Can I Show You Something?

I hadn’t removed my jacket or set down my briefcase before Anna came bounding down the stairs. While nearly standing on my shoes, she pleaded with me to come see something she created.

“Let me get settled first,” I said.

I got settled just in time for Luca to call everyone upstairs for dinner. While we ate, Anna reminded me again she had something to show me.

“After I finish eating.”

I wasn’t trying to avoid Anna although I’m sure that’s how she felt because after dinner I ended up in the living room playing with Kai while Luca and Lincoln hit me over the head with a pillow.

“Dad, can I show you something now?”

“Just a minute.”

But a minute never came because there was laundry to fold, a dishes to clean and a two-year old to keep from using the glue stick as lip balm.

It’s so easy to get distracted. One child needs attention while a dozen other small things get in the way. I tell myself I won’t get sucked down that hole of stuff that doesn’t matter. Yet I do.

My mom used to say that kids talk when they want to talk. They seldom talk on your terms, and you never know when they will pull up a chair and dive into an honest discussion.

I should have remembered my mom’s words, but I continued to put off Anna under the assumption that, once things settled down, I’d be able to see what she wanted to show me.

The house did eventually settle down. But my mind was off in another direction, and I forgot about Anna’s request. While I sat at the computer this evening, she snuck up behind me with two papers in her hand.

My heart sank.

“Can you staple these papers for me?” she asked.

I noticed one of the papers was an entry to a coloring contest while the other was the artwork she wanted to show me all evening. I tried as best I could to show interest and give her my attention, but it was too late. She came to me to get the papers stapled not to show me the picture she colored.

It was late by the time Luca and Anna crawled into bed. I chatted with Luca before kissing her goodnight. By the time I kneeled down at Anna’s bed she was asleep. I kissed Anna on the forehead knowing I missed an opportunity to connect with her.

I won’t make the same mistake tomorrow.

How Much Does Your Life Weigh

George Clooney’s character in the film, Up the Air, gives a memorable speech where he asks, “How much does your life weigh?”

I’ve seen the movie twice now, and both times I’ve got lost in thought each time I’ve watched this scene.

How much does my life weigh?

Currently it weighs a lot. I’m responsible for providing life’s basics for six people and one dog. When I write that I can feel the weight. Yet that’s how I set it up. That’s what I was taught. I go to school. Get married. Buy a home and have some children.

Isn’t that how we define success in America? The size of our home and the emblem on our cars. The instruments our children play and the camps and schools they attend. The blueprint for success has already been created. All we have to do is follow it. Yet nobody forced me to follow the blueprint. It was my own doing.

I’m starting to rethink how I define success.

I used to place a lot of value on not only my job title but the prestige that came working for a well-known and respected company. I used to think we had to raise our children in a certain neighborhood among people of our education and economic levels. At times I’ve felt the need to spend more time at work and church taking on more projects. Whoever can complete the largest to-do list was the winner. The busier the better.

But the older I get I see that this way of thinking does not lead to happiness. It focuses on the quantity instead of the quality of life. More is less. A lot less.

I recently came across an interview with former CNN host, Lou Dobbs. He worked at CNN for nearly 30 years and served as the host of Moneyline as well as a corporate executive at CNN. This is a man who graduated from Harvard and earned tens of millions of dollars as a news personality.

Yet when asked to complete the phrase, “I wish…, Dobbs replied “I spent more time with the kids”.

Here’s a guy who had the means to do whatever he wanted. Certainly he could find time to spend with his four children if he so desired. Yet our culture doesn’t place a lot of importance on how much time fathers spend with their children. That’s mom’s job or, more often, the nanny or child care provider’s responsibility.

I hope I never look back on my life and answer that question the same way Dobbs did. That would be a nightmare scenario. Dobbs lives on a 300 acre farm. He has whatever money can buy. Yet what he wishes for something which can’t be bought. No amount of money will bring back the years he could have spent with his children. Who cares how big your house is if it’s empty.

I’m slowly starting to remove things from my life that take away from time I can spend with my children. I’m going to commit myself to fewer projects. I’m going to watch less TV and more time reading or telling stories with my kids. I’m going to call my parents and siblings instead of goofing around on the internet so much. I’m going to look for opportunities to give service. I worked on a friend’s computer for a few hours this month, and I felt great afterwards.

