Which is a huge shot to my ego because I was starting to think I could at least keep my score in the positive and stick around for final Jeopardy were I ever invited to be a contestant during “College Week”.

Having children has only confirmed that I don’t know much of anything. A day doesn’t go by that I’m fielding questions for which Google has no answer. Here’s a sampling of the questions the kids asked me as we washed the cars this weekend:

“What is the most important part of the car?”

“What are windows made of?”

“How does a sponge hold so much water?”

“How come we have to sing in church?”

“How do my new glasses make my eyes see better?”

“Who makes it rain?”

It won’t be long before my kids know more than I do and won’t look to me for answers.

But hopefully they will continue to use my lap as a pillow and my back as a ladder to the top bunk.

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