An update on the Kids

I have come to a sort of realization that I am not doing a whole lot of writing about the kids.  They are growing so quickly and keeping so busy that it is all I can do to keep up their basic needs, much less keep tabs on the happenings of the day and record it in blog form.

Also, somewhere along the way, I have misplaced the ability to be funny (I think I sat it next to my ability to carry on a conversation with another adult; they are bound to show up any day now).  Now I am not claiming to be a world class comedian, but from time to time I could write to invoke a LOL, an ROFL, or even the elusive ROTFLMAO.  But that time has seemed to have passed.  I hold out hope that I may once again be able to find my funny, but I will not hold my breath though.  Recently, I have been able to narrow down its location into the vicinity of my lost sleep.

In my younger days (I know that I am only 31, but they say you are as old as you feel and these days I feel like I could be writing to you from beyond the grave) I thought that tired was a state of mind.  I could just will myself to have the energy to make it through the day, completing all that needed to be done.  But either my will has diminished or I am humbly learning what it means to really be tired.  Take a look at the excerpt below from an article about the affect sleep deprivation has on the brain:

The frontal lobe is the most fascinating section of the brain with relation to sleep deprivation. Its functions are associated with speech as well as novel and creative thinking (5). Sleep deprived test subjects have difficulties thinking of imaginative words or ideas. Instead, they tend to choose repetitious words or clichéd phrases. Also, a sleep-deprived individual is less able to deliver a statement well. The subject may show signs of slurred speech, stuttering, speaking in a monotone voice, or speaking at a slower pace than usual (6). Subjects in research studies also have a more difficult time reacting well to unpredicted rapid changes. Sleep deprived people do not have the speed or creative abilities to cope with making quick but logical decisions, nor do they have the ability to implement them well.


So that's it, I have located my funny and my conversation skills.  They are hidden away in my frontal lobe under lock and key, guarded by unobtainable sleep (and the boogeyman and possibly a goblin or two).  


But I digress ... Would you look at what I have done.  I stated writing about one thing, but then I spent 3 paragraphs talking about me, biology and my frontal lobe.  


It reminds me of a joke:


How many sleep deprived parents does it take to change a light bulb?
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"Honey!  Why am I in the utility closet?"

What was I talking about anyway?  Oh well, time for bed ... 

Wordless Wednesday

Joys of Parenting

While sitting at my computer, mindlessly wasting the day away (see Time to Unplug?), I heard a sound similar to a cat coughing up a pesky hairball.  Seeing that we don't have a cat (we had a cat once, but Julie returned it because she thought that it was possessed by an evil demon that caused it to pounce on her at all hours of the day; but I digress), the sound peaked my interest and unglued my gaze from the screen in front of me.  I turned to see Zane heading toward me with a red face, gagging from the banana he was given just a few minutes before.  Having been through this before I began to frantically look for anything to put in front of his slowly opening mouth.  Coming up empty, I reluctantly cupped my hands and offered them as source of relief to my soon to be three year olds predicament.  And so it flowed.  Into my hands poured the slimy glob that was once part of Zane's nutritious breakfast.  I then stood up, walked to the garbage disposal, dumped the clump of goo, washed my hands and headed back toward the computer, pausing for a moment to reflect ... This is normal ... this is commonplace ... these are moments that are at first repulsive, then become routine and will one day be a fond memory of days long ago.

A great person that most of us do not know...

This is a story of a young goat-heard named Kaldi.  He noticed a certain exuberance from his flock when they chewed on the berried of a certain bush.   Wanting to check it out, he himself nibbled on the berries and noticed the same energizing effects.  In his exhilaration he gathered some berries and rushed them to a Muslim holy man in a nearby monastery somewhere in Arabia.  The holy man disapproved of the use of the berries and tossed them into the fire.  The rest as they would say, is history (or at least pretty cool folklore).


It is easy to pass over or ignore the story of young Kaldi, but on a day like this, when I awoke to realize that we were out of the very product that Kaldi and the Muslim holy man discovered that day, I truly appreciate their accomplishments.  