I want more of that in my life.

This past week I did something I wish I had done months before. I turned off email on my iPhone so I would not be tempted to read or reply to it. I had over 30 unread emails when I sat down at my desk this morning. And you know what? I survived. No email is so important that it should pull me away from my family on the weekend.

I’m hoping that as I strip away distractions and activities that the next time I hear Clooney give his speech, I’ll say to myself, “My life weighs less than it did it a month ago”.

Three’s a Crowd

Every morning Luca, Lincoln and Anna line up at the door, ready for school. Well, not quite ready. I have to remind Lincoln to put on his shoes. Anna forgets where she last saw her sweater, and Luca searches for her homework.

No matter how early we wake the kids, I feel rushed getting them to school on time. This school year I’ve been dropping the kids off at the elementary school on my way to work. Although it’s only a few minutes, I enjoy this time immensely. It’s a great way to start my day.

All three of them are excited for school. Even giddy. I know it won’t always be this way.

Over the past couple of months I’ve noticed Anna is the last to get out of the car at the school. Luca and Lincoln get out first and could wait for their little sister, who started Kindergarten this year. But they don’t. They jump out and run ahead leaving Anna on her own.

And yet I understand why this happens.

Anna is our most vocal and emotional child. She’s also our most upbeat. She wears her emotions for everyone to see. She likes to dance and twirl around the house. She likes to sing. But mostly, she wants to be around her older brother and sister.

But what really irks Luca and Lincoln is the whistling. Luca nor Lincoln can whistle so it’s doubly annoying to them that Anna has no problem whistling songs to popular Nintendo games.

But it still hurts to see Anna walk alone to class each day. Kim and I have ask Luca and Lincoln to keep an eye on their younger sister. I’ve tried gentle reminders as we approach the school. But so far nothing has worked. I don’t want to force the issue though. I know doing so could worsen the situation.

The rain was coming down hard as I pulled up to the school today. I turned on my windshield wipers as fast as they would go, and it still wasn’t enough. All three kids had backpacks full of homework and a lunch. I expected the same pecking order to prevail as I unlocked the door.

Luca reached over the seat to hug me before she left. Lincoln would rather give me a high five so that’s what we did before he jumped out.

That left Anna.

I looked out my window covered in raindrops to see Luca and Lincoln fling their backpack over their shoulders. “Here we go again”, I thought.

“I love you Anna Lynn”, I said as she reached her arm out to hug me. I straighten her glasses that Luca or Lincoln bumped on the way out. She scooted her legs across the seat before dangling them onto the ground. She struggled to stabilize her backpack before reaching back to close the car door.

The rain was really coming down now. My windows were fogged up to the point where I could not see through them. I wiped the windshield with my sleeve before lowering the driver’s side window.

And that’s when I saw them.

I assumed Luca and Lincoln had run ahead like they every morning. Instead I saw three kids standing in the rain. Right next to each other. Lincoln was helping Anna with her backpack while Luca fixed her hood so Anna’s hair wouldn’t get drenched.

As they walked along the sidewalk leading to the school,I sat in my car and watched. Eventually they broke off towards their classrooms.

I could only see Anna’s backpack hanging from her shoulders and her tiny feet hitting every puddle. Yet I have no doubt she had a smile painted across her face.

And she was probably whistling.

Compared to Mom

The kids scurried to locate their shoes. Chances are slim six shoes will be found before Costco closes so I did what any helpful father who promised his kids they could tag along would do:

“Put on the first shoes you find even if they don’t belong to you”

Every time I pull into the Costco parking lot on a Saturday, I tell myself to NEVER visit Costco on a Saturday. And yet I don’t know if I’ve ever stepped foot inside a Costco on a day other than Saturday.

But today I was missing my co-pilot unless you count three kids who view Costco as one big play ground. I haven’t found a parking spot before the comments start pouring in from the backseat.

“Mom never parks this far away”

“I can’t even see the entrance from here”

When I finally locate a spot, I decide to lay down a few ground rules before we leave the car.

