A New Affliction

Pandemic! It threatens everyone. Most don't even know it, nor do they realize that while it is universal and potentially fatal, its progress can be slowed to a crawl with relative ease. This affliction, funicle degeneration or fuddy duddy syndrome, is most commonly called AGE and it desires to have us all. It nearly got me. But for the brave actions of a little boy, I might be in its relentless clutches at this very moment. I'd love to say I escaped, but I was actually rescued. It went like this...

Several months ago, sometime between Christmas and April Fool's Day, my son Wyatt reminded me that the 4th of July was right around the corner and that we needed to be thinking about getting fireworks. I remember the days when fireworks were a celebratory expression of American Independence. Those sparks and whistles, those flames and pops. I couldn't get enough. But now, fireworks are a celebratory expression of watching my paycheck go up in smoke.

Now Wyatt is at the "fireworks are awesome" stage in life and made sure I was reminded of it at every opportuntity. His incindiary promptings continued unabated and he made supplications at regular intervals that I should procure some fireworks as quickly as possible in preparation for the huge backyard Fourth of July celebration. I, of course, made every conceivable excuse for not having done so, such as, "I'm sure they are all sold out." and "We just can't afford it right now." and the ever popular and minimally effective, "I think I broke my legs." None of those worked and I found myself being assaulted on a minute-by-minute basis by a young boy just wanting to have some fun. But, having a full blown case of FD made it easy to deny his requests. The kicker came when he finally gave up with, "OK!" and walked away from me with his knuckles dragging the floor like a little toe headed neaderthal. I just couldn't take it. I grabbed my keys and the checkbook and we headed to the store late in the afternoon of July 4, 2007 to see what we could find, hoping there was still something left on the shelf. Of course, Wyatt came with me. We entered the store and wouldn't you know it, there were stacks of fireworks, all laughing at me, waiting to set my savings ablaze. The grip of FD does not loosen easily. But after about .000009438 seconds, he had made his selection and we were headed for home. The entire 15 minute trip I was treated to a personal reading of every word on the box, a couple of times. At least twice I felt the sting of pure joy slamming into my neck from the back seat as he fizzled with anticipation. By the time we got home he was ready to ignite. I'm just glad he didn't explode in the car. Dinner was pure torture and we were all certain the sun was never going to set. But eventually it did and we retreated to the back yard for 12 minutes and $29.97 of flaming fun.

My FD is cured and, fortunately, my son is still intact.

And The Winner Is...

With summer underway it's an all out battle to ensure that the kids are doing more than wathcing TV and turning into little turnips. So we had an idea. A contest. Everyone can do it and it will be fun. So we decided upon a photo contest. The rules were simple.

1. All entries must be digital and original
2. They must be taken in or around the house
3. Mom and Dad would judge based on Originality, Composition, Color, Contrast and a few other criteria
4. 3rd place gets a kick in the pants, 2nd places gets a pat on the back, 1st place gets $5.

So we gave them a few days and access to any digital camera in the house. Many photos were entered and here are the winners...

Honorable Mention (by Samuel)

We liked the way the picture was split in half by the zipline in the backyard. He had to balance the camera next to the tree and hope he got a good picture.

3rd Place (by Mason)

We liked the composition and color. Nicely done

2nd Place (by Samuel)

Good use of light

1st Place (by Mason)

This one just had fairly good everything...Texture, Composition, Perspective...Our dog.

The Power of Boredom

One of the best parts of my week is Saturday morning. I like it because it usually offers the time tested staples of a leisurely weekend such as a big family breakfast, hot coffee brewing when I stumble out of my room, and a little personal time for everyone. However, Saturday morning usually starts on Friday evening so things can get a bit complicated in an effort to simplify.

It happens like this...on Friday evening everyone slowly makes their way into bed and the parents of the house head up to say evening prayers. Friday evening prayers are different because they ALWAYS end with a fatherly admonition that the child praying should include a prayer for a spirit of quietness the following morning to let the paternal unit sleep in lest his ire be raised to just below the ceiling followed by the child in question loosing a finger or other appendage. So Saturday mornings are usually quiet. But as every parent knows, quiet can mean trouble.

So it was that this morning, all was quiet. The sun was up, the air was cool and breakfast was finished. Given the beauty of this particular Georgia morning, I sent everyone outside for some fresh air and solid play. The first indication of trouble came when Samuel showed up in the kitchen and just kind of stood around looking sheepish. I queried, "Why aren't you outside?" His reply was unexpected, but not surprising. "I don't what to get in trouble when Mason and Wyatt get hurt." "Why would they get hurt?" "They're on the roof!", he said, not wanting to tell on them but not wanting to lie either.

