The Ride Home From Church

I can’t wait for the ride home from church.

And neither can our kids.

Three hours is a long time for the youngsters to sit on a wooden bench listening to adults talk about religious topics and sing strange hymns where the women sing one verse while the men wait around to join in at the end. Who made these rules?

When the doors swing open to the parking lot my kids bolt out of the church like it’s on fire. No use in screaming their names across the parking lot when we’ve reminded them over and over to use their chapel voices.

But the ride home is the best part because I have no idea what will come out of their mouths. They are chatty and can’t wait to tell us what they learned. They get stories and prophets mixed up. Anna usually sings us a song she learned, and we hope the lyrics don’t include butt, poop or fart.

But it usually does.

Sometimes I wonder what we gain by dragging our kids to church each week. I’m not sure our kids are any more reverent than before. But they’ve made some good friends and it’s time we can spend together. And where else will they learn about the Jason the Baptist?

Now, can someone please hand me the Tupperware full of Cheerios and the Benadryl?

Discount Mall Rides

The kids love the rides at the mall.

Whether it’s a Jeep, taxi, ice cream truck or fire engine, all they do is rock back and forth for a few minutes when fed a couple quarters.

But what happens when you have more kids than quarters?

You load your two youngest in the approved seats and plop your two oldest kids on the hood and hope mall security isn’t around.

Moving Off Auto-Pilot

Have you felt like you’ve put your life on auto-pilot? That’s how I’ve felt lately. Not that my life doesn’t have its share of challenges, but things are stable at home and at work. It’s simple to wake up and go through my day without giving much thought to what I’ll do, whom I’ll help or what I’ll accomplish.

Have you jumped in bed and thought “What did I accomplish today?” and you couldn’t remember a single detail of your day?

I encounter fewer challenges the further I get into my career. My first job out of college was difficult. I struggled to manage a group of 20 part-time employees and made many mistakes. But I was given a lot of freedom, and my decisions had an impact on the store. I learned something new every day.

I’ve had a number of jobs since then, and each has become progressively less challenging. There’s no way I could have survived on auto-pilot while treading water at my first job. But today, I’m a decent manager. I don’t struggle with every personnel decision and I’ve learned how to play the corporate game.

Sometimes fatherhood feels like that first job where I scrambled to keep the store from falling apart. Situations that stressed me out with our first child I barely notice with our fourth. Maybe I have a better understanding of what’s important or I’ve been worn down by the previous three.

Tonight I was jolted back into manual mode.

I was relaxing on the bed when Kim removed Kai from the tub, wrapped him in a towel like a burrito and placed him next to me. He couldn’t move or roll away from me. For several minutes he reclined next to me. His long curly hair was still damp. He giggled and smiled. As he looked into my eyes I wondered what he was thinking. Does he realize I’m his dad?

He must know how much he’s loved.

I see a bit of Kim in him. His facial structure reminds me of my father. If I look closely, I catch a glimpse of myself in his mischievous personality and wide grin that gets him out of trouble.

Kai finally wiggled an arm loose. Before he giggled, he reached over and pinched my nose.

Auto-pilot: Off.

Time to Think

Years ago I came across an interview with Bill Gates. I don’t remember the details surrounding the interview but I recall Gates saying that it was his wish that every employee would spend 15 minutes a day staring at the wall.

But Gates wasn’t wishing for an army of daydreamers. No, what he wished for was for them to think about how they could be more efficient and assess where they could improve.

I’ve thought about this from time to time. Experience has taught me that Gates is the exception. But I’ll save that for another post.

Because I’m more interested in how Gate’s wish works in the home.

How much thought do I put in to becoming a better father? Do I take a few minutes each day and stare at the wall thinking about how I can better raise my children?

Or do I just wing it?

It feels like I allow outside forces to dictate not only what our children do but when they do it. At what age should they learn to play an instrument or a sport? When should they be able to swim? Do kids really need two or three years of pre-school? Tell me again why they need to attend summer camps or take dance lessons. Do they need these activities to grow or because the other kids are doing them?

Everyone has an opinion. Maybe they have given it more thought than I have. There’s too much to keep track of. And how much say should my children have in the decision?

I hear parents tell me how they’ve planned out the next few years of their child’s life. They’ve scheduled exactly how much time will be spent on school activities, sports, scouts and church functions. When I hear this I wonder what the kids think. Is this a plan for the parents or for the kids?

