From hero to zero

Nate is at it again.

Not really all that surprising, considering he's closing fast on 2 years old in the next month or so. He's reached quite a few milestones, such as the ability to stand - which we find incredibly amusing and quite possibly the greatest feat known to man in the last 1,000 years or so.

Now at this point I should probably include one of those explicit content disclaimers. If you're hungry, or maybe you've just eaten, feel free to come on back later. If however you're hungry and trying to lose weight, by all means read on as you will most likely lose your appetite.

You see, awhile back I was bragging about getting Nate to stop his kissing obsession with the toilet. Sure, he stopped....once.

And yes, it's funny (and gross). But in my foolishness I thought it couldn't get any worse (funny, every time I think that, it usually does!!).

I mean really, what's worse than a toilet....no matter how clean? Nothing, right?

W
R
O
N
G

Much to my chagrin, horror, and utter disgust, let me introduce you to Nate's latest crush.......






Now what??!!!??

Why (I think) I'm my son's hero

At some point or another, every parent (competent or not) is their child's hero. This morning I believe I saw great envy and admiration in my son's eyes. I believe the task that I accomplished so effortlessly yielded adulation in him that I had never seen!

See, baby Nate is infatuated with bathrooms. He thinks crawling in to them is really neat. I'll spare you the details of his affinity for the commode, but trust me, he's not old enough to sit on it but he's big enough to pull himself up....fill in the blanks.

Anyway, today he was crawling down the hall at breakneck speed, headed straight for his 'promised land' when he was obstructed by some cardboard box inners. At this point I had not yet had my hero revelation, so needing to wash my hands I simply walked over the immovable (to him) mountain.

He looked at me as if I had just leaped the moon (to him, I did) and I proceeded to his wonder-world to wash up. So to him, being able to go in to the bathroom WHENEVER YOU WANT is the best, the tops, hero-worthy.

Ahhh, having a toddler is so rewarding!

Epilogue:

Eventually he navigated his way around the obstruction and once he was clear he put his little motor in overdrive. He made it in record time and was making a bee-line for the lid (mouth high) when suddenly I bellow...

"NATTTHHHAAAAAANNNNN....."

He pauses, momentarily....then chuckles like 'yeah I hear you, and yes I know, and no, I don't care...'

"NAAAATTTTHHAAAAANNNNNNN NOOOOOOOOOOO...."

Normally he processes this as, 'continue when ready' but this time he actually looked at me. Upon seeing my frown and disapproving head shaking, he tilted his head to the side.

There he was kneeling at the crossroads.

Toilet.

Dad.

Toilet....Dad....toilet......

He looks at the toilet as if to say, 'see you later sweetie, nothing personal,' and

Crawls Away from the Toilet!

YESS~ He CAwT!

So now I'm sure I'm his hero, because not only can I go to his favorite place whenever I want, I can get him to stay away from it, too!

I wonder if this will work when he's 16?

The blood was gone

I got home and the trail of blood was gone.

Gone, I said....gone.

Whose blood, and where it went require me to start back a ways, so sit down, grab some bon-bons and listen up...

It all started back over Father's Day weekend. We went camping at a state park with our friends. There were some great hiking/biking trails (my thought...'how nice for the hikers and bikers'), but our friends are rather active so we brought our 2-wheelers along. Now, in order to bring our heart-attack inducers I had to connect our large (6x12) utility trailer and bungee-cord down the bikes. Lame, to be sure - but it worked.

So we bike and such and suddenly I'm Lance Armstrong. Pulling the trailer henceforth is simply not going to cut it. What to do? Well, I've come to discover some discounted treasures (used junk) that I thought could be useful to me on the Craigslist site. After realizing that a 5-bike trailer-hitch bike rack will run far north of $450, Craigslist is looking better and better by the moment.

A search brings up.....absolutely nothing. Man, I hate Craigslist.

Only kidding there.