A while later, after a little more too much quiet, I heard a loud conversation taking place in the garage and stole slowly to the door to ascertain what was being said. That's when I discovered that my children were being forced to take their imaginations to new heights to think up something to do since there was no TV, Playstation, or Computer actually operating in the back yard.

My discovery of their level of boredom came in the form of a sentence from Mason as each threw their ideas for fun into the proverbial hat. He said, "Let's practice scewdriver throwing!"

A Christmas to Remember

Christmas is a great holiday. Giving and getting, spending time with family, eating till you wanna pop, and ultimatly breaking something by days end. It's both hectic and fun. This year we decided to do something a bit different. We limited our gifts to the kids and sent a certified letter to Santa to do the same. On Christmas day, after the rush of early morning excitment had subsided a bit, we presented them with "final gift"...a group gift. Nothing special, just two small books. Tour books outlining the sights and highlights of Washington DC. Olivia was the first to catch on with, "Are we going to Washington DC?" at which the boys stopped and stared awaiting an answer. Indeed, we were going to DC. They freaked out and immediatly began pouring over the books to determine what they wanted to see. So for the rest of Christmas day, the kids talked and played, I worked to finish re-plumbing our bathroom and Tina packed us all up in anticipation of leaving town the next day.

The 26th arrived as scheduled and we loaded up bright and early to drive north. It was a 9-10 hour road trip but we arrived and checked into the lodging office at Bolling Air Force Base. The next 3 days were cram-packed with sights and tours and subway rides and miles of walking but each one had a great time getting their first taste of the history of America. We saw everything from The Wright Brothers Flyer to the Declaration of Independance. We saw Abraham Lincolns Top Hat and Ford's Theatre. We saw Kermit the Frog and the Hope Diamond. We visited the Lincoln, FDR, Jefferson, and Washington Monuments, the War Memorials for Viet Nam, Korea, and WWII. On our last day we visited Arlington National Cemetery, wathched the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns, saw the grave of Audie Murphy and other significant figures in American history.

I could go on for hours about the details of what we did and where we went. But the purpose of the trip was to allow the kids to see the seat of our government and everything surrounding it. One thing we did was get each of them a small journal and made them take the time to write each night about the days events. On December 27th, our first day of actual touring, Wyatt summed up the events and feelings of the entire trip very concisely. Dec 27 - We went to the the Library of Congress. I saw most of the memorials in Washington DC. We are going to see the museums tomorrow. PS. I had a great day.

Cootie Avoidance and the Art of Dress

There are many things in today's world from which to choose as a source of entertainment. For Tina and me one of the things we like to do is watch "What Not to Wear" on the learning channel, wherein the hosts take someone in desperate need of a well developed fashion sense and school them in the arts of proper dress. This schooling includes everything from the do's and don'ts of color matching, to how a pair of pants can flatter even the most unflattering figure. Earlier this week one of the "students" on the show was wearing a pair of pants that were held tightly in place by some overzealous elastic approximately 18 inches above her navel. To further the "look" she wore a standard brassiere that fit in a very non-standard way. The end result was that her top half and her bottom half appeared to be in the process of a continental collision somewhere in the vicinity of her 3rd rib. So, the hosts of the show politely talked her through the proper fit of ladies undergarments. Tina then commented, in an offhanded fashion, "I guess none of mine fit properly."

This weekend was Mothers Day. A day where children celebrate their Mothers and husbands sweat profusely at the prospect of having to explain that they didn't actually forget, they were simply busy preparing for Christmas. So it was that mere days before Mother's Day I was still considering real versus fake Christmas Trees and had yet to do anything tangible for this weekend. That's when fate stepped in in the form of a very poorly dressed woman in an ill fitting bra. This was my chance and I grabbed on with gusto. I proudly announced that we were going to the mall!

Once there I directed the family to the upper level and headed to Victoria's Secret. One of Victoria's secrets is that boys under 25 will melt if they go in the store. So the adults in the group fastened the kids to the rail outside the store and headed in to buy a brand new, properly fitting, extremely comfortable and fabulously attractive bra. Once done we headed out of the store and attempted to hand the bright pink gift bag to the boys. They of course were having none of it. After all, it was pink and probably had terminal cooties.

The next day was Mothers Day. We got ready for church and Tina donned her new bra and her old robe and worked feverishly to get the kids into dressing mode, with some success. At one point she approached Wyatt for who knows what and didn't notice that her bra was showing ever so slightly. Wyatt was very purposeful in his avoidance of eye to bra contact. Just looking at it might bring on who knows what kind of disease. So I jokingly asked why he was so embarrassed to which he replied, with emphasis on each letter, "I do not want to see her B-R-A-W-L."