“Only one sample per product”

“No sneaking anything into the cart”

“No comparing me to mom”

That last one is a biggie. I don’t know the store layout as well as Kim does. And no, I’m not the most efficient shopper on the planet. I like to take my time in the DVD and book section. I’ll hang out in the vegetable and fruit cooler room on a warm day. Sometimes I’ll go by the TV section and catch a game in progress. Today I chatted up the lady answering questions for ECOS unscented laundry detergent.

Plus, it’s hard to move a giant cart full of groceries with three kids in tow down small aisles on sample Saturday. What’s the rush?

Kim jotted down a small list of items for me to buy. She crossed out a few before I walked out the door. She told me they weren’t essential, but I’ll bet she knew I wouldn’t be able to find them. Probably a good move on her part or I’d still be wandering the aisles searching for Children’s Benadryl.

Here’s my list. Notice how I keep track of what I have in the cart by making a small tear next to the item. How’s that for ingenuity?

I added the four barely legible items in the right corner and then gave up on two of them while in the store. Sorry, Quicken.

I’d call the trip a success based on my past Costco excursions. I couldn’t find the “dark hot chocolate”, but came up with an acceptable excuse on the fly: it’s a season item. Kim fell for it.

The kid’s dinosaur vitamins gave me trouble. I located the bears, Flintstone and princess variety before Luca found the bottle with two smiling dinosaurs on the front. I guess even the most fearsome velociraptor needs his daily dose of Riboflavin and Beta Carotene in order to stay active and healthy.

They look so much like candy that I might try a couple tonight.

Once we’d checked every item off the list, we stood in line behind buying a cartful of hotdogs and buns. The kids thought that was funny. This is when they get antsy. But today they were kept busy by trying to guess how much the groceries would cost.

“I’m trying to keep the total around $200 today”, I told them.

Luca grabbed the case of black beans and put it on the conveyor belt. Anna grabbed the Pirates Booty while Lincoln tried to lift the can of applesauce onto the belt.

We’re not a well-oiled machine of productivity, but I don’t care. The kids want to help, and the only item that ended up on the floor was the bag of bagels. No harm, no foul.

As we walked to the car Luca asked how much I spent. I handed her the receipt which she held out in front of her with two hands. She scanned the list from top to bottom. Finally she yelled:

“One hundred and ninety four dollars! That’s pretty good, dad! You guessed $200!”

I’ll bet mom would have guessed $198.

Creativity and Control

Two of my favorite blogs are Seth Godin and Signal vs. Noise. They often share ideas that have helped me become a better manager.

Recently each of them covered topics which caught my attention.

Godin says the secret to creativity is curiosity. In regards to hiring he says:

Same thing is true for most of the people we hire. We’d like them to follow instructions, not ask questions, not question the status quo.

Yet, without "why?" there can be no, "here’s how to make it better."

It’s good to have worker bees. Every company needs them. People who show up at 8 and leave at 5 everyday. They do the job they are asked. Yet they are consistent and stable employees who complete tasks.

I once had a coworker who fit this description. She left at 5 pm no matter what was going on in the office. If she had to walk out in the middle of a meeting then so be it. She logged off email at 5pm and didn’t look at her inbox till 8 am the next morning. She also turned off her cell phone. She was vigilant in protecting her time outside of work.

She checked off all the boxes one would look for when hiring a new employee. Yet she possessed little passion for the industry or our products. She didn’t “ask why” because that answer was of no interest to her. The job was a paycheck. Nothing more.

The flip side is the employee who challenges, asks why, and looks for ways to improve the company. In my experience, this is the more difficult employee to manage. But when done properly, the benefits outweigh the occasional hassle. This employee challenges the status quo. He’s full of ideas and isn’t bashful about sharing them. He wakes up 3 am with an idea and shoots off an email because he can’t wait until the next morning.

Some businesses need both types. But I know which one I’d rather manage. Especially if my business relies on innovation and creativity to grow.

The other post that caught my attention came from Matt at the 37 Signals blog. He writes about how some companies use control. He suggests that tighter controls may have unintended consequences:

But “control” is a tricky thing. The tighter the reins, the more you create an environment of distrust. An us vs. them mentality takes hold. And that’s when people start trying to game the system.