Last night I had more than 15 minutes to think about each of the kids and what I can do to be a better father. While Kim is out of town, three boxes of tomatoes came in that needed to be canned. So, with the help of a kind neighbor, I spent the evening coring, Vita Mixing, and bottling just over two dozen quarts of tomato puree.

I had a lot of time to think as I waited for the bottles to cook for 40 minutes. The kitchen was warm from all the steam so I walked outside on the deck and looked down at the kids toys neatly organized against the house.

Our kids participate in a myriad of activities. Some are planned. Most we sign up for on a moments notice. Maybe we should plan out a year’s worth of activities, but we don’t. We give our children the lion’s share of input. We don’t shove anything down their throats.

And yet I wonder how they are faring. I ask myself if they are happy. Are they learning? Are they being challenged? Do they feel safe? Do they feel loved?

Tonight I sat at my computer instant messaging with Luca who is spending the last few days of her summer vacation with her grandparents on the beaches of the Washington/Oregon coast. She told me about how she flew kites and made a fort at the beach. She loves sleeping in a tent and playing “Pain” on grandpa’s Play Station. She was excited to sleep on the mattress with mom tonight.

But before she signed off, she said, “I’m glad we come home tomorrow because I miss you”.

And I thought that in spite of my many shortcomings, we’ll both be OK as long as we can still talk to each other.

First Concert

Cassettes were beginning to replace albums, disco was all the the rage and Andy Gibb was coming to the Salt Palace.

But I didn’t have eight bucks for a ticket.

A few days before the concert a friend told me he had an extra ticket for me. It wasn’t that I was into his music although I did like the song “Shadow Dancing” and knew all the lyrics.

But I was thrilled to attend my first concert. Of course, I told all my friends.

Our seats were on the floor but far from the stage. Possibly the worst seats in the Palace, but it didn’t matter as long as I could hear the music.

I don’t remember what band took the stage first, but when Andy took the stage a group of girls rushed to the front and shoved me to the floor. My first concert wasn’t going as I had imagined.

I sat next to a girl who was so overwhelmed with Andy’s crooning that she cried until she passed out. She then leaned against my shoulder. She was so heavily drenched in perfume that my eyes stung and watered. But I didn’t care because this girl was leaning on my shoulder. No matter that she was passed out. Maybe she was cute, but I couldn’t tell. It was too dark.

Security finally arrived. My first and only encounter with an older women came to an end.

At the time I didn’t realize that she probably had some help getting to the state she was in, and it had nothing to do with the music.

I’ve attended a number of concerts since then, but none of them were as memorable as this one.

Go Fly a Kite

The sand squished through my toes as I walked across the beach at Ocean Park. The waves crashed against the shore in a violent show of force.

Whenever I see natural power of this magnitude it makes me feel insignificant. Like I’m this small being watching a show put on by a higher power.

I walked right up to where the waves thrust up the shore. The water is cold and the sand begs you to reach down and pack a sand ball between your fingers. The sand seldom cooperates. It oozes through my hands, and I throw what I can towards the seagulls. Like a kid who can’t quite pack a snow ball fast enough for the passing bus.

There’s something about the beach that makes me feel alive. Could be the cool air. Or lack of cell or internet service.

I slowly unwound the string attached to the kite we brought along. Just the right amount of tension between the wind and string. It wasn’t long before the kite was just a dot in the sky. The kids took turns holding the kite’s handle, careful not to float away.

Flying a kite is a lot like raising kids. There’s tension and balance. Occasionally pulling hard in one direction can keep your kite off the ground, but you don’t want to do it often. With every foot of string you feed the kite you also relinquish a measure of control, yet there’s a sense of accomplishment when the kite is high into the sky and the spool is empty.

Kim took the above picture of me managing to pilot the kite without nose diving it into the ocean. I don’t believe your mind can feel stress while the rest of you flies a kite. Give it a try.

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.

WordCamp Seattle

On September 26, I will be speaking at WordCamp Seattle. I’ll be speaking about how blogging has made me a better father which gives me just over a month to locate the child I lost at Target tonight.

I can’t wait to learn from the other speakers, and I’m still a bit flattered they would ask me to speak. I’m not a pro-blogger nor am I an SEO expert. I’ve never written a book or even a WordPress plugin.

I don’t even have my own YouTube channel!

I’m just a father who details the adventures of raising four kids in Seattle. I make a lot of mistakes, get my butt kicked at Super Mario, and occasionally make the kids cry.

But maybe that’s worth more than a fat AdSense account.

I hope to see you at WordCamp!

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.