A Quiet Weekend of Camping

Our little pocket of humanity rarely slips below the 4 or 5 population level. So when it does it is something noteworthy. The constant roar that incessantly fills the background gives way to near silence and for one brief shining moment there is peace and quiet. Then the quiet fatigue sets in and you can’t wait for the sounds of little voices and feet echoing from all over the house. This weekend was such a time.

Samuel was out of town all weekend with his school. They visited several historic sites up and down the eastern seaboard. Mason and Wyatt were off camping with the Royal Rangers. That left only Olivia, Tina, and me. Despite what you might think about Olivia, she can be downright noiseless when her brothers are not around. I rather think she enjoyed it. Soon, Samuel will tell all about his trip, so I won’t steal his thunder here. But the camp out bears mention.

This was Wyatt’s first big camp out with the Royal Rangers so he was very excited. Mason, too, was looking forward to being the big brother, the one who knew everything and could mentor his little brother in the ways of the wild. And from all reports after the fact, things got really wild, but not in a wild, natural, outdoorsy kind of way. Rather, it was because of some of the other campers (from a different group of Royal Rangers). It seems that a couple of the older boys thought it would be cool to flirt with the edge of the rules or just plain ol’ disobey them. So they made every effort to use inappropriate words and do things that are not becoming of young men of God. And unfortunately, they chose to do many of these things in the presence of my boys. Those are the moments you wish your kids were locked in the cellar away from the negative influences of the world. But you can’t do that so you hope and pray that you have done them right up to that point and that they will remember the lessons of their youth.

When I picked them up they were tired and dirty and really looking forward to climbing into their own beds. On they way home they brought me up to speed on the events of the weekend, including the bad kids. Wyatt said from the back seat in his hardest tough guy voice, “Dad, there were some boys there who were cussing at us. (he repeated this phrase several times to ensure I heard him as both boys were yammering simultaneously) and Mason said one of them even moaned him.” Mason corrected him, “He mooned me!” So I said to Wyatt, “You didn’t use those words, did you?” “No.” he replied. “I didn’t even know what those words they meant, except I think I heard one of the before!” He continued, “and I even found a pack of cigarettes with cigarettes still in it.” “What did you do?” “I didn’t pick them up. I told one of my commanders!”

In Hooville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day! I couldn’t be more proud of my little men.

Olympic Sleepwalking

Some things just don't go together. Oil and Water. Light and Dark. Politics and Religion. Cagney and Lacy. Mix two things that you shouldn't and you have serious problems. Sleepwalking and Stairs present such a hazard. It is the fear of every parent whose kids sleep upstairs.

One of the great things about being a parent is bedtime. So it was that two nights ago, after getting the kids in bed, Tina and I settled into the family room to relax and watch the Winter Olympic games from Torino, Italy. We thrilled at the speed of Men's Short Track Speed Skating; we wondered at the grace of Ice Dancing; we perched on the edge of the couch at the nail-biting action of Women's Curling. That's when we heard the first hint that someone was not in bed anymore.

In just a matter of seconds, Wyatt appeared at the entrance to the family room. He pinched the "love handle" region of this sleep shirt and proudly proclaimed, "I got it". It took the trained eye of a parent only a micro second to realize that as far as he knew, he was still in bed, despite having navigated two doorways and approximately 15 stairs. Tina sprung into action and began to escort him back to his room to his warnings of, "Don't touch it!" I followed, knowing this was going to be a very humorous few minutes. As we entered his room, he all but launched into his bed from several feet away and began to snuggle in. I thought it was over. I was wrong.

Knowing that Wyatt sleeps better with his little stuffed Grover (the fuzzy blue guy from Sesame Street) I approached him to get his covers and his gear situated. As I brushed past the foot of his bed the sat up and began telling me to "Touch it" while pointing to the spare pillow at his feet. We played a modified game of "Guess What I'm Pointing At" until I held up the pillow and said, "I got it, man" He seemed happy with that and again, headed for slumber land. The next mistake was mine. I quietly asked, "Where's Grover?" He began looking around frantically until I pulled his friend out from under his bed and placed it next to him. Happily he turned to his soundly sleeping sister and said, "It's OK Livi. They found it!" As he laid his head on his pillow, I put my arms around him to ensure he was comfy and asleep before heading downstairs again. Tina was assisting in all this my laughing silently in the corner. As he again closed his eyes, I thought it was over. I was wrong.

Within seconds of assuming a prime sleeping posture Wyatt's hand began to unexplainably wander skyward until he looked like a kid in school wanting his teacher's attention. Then the hand began running circles around his wrist in a "Come here, Mom." kind of motion. As Tina approached to assume cuddling duties Wyatt looked straight at me and said, "You know what I want? Go get yours and put it by the door!" To the trained ear of a parent, this made no sense at all. So I moved away to allow Tina to work her fairy-sleep-dust magic on the "sleeping" little boy. And within a couple of hours, it was over.

Or so I thought.