Itinerary

Summer has begun. The kids are out of school as well as my wife. She is a teacher and enjoyed her first full day of her summer break yesterday. We are looking forward to having a great summer and I am sure she is ecstatic about getting to spend so much time with me.

The downside to her being around here is now she’ll know exactly how I spend my days. During the school year, it was a bit of a mystery to her. Although I did make out an itinerary once that itemized for her exactly what a typical weekday was like for me. I chose a random day to document a time line of activity. Some of you might recognize this from our family’s annual newsletter sent out at Christmas. It got a good response the first time it was published so I figured I might as well put it out there once again. My wife is very interested to find out if there is any truth to it.

Tuesday, Dec. 9, 2008

6:45am – woke up

7:00am – fell back to sleep

7:15am – my wife made me get up and threw a hard object at me

7:30am – made breakfast for kids, apologized to wife for oversleeping

7:50am – took shower

8:25am – shower was cut short because hot water was gone

8:30am – saw wife and 2 of my oldest daughters off to school

9: 00am – got dressed and made myself look amazing

9:05am – made a fort with blankets

9:25am – my 4 year-old daughter asked what I was doing and if she could play too

9:30am – cleaned up kitchen

10:00am – had debate with the 4 year-old as to why she should not change her outfit for the 4^th time this morning

10:30am – changed 4 year-old’s outfit for the 4^th time this morning

10:45am – played hide 'n seek with her

11:00am – hid from my daughter (she thought I had left the house for real…hilarious)

11:25am – had to tell her to “stop licking the dog” (never thought I’d have to say those words to somebody)

12:00pm – the dog chewed up yet another spoon

12:01pm – kicked dog

12:10pm – made our lunch

12:45pm – took my daughter to preschool

1:00pm – said prayer of thanks to God for having given us “preschools”

1:15-1:45pm – air guitar solos

1:45-2:10pm – rested due to exhaustion from sweet air guitar solos

2:25-2:45pm – talked into a fan

2:45- 3:05pm – just chilled

3:05- 3:20pm - relaxed

3:25pm – picked up daughter from school

3:35pm – put in a load of dirty clothes, folded basket of clean clothes, swept, mopped floor, emptied dishwasher, filled dishwasher, clipped coupons, dusted, cleaned kitchen counters, scrubbed toilets, wiped up sinks, started making dinner, paid a few bills, made a quilt, cleaned out the refrigerator, wrote a sonnet poem about my wife, straightened up pillows, put fan back in closet, disassembled the fort and then put blankets back on beds

4:15pm – my wife and 2 daughters came home

My wife said, “The house looks amazing. I am so blessed to have you as my husband.”

4:16pm – I agreed with her

Mark & Alana's wedding

Mark and Alana's wedding was a great event. They both have laid-back personalities but yet are a very fun couple. The bridal party knew how to have a good time which in turn makes for a lot of great subject matter to photograph. It's nice to see a couple who thoroughly enjoys being around each other. Here's a few pics from their day that I had the privilege of being a part of...

Nature's way

When you've been a parent for awhile, in my case 9 years, you develop the ability to decipher a kid's scream as to whether there's a true emergency or not. That's why when my oldest daughter yelled through the window, "Daddy, come out here, quick!", I could tell nobody was severely injured or about to be severely injured. So, 15 minutes later I strolled out the front door to check out the situation.

The younger girls huddled around my oldest daughter, as she was holding something small in her hand. As it turns out, it was a baby bird. Not a cute baby bird, but a baby bird that was still kind of alien-looking with only a few formed feathers. It was moving though.

"Daddy, look, it's a baby bird!" she held it up so I could see better. I think it fell out of that tree over there. I am going to take care of it."

I informed her that it was going to die because that's what usually happens in nature when a baby gets separated from it's mother. I went back inside to answer a phone call, and the three bird caretakers remained outside, discussing what to do.

They came to the conclusion they needed to dig up worms to feed it, which they did. However, the worms were too big that they found. They would need to be cut. Hence, I looked out my window to see my 4 year-old daughter running through the yard holding a steak knife.

Being the experienced, responsible parent that I am, I instantly shouted to her, "How many times have I told you to be careful when you're running with a steak knife?"

Ok, I didn't really say that. I made her hand it over to me in exchange for a pair of child-safe scissors. Father of the Year.

The rest of the afternoon, the kids sliced and served up worms to the ugly little creature. I didn't want them to get their hopes up, so I kept saying, "You guys are doing an awesome job...but it's going to die."

Fast forward a couple more hours, and I returned home from doing a few errands and my wife informed me that the bird finally died. There were tears shed, I think only by my oldest daughter who took the passing personally. By the time I saw her though, the tears had stopped and she seemed back to normal. And that's when I said, "Honey, I can't believe you let that little birdie die. It's all your fault. You failed big time."

Relax, I'm kidding. But I have been calling her "Bird Killer" since then.