You see, when the berries began to burn in the fire, they noticed an enticing aroma pouring from the smoke.  They raked the embers, ground them and dissolved them into hot water, creating the world's first cup of coffee.


Thank you Kaldi and thank you Dunkin' Donuts for supplying me with my daily fix of caffeinated goodness this morning.

Wordless Wednesday

Time to unplug?

When I was six my parents bought about 7 acres in rural Maryland, not far from the Pennsylvania state line.  The land was raw.  My parents cleared an area for our house to be built, but a lot of the property remained wooded and untamed.  Let me explain what I mean by rural.  We had neighbors, but there was some distance between us.  We were 15 or 20 minutes from both Westminster, MD and Hanover, PA.  Not metropolises, but you could find grocery stores, gas stations, clothing stores, entertainment, etc.  We actually had what I would consider a "general store" about five minutes away that served as our convenience store.  On our land we kept pigs, a goat, a few dogs, a duck (until it was eaten by the pigs, very tragic), a rabbit and other various and sundry insects and animals.  We had a small garden with corn, tomatoes, pumpkins, watermelon, peppers, etc.  We had a stream running down one side of our property.  We did not have cable television.  Trash pick-up day involved putting the trash in our pick-up and taking it to the dump.

My brother and I entertained ourselves by exploring the woods, playing with the dogs or riding bikes.  We had a rope swing over the stream.  I was in the 4-H, cub scouts and little league baseball.  I learned to trap turtles to keep as pets.  When we moved from the house after about two years, we had forged a series of paths through once untamed woods.  We forged our "own" paths.

My son Zachary is now about the age that I was when we lived in this house.  Here is how we compare.  We have two immediate neighbors.  Their houses are both within 10 feet of our property line.  We have a basketball hoop in the driveway, a trampoline and play-set in the backyard.  We have a big screen TV, a Wii, Nintendo DS and four computers that are internet ready (one belonging to Zach).  We have seasons passes to Carowinds (an amusement park) and YMCA membership, mainly for use of their outdoor pool and water-park.  He has tried baseball, but prefers football.

Where am I going with this?  I don't know exactly.  As a busy, harried and often stressed parent of 4, modern technologies can often provide a much needed break.  But a lifetime spent plugged in seems like a bit of a waste.  I could care less how long Lindsay Lohan's jail sentance is or where LeBron James is going to play basketball next year ... but with that being said I do know about Lindsay and I will know about LeBron.  For some reason I feel like I need to know and I do care.  I don't want to care.  I don't want my children to care.

Our society has evolved into a 24/7/365 media machine, fueled by TV, internet, mobile phones, blogs, tweets, status updates, diggs, and on and on.  We are told what is important instead of learning from our families or finding out for ourselves.

Now a little truth telling (conviction bearing).  My life can revolve around the modern technologies.  I enjoy TV.  A lot.  The radio is constantly on in the car (music or talk).  I read the news everyday on The Drudge Report, Fox News, AP, ESPN and Yahoo.  I have multiple e-mail accounts, a Facebook account and of course this blog.  I let my children watch more TV than I probably should.  Zach had an e-mail account and a facebook page.  It seems that I am grooming him to follow right along in my digitally enhanced footprints.

I am an addict.  I am an addict to the consumption of information.  Information that when broken down to its simplest level has little to no bearing on my life or the lives of my family.  I have been addicted to other things before.  Cigarettes.  I was able to kick that habit.  Eating.  Still struggle with that one, but I am better than I have been in the past.  Golf.  Well, budgetary and time constraints kind of took care of that one.

They say the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.  Well then, "My name is Steve and I am addicted to using modern technology to aid in the consumption of seemingly useless information."  I am still working on the steps after that one, a cool acronym and a way to advertise it without feeling  like a total hypocrite.