For the most part, the companies I’ve worked for were able to find the right balance. I worked for two small companies that provided no control which doesn’t work well either.

Matt goes on to quote Shunryu Suzuki:

The best way to control people is to encourage them to be mischievous. Then they will be in control in its wider sense. To give your sheep or cow a large, spacious meadow is the way to control him. So it is with people: first let them do what they want, and watch them. This is the best policy. To ignore them is not good; that is the worst policy. The second worst is trying to control them. The best one is to watch them, just to watch them, without trying to control them.

I’m constantly trying to balance control in regards to those I manage. One must have control over some aspects of work. Time reports and expenses come to mind. But work schedule and freedom to figure out the best way to solve problems are two items where relinquishing some control can bring substantial benefits.

Link to Seth Godin

Link to Signal vs. Noise

Raising Children in a Mormon Family

I’ve been hesitant to write about the topic of religion for a number of reasons, although it’s important to me. Maybe I haven’t found the right tone yet. Or maybe I’m still working through a number of questions myself and don’t want to draw conclusions here on my blog only to change my mind later.

I was raised a Mormon in Ogden, Utah. My mother grew up in a strict Mormon home. My father did not. But once they married, they were loyal members of this dominant religion in Utah.

The only time I did not attend church for three hours each Sunday morning was when I was sick. I may have faked an illness when church overlapped with a Steelers game, but most weeks I was there in a light blue suit and clip on tie passing the bread and water as young priesthood holder.

I assumed everyone was a Mormon until I was well into my teens. Utah is one of the few places that could happen. It was a big deal to my friends and family when I asked a Catholic girl to a school dance. I don’t believe we ever talked about religion, and it’s probably for the better.

It wasn’t until I served as a missionary in Germany that I become acquainted with other religions. There certainly wasn’t a shortage of people ready to tell me how foolish I was to belong to such a strange and strict religion. I learned one way to diffuse their attacks was to ask them about their own beliefs. The more I listened, the more they opened up to me. Over time, I learned about the Catholics, Protestants, Jehovah Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists and many others. Most were Christian, but some were not. I remember one man called himself a naturalist. He believed God was “in the trees and the leaves”. They didn’t teach us how to respond to such a person at the Mission Training Center in Provo, Utah.

The reason I refer back to my upbringing is because I now realize my eyes and mind were closed until I went to Germany. Until that time, I only discussed religious topics that confirmed what I already believed. None of my friends challenged me because they all possessed the same beliefs I did.

And I wonder if that’s what best for my kids.

Isn’t it a bit arrogant to assume that what’s best for me is also what’s best for my children?

We live in Seattle where my kids are exposed to a diverse group of children at school. Hopefully lead to more discussions among their friends, and they will see that many good people have beliefs that differ from their own. In Utah, I was able to select friends who attended the same church I did. If my children were to do that, they’d have one or two friends total.

I can’t help but see myself in my son each week at church. He attends church because we expect him to attend with our family. He’s respectful and reverent. He even occasionally sings. But much of the time, he props his chin up, crosses his legs and stares off into space. I can certainly relate because I did that every week as a kid.

I hope my children find the same peace and joy I’ve found by belonging to my faith. Most parents would feel the same way. I want them to experience my religion without having it shoved down their throats. I’m trying to share my experiences with them, but give them the leeway to find their own way. I believe parents who are militant about their beliefs find that level of control only works up to a certain age. Eventually, the child will rebel and take off in the opposite direction. I don’t want that.

My views on religion continue to be a work in progress. When I returned from my mission where I had to wear a suit and tie seven days a week, I needed a break from it all. Living something so intensely for two years extracted a toll on my system. I’m constantly searching for balance. I was religious for two years but was I spiritual? I’m still asking myself that question after twenty years.

And like Lincoln, I occasionally stare off into space during church meetings. That’s when I do some of my most productive thinking.

Trying to make sense of this mixed up world.

Watching Our Boxer Grow Old

I don’t have to look down near my feet to know my dog is there. I can hear her ears flap when she suddenly decides to wildly shake her body. When I turn down the music I can hear her take deep breaths. I can even smell her. But not in a bad way. Elka keeps herself very clean, but she has a unique scent that tells me she’s my dog.