This morning, we got around to burying the carcass. We went out to the yard and I asked if anybody would like to say anything. I explained again that things like this happened in nature all of the time and that's just how it's supposed to be. It does amaze me though how kids become attached so quickly to something. They informed me that they'd even named the ugly thing.

So this morning after breakfast, which ironically consisted of fried eggs, we gathered in the backyard for the burial. My girls and the neighbor boy huddled around the small hole and they sadly placed the nasty lifeless body in it. My oldest daughter appeared a little forlorn, but not overly emotional. The other three clowns kept commenting on how gross the bird was.

And that's how the story ends - in a shallow grave. Which of course, I fully expect our dog to dig up shortly hereafter. I fear that was not the last we'll see of that bird. It'll probably end up deposited on our couch cushion by our curious canine.

By the way, the name given to the baby bird by my kids?

"Lucky"

Yard talk

Being a stay-at-home dad has many advantages, one of which is having the opportunity to spend an unusual amount of time with my youngest daughter. Admittedly, there are some days that I am tempted to view this very thing as a disadvantage. Kidding, kidding. Well, sort of.

But normally I really try to appreciate this time in my life. I know someday I'll be driving in my car and the song "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin will come on the radio and I'll think back to now with nostalgic sadness. My girls have really made me into a sentimental guy, especially when it comes to watching them grow up into little ladies. Most people look at me and think, "Man, that guy's so incredibly macho, he's probably never cried in his life." But that's not the case at all. (my wife just about shot her morning yogurt through her nose having laughed at reading that last part)

So when my little girl asks if we can lay on a blanket underneath our trees and have a picnic, or just play silly games, or just watch the clouds passing by, I usually drop what I'm doing and seize the moment. It'll be soon enough that this notion will not even cross her mind so I better appreciate it now.

The other day we got out a couple blankets and pillows and spread them out in the front yard, strategically placed in the shade of a few trees. After she finally settled with the arrangement of said blankets and pillows (my daughter is very obsessive-compulsive when it comes to such things), we began talking about all sorts of important subjects: recapping her year at pre-school, her next birthday plans, what she'll be when she grows up, what I'll be when I grow up, why dogs have tails, the best flavors of ice cream, why I have hair on my legs etc. Very heavy stuff.

And then we started playing her favorite yard-lounging game. It's when I pretend that I'm some sort of animal, giving her clues as to what kind I am, and she in turn tries to guess the answer. We will play this game for quite a while. Sometimes too long. Daddy occasionally starts repeating animals or even forgetting what animal he is supposed to be. I sometimes start off as an elephant and then a few clues later I switch to a squirrel. (I do suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder. I've not been diagnosed, but my wife and I both agree that I am very ADD symptomatic.)

I like this "animal game" because it makes her think. But one particular sequence caused me some alarm. I gave her the following clues: "I'm big, move slow, live on a farm, and usually am black and white."

Her response: "A rabbit?"

"Oh my..." I thought.

"Honey, no. Ok, here's another hint. I produce what you put on your cereal," I said.

"You make sugar?" she asked.

"No dear, not sugar. Something else," slightly disturbed by the fact that this was already taking considerably longer than I anticipated.

"Hmmm...sometimes we put strawberries on cereal. You make strawberries?" she asked again.

Sweet Moses. Come on, man.

"Milk, I make milk!" I blurted.

"Oh, milk!" she shouted. "Ok. Are you a rabbit?"

"No. No. No. No. Besides, you've already said 'rabbit'," I answered becoming more and more agitated...and a bit worried. I know she's only 4, but what was wrong with her? Rabbits are large animals that live on a farm and make milk? Yikes.

"Gotcha! Dad, you're a cow. I'm just teasin'. That's an easy one," she said giggling.

I was very much relieved to hear that come from her mouth. For awhile there she had me concerned that I had failed miserably as a parent. As it turns out, she is a bright child. In fact not only is she bright, but apparently she's intelligent enough to outsmart me. Sadly, I don't think that's a major accomplishment for anybody, not even a pre-schooler.

One of those days

Ever have one of those days or moments that you think to yourself, "This kind of stuff only happens to me,"? Well, I did yesterday.

I decided to cut my hair as I routinely do about every week or so. For many years now I've been my own barber. There's not a whole lot of options for my hairstyle at this point so this is not that big of a challenge. I'm sure I've had some bad days here and there, but for the most part the quality of my clipping ability is fairly consistent. And then yesterday happened.

As I made a pass on the back of my head, I failed to notice that the rake on the razor had been jarred loose, leaving the bare blade exposed. The end result was a fairly large swath of baldness. It looked similar to somebody driving a mower one time through a wheat field. As soon as it happened, I knew it was bad. My first thought was... well..."Holy $*&#, what did I do?". (just being honest) I then positioned the mirrors so I could assess the situation. My suspicions were confirmed. I looked ridiculous.