I want to get back to a simpler day, when I looked at the forest in front of me, picked a spot and blazed my own trail.  When I had the imagination and the willingness to explore with fervor.  Most importantly, that is what I want my children to do.  I don't want them to see obstacles, but opportunities.  I want them to do things because they believe in them and it is right ... not just because it is the cool, hip or trendy thing to do.  I want them to make an impact on the world, not be consumed by it.  They have their whole lives in front of them and want them to forge their "own" paths, just as we did on that 7 acre tract of land in rural Maryland.

Twin Tuesday ... err ... Thursday

I am sitting at my computer blogging, while Zane and Zoe are watching a show.  Zane comes into me and says, "I put them up high."  "What did you put up high?"  "Goldfish."  As he is saying this I turned my chair 180 degrees to face the pantry just in time to to see Zoe emerge, Goldfish in hand.  She looked at the Goldfish, then looked and Zane and sinisterly stated "Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha."

Memories

I was five years old and in kindergarten at St. Johns Lutheran Church.  I guess curiosity got the best of me and I was caught swapping peeks of "private areas" with a girl “napping” in the cot across from mine.  I think that I was literally caught with my pants down.  

Also at five I remember a boy riding his two wheel bike into me and my big wheel, leaving a gaping wound in my leg.  My brother tells me that after we returned from the hospital I paid that eight year old a visit and exacted my revenge with a bit of fisticuffs (I don't remember that part).

I was seven.  We were watching that American classic, 'Three's Company'.  Someone had put an egg into Jack's pocket and proceeded to squish it with an open palm.  A discussion ensued between my brother and Mother.  She thought that having an egg broken on you would hurt.  He did not.  The dialog ended with my Mom chasing my brother around the house with an egg and my brother deciding it was a good idea to escape the house through his bedroom window.  It wasn't.  Emergency room.  Broken Leg.

I was seven.  I was awoken in the middle of the night while sleeping at an aunts house.  I was told my mother had died.

I was ten and it was the Fourth of July.  We had just gotten back into the pick-up truck at the snow-ball stand. We were all (brother, sister, friends) riding in the back, carrying on, having a grand time.  But as always, my timing was impeccable.  While enthusiastically telling a story and laughing I put my arms out the bed of the truck and back toward the cab of the truck ... just as my Dad was closing his door.  With the level of noise coming from the bed of the truck, my Dad had no idea that his youngest son was screaming in pain, so he began to drive away.  If not for the quick action of some snow-ball stand patrons, who knows how long my finger would have been stuck in that door.  

I was twelve.  My father was a newlywed.  My sister had gone back to live with her Mom.  I was still relatively new to our area and only had a few friends (really just acquaintances).  And I found out that my brother had joined the Navy.  I sobbed, feeling so alone.

I was thirteen and in middle school.  I was called to the office for an early dismissal, which was unexpected to me.  My Dad didn't say anything to me until we were out of the building (I think because he thought he was doing something wrong).  When we got to the truck he asks "Want to go golfing?"  My clubs were in the back of the truck.

I was seventeen.  I was leaving for college.  I was ready for some freedom.  But as we were pulling out of the driveway, there was fear and a sense that something was ending.  It was hard.  

I was eighteen.  I was walking to class at Godwin Hall at JMU.  I caught sight of a girl walking near the tennis courts.  I had met her, she lived in my dorm, but this was the first time that I had that feeling.  You know the one.  Excitement, nervousness, a wave of awkwardness that forces your words to come out slow and twisted.

I was twenty-one.  I was sitting on the deck at the clubhouse at Lakeview Golf Course in Harrisonburg, VA.  I was about to graduate from college and was taking some time to create some goals for my life.  I had a few jotted down.  But right then I decided that I didn't want to do any of the things that I had written on that paper, alone.  Goal number one ... marry that girl I saw by the tennis courts outside of Godwin Hall.  

I was twenty-two.  I witnessed an angel walking down a red carpeted church aisle in Hampton, VA, headed toward the luckiest man in the world.

I was twenty-four.  I met my son for the first time.  People look at Julie and I strange sometimes because we have four kids.  But who can get enough of the miracle of a child being born.  Nothing measures up to the moment that hours (you can even say months) of labor culminate into that magical moment when your child, created by love, is here, safe in your arms. 