It’s been this way for nearly 10 years.

I don’t have to look down because she’s always been there. Sometimes she curls up next to Kim’s feet, and that’s why I keep her circular dog bed next to my desk.

I’m having a difficult time watching her grow old.

I’m having a difficult time writing this as I imagine our home without her.

As much as I enjoyed her as a puppy, she’s an even better adult dog. I love how she nudges my right hand off my mouse when she wants food. Or when she wiggles her butt and tiny tail when I arrive home from work. Or return from taking out the trash. She’s also developed an uncanny knack for photo-bombing any picture taken on her property.

I love the deep sigh she lets out just as she’s about to doze off or how her stomach always stays warm. I love that.

I’ve noticed how much she’s slowed this past year, yet it didn’t hit me until this morning.

She knows on Sunday she’s on her own for three hours while we’re at church. I knew she’d be curled up in a ball on our couch upstairs, but decided to call her name from the garage. She hadn’t been outside all morning. But she didn’t run towards me like she normally would if she were being invited to go for ride.

I had to call her a few times before I heard her roll off the couch and slowly make her way down the two flights of stairs to me. Her hind legs have lost their spring, and she no longer darts down the stairs three at a time.

She came around the corner and stopped when she saw me. She knows to go outside and take care of business. Most days she’ll walk right past me and return within a minute or two before heading back up the stairs to her warm spot on the couch.

But today she stopped and looked at me.

She looks as regal as she did five years ago. Her dark brindle coat still shines as do the white patches on her chest and paws. Only the grey around her whiskers gives her age away.

I don’t know how much longer we’ll have her. We understand boxers have a relatively short lifespan. She’s still sweet as can be. Still patient with four noisy and occasionally aggressive children. They love her as much as she loves them. Even when Anna puts underwear over her head.

I’m not certain she was trying to tell me something today. She could have sensed the light falling rain which she despises. Maybe she didn’t need to go outside. But I felt like she was trying to communicate something to me. As if she wanted me to understand that she’s no longer the same dog that slept on Kim’s lap during the drive home from the breeder. Maybe it’s something simple.

That she’s still our dog.

Just older.

When Will Mom Be Home?

It wasn’t until Kim pulled out the driveway that I realized I’d left the stroller in the van. I thought about calling her, but she was excited to get to Seattle with Luca and Anna to watch the Nutcracker Ballet. Although I sent her off with the portable GPS, she gets nervous driving down the narrow downtown streets looking for a place to park. I didn’t want to detract from their night out.

“When will mom be home?”

That left me home with Lincoln and Kai. I figured it couldn’t be too difficult to take Kai to the mall without a stroller. I’ll hold his hand and he’ll walk beside me like the three older kids did when they were two years old. Lincoln can help me keep an eye on him. That was my plan.

And that’s exactly how it worked from the car to the mall entrance. I must have run five miles chasing that kid around from one display to the next over the next hour.

Lincoln went up one of the more difficult sides of the climbing wall, and could not stop smiling once he reached the top and punched the buzzer. I bought him a piece of pepperoni and pineapple pizza. Of course, he counted each pineapple piece before eating any.

“When will mom be home?”

Afterwards, he wanted a frozen yogurt. He filled his cup with chocolate and eggnog flavored frozen yogurt and topped it with chocolate chips and gummy bears. He told me it tasted especially good because he didn’t have to share with any sisters.

We arrived home to a cold house. Kim and the girls would be a few more hours. I put Kai to bed and asked Lincoln what he wanted to do.

“When will mom be home?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Can we watch Home Alone 2?”

I grabbed the biggest blanket I could find and sat next to Lincoln on the couch. He’s by far our most mellow child. He’s content to be with me and does not ask for much. About ten minutes into the movie he grabbed a pillow and said, “Can I put my head on your lap?”

“Of course”

I see a lot of myself in my son. He’s cautious around me in the same manner I was around my father at his age. Luca would have grabbed a pillow and jumped on my lap without asking. There’s a mutual comfort level. Lincoln is more deliberate. He’s respectful if a bit shy. Maybe a bit awkward. But sweet.