After the initial shock wore off, I started to lightly chuckle. Finding the humor in the situation, I also knew that short of shaving the rest of my head completely bald, I was stuck with this for at least a week. It would probably appear to others as though my barber was an epileptic blind man. Thankfully I am married so that takes some of the stress caused by my predicament. My wife's stuck with me regardless of what I look like.

I then walked into our bedroom where my wife and youngest child were resting watching tv. "What do you think about this?" I asked as I turned around so she could see the mayhem I just carved. She just stared, mouth wide open. My daughter laughed loudly and tauntingly. I have the feeling this will not be the last time either.

"Any suggestions?" I further inquired.

"Oh my," my wife responded, "what did you do?" Her voiced quivered a bit, containing her urge to burst into hysterics.

I told her I might consider using a red marker to draw stitches on the bare part, giving the impression that I undergone some sort of surgery. She laughed at that suggestion. Apparently she thought I was kidding. Regardless, we both agreed that it'd be best for our family if I wore a hat for a week or so. I take that as meaning they'd be ashamed to be seen with me given the status quo of my alternative hairstyle. Thanks, people. I love you too.

Later on in the day, my wife, who evidently gave it further thought, proposed the following to me: "How about just wearing a band aid back there? That would work too,you know, as far as the fake surgery idea goes."

Interestingly, she did not laugh after making that suggestion.

Weekend Warrior

What a great weekend. We got to spend a lot of time with friends and family, finished some yard work, and most importantly, I ate quite a bit of grilled meat. Mmmmm...meat.

I'd have to say that I really enjoyed the weekend. Although on Saturday our middle child (#2) woke up with the stomach flu. She awakened us complaining about her stomach hurting, then shortly after she vomited in the bathroom. That would be the first of 7 times that day. It was horrible. I am sympathetic to stomach flu sufferers. When I hear or see somebody throw up, I instantly feel like I am going to join them. My wife says I am ridiculously wimpy when it comes to that sort of thing. Whatever.

So, much of Saturday was spent helping her cope with her stomach issues. I felt absolutely horrible for her. She was so looking forward to going to a cookout we were invited to later that evening but of course she couldn't attend. Not to mention, she didn't feel well enough to play with her pet Mexican pig I bought off of Ebay last week. So sad.

I opted to stay outside most of the day, while my wife dealt with Velma Van Vomitheimer inside. That was fine with me. I managed to get the yard mowed, although my mower began acting screwy. It started making a weird knocking sound when I was halfway finished. My mechanical skills - which consisted of me turning the mower off(very important), flipping it onto it's side, and then kicking it a few times, failed to fix or diagnose the problem. The solution? I turned my headphones up louder. The noise was not nearly as noticeable. Fantastic.

After the mowing, I tackled cleaning out the gutters. Our gutter guards work - sort of. They do prevent "whirly birds" off the trees from clogging up the gutters. As shown in this picture. However, they do present another problem. What are the chances that a small object like this could fall from a 30' tall tree and find it's way perfectly into one of these small holes?


Evidently the probability is very high...sigh.



Although a tedious task, I still would rather pull an estimated 13,472 whirly birds from a gutter than have to hold a bucket for a vomiting 6 year-old. My stomach hurts just thinking about it.

Play Dohn't

I am not a fan of Play Doh. The kids enjoy creating things with it though. None of which are ever recognizable.
For example, “Honey, what’s that you’ve made, a snake?”
“No, it’s a horse.”
“Right. Of course it is. My bad. That is fantastic.”

I’ve learned to allow the kids to inform me of their creations rather than try to guess it. I don’t want to discourage their creativity. Having said that, they are horrible sculptors at this point.

Play Doh’s smell is absolutely nauseating to me. I’ve never been able to tolerate it for very long. I’ve felt that way since I was a young lad. I can’t imagine what it tastes like. Fortunately, I’ve never caught my children attempting to eat it either. No parent wants their child to be that kid.

However, I vividly remember an incident that occurred in my 2nd grade Sunday school class that really stuck with me. The pastor’s fanatical son, Scotty, sliced up a half dozen pieces of various colors and slurped them down one by one. He even seemed to enjoy it. He was a weird kid. And apparently he lacked the ability to taste. He was a weird, tasteless kid. I’m sure paste eating was another dietary hobby of his as well. As I understand it, paste is usually the introductory drug that leads to other such experimentation. (i.e. Play Doh, worms, Chap Stick etc.)

We find this pseudo clay all over the place after the kids finish making their distorted animals and other warped abstract configurations. I frequently find the dried bits and pieces in various locations other than where the kids were using it. It seems to travel around somehow.(similar to the Easter Grass - see "Easter Remnants" post)

The crusty leftover wisps disgust me even more than the pungent freshly opened kind. Play Doh scraps always have hair, crumbs, and other unmentionables infused into them. What starts out as being a creative means for children to unleash their imaginations inevitably ends up a germ infested, unusable, rock hard clump of grossness.

Have a great Memorial Day weekend everyone. Even you, Scotty, wherever you are.