If you made it this far, thank you for indulging me.  I promise that there is a point.  I don't have many vivid memories of my life.  The ones above are just a few of maybe a couple dozen that I have.  When I use the word vivid, I mean that I can see them, feel them, smell them, taste them.  They can be triggered by a number of things such as a person, a place, a song.  I can return to the moment in my head.  And it always surprises me some of the things that I do remember.  The big ones, Julie, Zach, I get it.  But a big wheel accident, a trip to a snow-ball stand, a round of golf?  And there are others, seemingly random, meaningless interactions that stand-out in my journal of memories.  I can only think that somehow these apparently insignificant interchanges have helped to mold who I am.  

It brings me to wonder what will my children remember?  What have they seen and experienced that will shape who they become?  What encounters are in their future?  Most importantly, what can I do to be a well thought of character if I may play a starring role in one of those memories?  I know I have said it before, but it deems repeating, there is nothing, NOTHING, more important than raising your kids.  A parent is literally responsible for the future of the world and I know a lot of us, especially me, do not take that charge serious enough.  

But luckily, I have tomorrow to start.

My Wonderful Nemesis

He embraces the day with youth and with vigor.  Each day he sets out to conquer new heights and obtain the unobtainable.  He is a storming marauder set to reap the spoils of the castle.  To him, I am the gatekeeper, the sentry, who's job it is to repel his progress, to spurn his advancement.

Then one day, in the wee hours, he awakes to a fever.  His enemy, his combatant, transforms, suddenly, and once again becomes Daddy.  This once brave and formidable knight is now groggy, confused and wanting someone to remove the pain that has settled in his two year old head.  Medicine administered, consoling concluded, the brave warrior takes once again to sleep, dreaming of the day he will be well enough to fight once more.

As I lay alongside my foe and calm him to sleep, wiping his tears with the back of my hand, I realize that I am truly blessed to be the father of such a "Wonderful Nemesis".

The Understudy

As I sit here writing, Julie is perched in the family room captivating the children.  There are a couple of dozen books strewn about and the kids are taking turns (yes, actually taking turns) bringing them to Julie for her to read.  I try my best to take care of them and keep them stimulated, and for the most part I do an adequate job.  The problem is, it does not come naturally for me.  I love to play with them, to cuddle on the couch and relax, but it does not come naturally to me on how to keep them stimulated throughout the day (sans TV).

Julie has a teachers heart and soul.  She wants to answer all of their questions, whether trivial or profound.  She has a patience that eludes me for the tasks of crafts or finger paints.  She creates an aura of learning that feeds the children's excitement and wonder.

On Thursday I had a business lunch to attend so I dropped the kids off to Julie at the church.  She had some work to do in one of the classrooms and they were going to "play" and/or "help".  I put those two words in quotes because the kids rarely play without clambering for attention or help without creating more work.  When I returned to the church I noticed little work had been accomplished.  I know that this would be frustrating for Julie because the deadline for the work to be done was fast approaching.  Put me in a similar situation, you will experience a grouchy, short tempered man.  Put Julie into this situation ... and I received a hearty welcome and was ushered to my seat to observe a concert and a play.  Instead of giving into the frustration, she rolled with it and engaged them in an activity that brought them all together.  Julie can really bring the fun!  Julie grabbed the microphone, played the music and they performed a two number set with singing, dancing and some expert tambourine playing.  Then we watched as Zach and Zane put on a play featuring a prince and his new throne.

Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason.  While often exaggerated they are rooted in common characteristics and truth.  Women are known to be better suited to care for children while men are built to be the provider.  I once thought "That is just a choice, I can do this".  But the truth is, God has built us differently, so that we can achieve a singular goal.  Julie was given the temperament and upbringing to be a Mom.  To care for her children.  To teach them humility, respect, caring, along with there ABC's and 123's.  And the further we get into this "experiment", the more that I realize that  I am just the stand-in or the understudy to the true star of the show.

I sense that there may be change in the air ... stay tuned.