I watched my son more than the movie tonight. I watched him giggle, smile, and repeat his favorite Kevin McAllister quotes. I combed his wiry hair with my fingers and tickled his neck. More than once, I adjusted his glasses so they wouldn’t fall off his nose.

I waited for it. Surely he’d ask again. The movie was nearly over, and I was certain he’d want an update on mom’s whereabouts.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t care if mom is late because I’m having so much fun tonight”

It Might Get Loud

It’s been a while since I’ve had a smile on my face through an entire film, but It Might Get Loud did that to me today.

My brother told me about the film a few weeks ago and we both watched it this weekend. That kicked off a number of email exchanges detailing our favorite segments and concluded with a two hour phone conversation this evening. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop talking about it.

The documentary is about three guitar legends: Jimmy Page, The Edge and Jack White. If you play music you’ll love it. If you love music you’ll love it. There’s not ten seconds of dullness to be found here.

My favorite segment: All three guys are chatting on the couch when Jimmy begins sharing a story about a manager who challenged him to expand on a section of chords he’d been playing around with. While The Edge and Jack watch, Jimmy grabs his guitar and strums that killer opening riff to “Whole Lotta Love”. The camera pans and you see both Jack and The Edge look on in wonderment.

It would have been easy for Page to dominate the film. Yet it’s his humble approach and willingness to play the music of fellow guitarists that makes this work shine.

An Uncertain Year

This year can be summed up by a question my son asked me tonight as we sat on the couch together and watched the lights on our tree.

“Dad, how come the lights at the top of the tree don’t work?”

Normally, I’d crack a joke. But not today. I didn’t have an answer for why a third of the lights didn’t work. I suppose I could look for the dead bulb or the short in the cord. Maybe one entire strand of lights hadn’t been plugged in. Not sure. Whatever the reason it didn’t seem to bother Lincoln so why should it bother me?

An imperfect tree to an uncertain year.

We didn’t send out Christmas cards this year. We handed out a few gifts to neighbors. We didn’t hang lights around our home. We didn’t give as much service as we had planned. Home and auto repairs seemed to drop out of nowhere. Our three oldest kids needed glasses and dental work done.

Nothing major. Just many small expenditures that add up over time during a year when my bonus was slashed.

These were my thoughts as I wrapped the last few presents with Kim tonight. In a few hours our kids will awake to find that Santa delivered fewer gifts this year than in years past. They won’t understand why that’s the case.

Yet if they do ask, I’ll explain to them that 2009 has been a difficult year for many people. Like our friends down the street who have been unable to sell their home for well over a year. Or another friend who lost his job three months ago and has yet to find work. Or the evening I returned home from work depressed because I had to tell several loyal employees I no longer had jobs for them due to a downturn in business.

This has been a year of drastic upheaval for many.

Too many good people looking for jobs. Too many people taking whatever work they can even if that means delivering pizza to keep the lights on.

In spite of the tough year, we’ve been incredibly blessed. Our kids were able to spend more time with their grandparents this summer than any before. We enjoyed our weeks at Longbeach and our summer trip to Ogden. We spent a lot of time around the table putting puzzles together, playing games and sharing goofy stories.

As we lounged around the house tonight, a friend dropped off a box of Cap’N Crunch Christmas Crunch. The kids followed me to the kitchen assuming I’d pull out plates and napkins to minimize the mess. They were surprised when I opened the box and tossed Christmas Crunch across the table in their direction.

Mom wasn’t home to put a stop to it.

And then it started. I blame Kai. He started the mayhem by reaching over to pilfer my red crunch berries. I had no choice but to steal Lincoln’s green crunch trees. Of course, Lincoln had to take back what he’d lost from his sisters.

Before long we had more cereal on the floor than in our mouths. But it didn’t matter because everyone was having a wonderful time. Kai giggled as he tossed berries across the table. We all laughed. Everyone got along. A Christmas miracle.

Maybe we should have read the Christmas story from the Bible tonight. Or acted out the nativity scene. Or sang songs together. But we didn’t. Instead we sat around a table and munched on Crunch.

It was an imperfect activity to end a great day.