So I'm 0-for-1 when I see a new cool little feature 'Craig' added. If you don't get your desired result (meaning, zilch-squat-zippo-nada-nothing), the search engine searches near areas (communities) for what you're seeking.
And there I see it - A SIX BIKE RACK!!
Six bikes? Yes, six bikes!! Now, Nate can't ride yet (nor can he walk yet, but hey, he'll get there) but eventually we'll need a six-bike rack!

The only catch?
It's attached to a camper.
Now most people might see that as a deterrent, but not me. I see that as an expensive bike rack with a free pop-up camper to boot!

Fast forward a day and bingo-bango, I'm pulling a pop-up home, happy as Clark Griswold on his way to Wally World.



I love used stuff. You beat the depreciation, and if it's been well taken care of, you score big. However I like to customize my purchases to make them 'mine.' So after changing out the door and drawer handles, the floor is the next obvious choice.

I'm also a believer in having the right tools for the right job, so a quick trip to Home Depot and a new 'super sharp tile cutting' Husky utility knife later, I'm ready.

I begin installing the new floor and it's looking good. I'm feeling confident about the decision to upgrade the floor, and looking forward to going camping again the following day when all of a sudden my blade somehow jumps over the metal straight edge and fillets the end of my finger.

For a second that seemed to last much longer, there was no pain. Then like 1980 Mt. St. Helen's, the finger erupted and the molten-lava (blood) started gushing. I rush inside, leaving a gruesome track of every step, and race to the sink to wash it out.
I can't even see the cut, but can feel the skin barely hanging on, so I wrap it with medical bandages and tape and head off to the E.R.

1 hour and seven stiches later, I return home to complete the job, finger throbbing and all. When I get inside I look down expecting to see that awful dark-crimson stained reminder of my miscue but can find nothing.

I head in to the laundry room, where I left quite an impression trying to find the proper bandages. Again, nothing.

The kids come rushing in to see how the patient is, and I ask about the blood trail. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I had originally thought, but in fact it was; and worse.

While I was gone Andrew (14 y/o) voluntarily cleaned up everything. EVERYTHING. He got down on the tile and cleaned up the mess.

I didn't tell him to, I didn't ask him to, and I didn't expect him to.

But he did it anyway. And I was (and am still) totally blown away. When I was 14 I would NEVER have done something like that. And although it's somewhat grotesque, it makes his self-less act that much more impressive.

Sometimes our kids drive us to the brink, and other times they make us bonkers. But once in awhile you get these little pockets of behavior that reveal who they really are inside, and it makes you so proud of them it takes your breath away.

That day, there was no step-this or step-that, we were just a family helping one another out. What a day, and what a great kid!

The blind leading the blind

It's an old expression.

I find it particularly applicable today.

This is a true story about today's adventure and how little siblings look up to the big ones! There's a great leadership lesson in here for all of us!

So we're working on honesty, namely with 14 y/o Andrew. "Working On" as in failing miserably. So the untruths seem to be increasing in frequency, yet everytime they are discovered this very smart boy goes to the new 'sorry shuffle'

It goes something like this:

Me: "andrew, what were you thinking?"

A: Approaches me shagrinned, head down, shuffling feet...."I don't know, I'm reaaaal sorry Daaaad."

M: Trying to stay mad, but can't resist this repentant-routine, "It's ok, don't do it again, though o.k?'

A: "O.K."

Repeat, constantly. For variation, throw in the, "I'm not mad at you honey, but I am disappointed."

Anyway, this silliness can only go on for so long. Although I'd like to think I am an endless supply of mercy, quite the contrary is true.

SO he leaves me no choice but to go to the....

WRITE IT DOWN PUNISHMENT.

Andrew actually ASKED FOR MORE DAYS OF GROUNDING INSTEAD of the write it down business, which tells me this one may work (for now).

Anywho, we're at my office today for a bit, and he is writing,

"I will not lie or deceive"

Over and over and over and over and over again.

Namely, 1,000 times.

Now before you gasp and scream "teenagers rights!!" (who in their right mind would scream that, anyway?) you should know we didn't start at 1,000 - we worked our way up to it.

So I get him a legal pad and pen and he's off to the races...or not. But he is writing.

15 minutes later Maddie comes in and says, "Dad, can I have a piece of paper and a pen?"

Oblivious to why, I ask.

Me: "Are you going to draw Daddy a picture?" (Again, she's 8, but sometimes I talk to her as if she's 2)

Mads: "No."

Me: "What are you going to do?"

Mads: "I am going to write something 1,000 times, I want to be like Andrew."

Me: "What are you going to write?"

Mads..thinking of something....considering her options...Hannah Montana, High School Musical 3...Suite Life of Zach and Cody....she ultimately proclaims,

"I love to play!"

Gosh

Remember the story of my cousin, 'Little James?' (If he becomes a rapper, Lil' James) If not, check out the previous post called, "pronouns & curse words."

Anyway, he and his twin brother are in town this week for VBS (vacation Bible school).

So we're outside wrestling and during a brief pause in the WWE action I ask him how it is.

Me: "So how's VBS going?"

LJ: "Good."

Me: "Are you having fun?"

LJ: "Yep."

Me: "Who are you learning about?"

LJ: Wants to get this one right, yet seems pained by the answer. I'm waiting patiently as his 8 year old mind wanders to and returns back from Sponge-Bobville, and he finally says:

"Gosh."

I look at him, he looks back at me. He doesn't say it like he's exasperated, he says it like he means it, as if he is spending his days learning about Gosh.

Me: "You mean, "GOD?"

LJ: "Ummm yeah."

Me: "There is no Gosh Almighty, you know."

LJ: "I know."

Now this exchange is really funny to me because our kids (and cousins) know saying "Oh my God" is not an acceptable thing to say. So apparently in his pee wee brain he figures he can't say "God" because he may get in trouble. So he says "Gosh."

Brilliant, actually.

Gosh.

You said WHAT? (a/k/a You're gonna' get knocked up)

We are passionate people.

A very spirited family.

An abundance of ambition (although sometimes a deficit of motivation).

We can also be quite sarcastic, dramatic, stubborn and ill-tempered.

There is really nothing we don't joke about. A kid throws a temper tantrum (any of them, ages 14/11/8/1.5), within an hour or so we're re-enacting it with dramatic flair to the cheers and jeers of the family crowd.

A true (albeit embarrassing) family story:
Let's just say for conversation's sake that your in Canada with the kids driving around down by Niagara Falls at night on what is apparently the Canadian Labor Day Weekend (who thought to check the Canadian calendar before our trip?? No wonder that dive motel was so expensive!) and your SUV stops running. By the way, you're leaving the next morning because you HAVE to be be back in town in two days for a court-custody hearing. So you're coasting, that's right, COASTING down the road in neutral trying to get off the road (there is, apparently, every Canadian in Canada at the Falls this night at 11:30 PM).

You almost get through the intersection, 3/4 the way turned when you run out of momentum. So you're kind-of blocking 1 lane of traffic. Apparently people are not too happy that time of night, because Mr. Minivan behind me honks his horn. Granted, an inconvenience, but sheesh pal go around me. I did have my flashers on, what could I do?

So MV Man honks again, this time a little longer. I of course am oblivious (except apparently in my subconscious where it's building like 1980's Mt. St Helen's), as Andrew, Hannah, Maddie and 8-month pregnant Jill wait for me to do something great.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK. As if the guy is sleeping on his horn.

Snap.

I fling my door open and bum rush MVM. I start yelling passionately about how my truck is stalled as in it won't start and although I can appreciate this driver's impatience I'm sure he can understand I AM NOT DOING IT ON PURPOSE.

The male driver (mid-60's) is just staring straight ahead like, 'cooo-cooo bird' which of course makes me more frustrated. Just when I realize what a dufus I am being, and when I finally pause to catch my breath, his unlovely wife leaned over and very patronizingly stated,

"you need to caaaaalllllllmmmm down."

Composure? gone.
Reason? gone.
Good sense? gone.
Mild yelling tone? long gone.

Calm down? Calm down? You and your jerk husband have the audacity to sit here in the comfort of your glorified station wagon, which unlike my vehicle at this point, WORKS - while my three children and pregnant wife are sitting in the middle of the busiest intersection in North America a mere 8 hours before we're supposed to go home all the while knowing not a single auto shop will be open in the morning because of your stupid labor day holiday, smack dab in the middle of summer, and blah blah blah...

They drive off, and I am left seething. The locals came over and applauded my tongue-lashing (making me feel worse).

By the way, I work in ministry.

So we got it all ironed out (eventually), and wouldn't you know it, now all the kids have to say is, 'remember Canada?' I did apologize profusely to them and beg their forgiveness, telling them it was a perfect lesson in WHAT NOT TO DO, and that I was in every way wrong.

Remember Canada. Brilliant.

Ok, so I shared that loooong story so you know that everyone and everything is fair game. After all, WE ARE TEASERS!

So yesterday Andrew and I were teasing and wresting. This is quite fun for both of us, and of course he tests the boundaries of how far he can take it. So we're jockeying for position and he's running his mouth like a marathon-er, and in my mind I meant to say (again, we're teasing here...)

knock it off and shut it up

But what came out was, "You're gonna' get knocked up!"

How he knows what this means, I have no idea. But of course, game over. Hysterics. Andrew, Jill, Hannah (who has no clue what this means, but just joins in the laughing anyway), even Nate find my slip up amusing.

Guess what I've heard constantly for the last 12 hours?

You can't handle the truth

It's classic exchange between a zealous, young prosecutor and a complex, senior ranking military general that most of us recognize instantly from the classic movie, "A Few Good Men."

A great line, a great lesson. Today the point was driven home in a very memorable way.....

Earlier Maddie and I were watching the Brewers game after church, snuggled up on the couch. Relaxing, having some good laughs and just being goofy. I like to check in with her once in awhile on the 'boy' front, if you know what I mean.

She is, after all, 8 big-years-old, headed in to 3rd grade and quite the bright one. She of course scoffs at the mere suggestion of boys, which I reinforce emphatically. She understands that dating begins sometime in the late-20's, and marriage talk....30 minimum! This all sounds good to her (now), and I consider it good ammo for the future.

Me: "Sooo, any boys catch your eye lately?"

Maddie, "Daaaaad.."

Me, "Whaaaa??" (feigning innocence and ignorance)

Maddie, "Noooo Daaaaddddddd" (cue eye roll and slight head shake)

Me, thinking 'whew, so far so good', "Well, do you think any boys are cute?"

June-bug, "Nooo"

Me, wondering if I'm still the apple of her eye, "Well, so, ummm if you had to rank from like one to ten, you know, one being awfully ugly and ten being really really cute (I smile reaaaal big, like a cue), what would you rate Dad?" (Why I'm speaking in 3rd person to her here, I have no clue!)

Madalishous, staring at me intently, "Hmmmm..."

Me thinking, 'come on junior, it's not a trick question....'

Mad-dogg, still eyeing me up....

Me thinking, 'sheesh, I feel self-conscious now...out with it already....come on, come on...I can help you with it....one number after NINE....say it with me Teeeee.."

Maddie, "5"

Me, "Whaaaaatttt?"

Maddie, staring even harder now for what seems like an eternity, but in actuality is about 3 seconds...."and-a-half?"

This is her consolation prize. Her vote of confidence. Her telling me, 'gee Dad, you're not average...just ever so slightly above..'

That is vintage Maddie.

And just like that young attorney, I apparently can't handle the truth, either!