Family

Breaking in the New Neighbor

(Guest blogger – written by our new neighbor that just moved in a little over a month ago.)

It is great to have our own place again after living in an apartment waiting for the right house to come along. After we found the right house, the 4 months to get the financing lined up was a little excessive. Despite that, we are in the house now and it is great!

My mother finally has the room she needs. There is a covered back patio and a covered area to the left of the front door. It is a perfect area for her to smoke. Since they are covered, I don’t feel as badly making her smoke outside. I realize we have one neighbor to our north who may have smoke blow into their yard and patio. With the fence between us, at most it is 5th or 6th hand smoke. And, they haven’t complained, so it must not be bothering them.

It is also great to have the pool out back. It has not been warm enough to use the hot tub. This is unfortunate. We still like to be outside whenever we can. The neighbor to the north is pretty quiet, so we consider it our responsibility to bring a little life to this end of the street. Since I work out of the house and my mother is there with me, we enjoy being in the back yard and talking loudly and freely. We can talk about guns in our purses and the impact of age on our bodies as if we are in a confessional–no one but those on our side of the fence to worry about.

My mom’s dog is a little deaf, but his nose still works fine. The walking path that runs behind the house keeps his sniffer working pretty hard–as long as it is not raining. As he has gotten older, he seems to like other dogs even less. He barks at nearly every dog and owner walking along the path. Usually, my dog joins in and gets every dog within a 100 yards excited as well. The neighbors to the north are usually so quiet. I don’t even think they are around to hear all of the noise we have added to this corner of the subdivision.

Overall, the new place is working out. It was worth the wait. I am afraid to ask the next door neighbor if we are louder than the previous owner of the house. They wave nicely and seem to be fine. But, if I ask the question, I don’t know them well enough to know how honest they might be. We do like to talk, and we prefer loudly. So, I will probably just continue with the wave and pleasant “Hellos”. Anything more than that, and I might get more than I bargained for. At least I don’t have a neighbor on the other side. I am only at risk of raising the decibel level for one immediate neighbor. I bought the house, so a family has to live!

National Comic Book Day

It was a nice treat to walk into the library today and be greeting by so many super heroes. (I was not aware Dr Who was a super hero, but he must have a comic book.) The tardis was not real authentic and Batman probably would not have answered the call in the sky, but it was a real neat thing for my older kids to do. They both made a mask with duct tape for decorations. They got some type of “goo”, too.

We also found out the library’s summer reading program will be available online this year. And, the reading hours can all be logged online, too. This will be my daughters 6th year doing the reading program in Texas. The rewards they get for certain goals are not incredible, but they do provide a little more motivation to crack open those books.

With all of the activities, I don’t think they even had the chance to look at any cookbook or craft books today. (My wife did get quite a few travel books.) I have always enjoyed going to libraries, and fortunately, my kids have also. But, if they didn’t, seeing a dwarf with an ax sure would make you curious!

Dawn surprised to have a Dwarf near by when getting her picture with the bat call

Abby standing next to the Tartis

When Old Men Play Catch

Since it was a nice Sunday afternoon, my daughter was seeking out someone to play catch with. As the most experienced and energetic (not much enthusiasm for throwing a ball at our house) candidate, it did not take the long for me to equate “catch” time as father/daughter time. She gathered my softball glove, got me a glass of water, and ushered me out the door.

As we started loosening up, I remembered why my control wasn’t what it used to be. When we still lived in Ohio, our long driveway was covered by WAY to much snow. Our very nice neighbor offered his snow blower. While I often refused, I chose to listen to my wife’s nudges and children’s loathing of forced labor in a Siberian climate. As I went into the neighbor’s garage to start the snow blower, I will admit to having a bit more energy than before he made his offer. I was relieved to realize my fingers and toes would not have to go numb an excessive number of times before the driveway was cleared for safe passage. The snow blower had a starter rope just like a lawn mover. So, I jumped in and pulled a few times. I thought maybe I had flooded it or in someway damaged this savior of the numb fingers. With a bit of adrenalin, I gave one last good pull. The blower did not start, but I felt an odd pull/pain in my right arm/wrist. Not wanting to make my neighbor in any way feel bad, I played off the pain. He took a look at the blower and quickly realized the gas line had been turned off. My gentlest tug could have now started it. My wrist was not up to shoveling, so it was good I had the use of the motorized snow launcher!

Since that day, whenever I try and throw a softball or baseball to hard, I seem to release at the wrong point. The ball goes off in some less than controlled direction. So, I am mostly a lobber now with limited control. Fortunately, my daughter was completely happy with this. I did change my throwing a bit to try and give her a chance to catch something besides lobs or parabolic throws. With her being left handed, I worked to spot my throw to try and strengthen her ability in her weak spots. Whenever a throw went the wrong direction, my first line of defense was, “You have to be ready for those.” rather than, “Sorry, your old man is not the throwing phenomenon he used to be.” She was understanding…even if she did have to visit the ditch/creek more than she would have liked. (Throwing a wet ball is good practice!)

Although she does have pretty good control, I did have to field a few grounders. These grounders were mostly happy little balls that found my glove with barely an invitation. Not all of the balls were happy. A couple balls, one specifically, were very vindictive. It refused my gloves embrace and launched itself at my exposed shin. Not wanting to make my daughter feel bad, I uttered a brave, “It’s okay.” and we played on.

It was early the next day when I felt the aching right arm. Amazingly, my mind tried to go through a list of other possible deliverers of pain before remembering the neon green ball from the previous day. Likely, since it had been close to a year since I had thrown a ball and I was throwing it differently to compensate for my snow blower injury, my pain was only reminiscent of the usual pain. When the pain left in a couple of days, the source was confirmed.

The shin injury has been a different matter. It seemed to take a little longer for the pain to more fully ripen. What started as a dull ache is now 6 inches of very sensitive leg starting below my knee. I have researched shin splints and entertained ideas of impending amputations. (I am reading a book with an amputee in it right now.) Despite my pessimistic optimism, the winner seems to be a bone bruise-the most painful shin bruise in recent memory, but just a bruise.

However, with my history of a couple of blood clots, my ultra-pessimism, “I don’t want my kids to be orphans” thinking kicked in. After a week of the non-diminishing leg pain, my wife hauled me to one of the “quickie” emergency room places. (It was my insistence that got us there. She was laughing and teasing me up until the point where the doctor mentioned how swollen and how much it probably hurt.) The doctor checked all of my pulses to remove any clotting concerns. While I was relieved, my wife took the opportunity to get a couple more paranoid jabs in. We were home in about an hour. We paid no bill while there. The cost for my peace of mind would be coming in the mail….

So, as I walk, stand or get dressed, I just smile. I assume the pain is temporary. (It was….this was nearly a month ago.) What is not temporary is the quality time I had with my daughter! To see her non-complaining run after one of my bad throws (well, she may have missed a couple of good throws) or to hear, “I am sorry.” after one of her bad throws, are times to cherish. I don’t remember really talking about anything. And, it is those moments with your daughters that mean everything.

Keeping The Shotgun Awake

It was a pleasant drive yesterday morning (This was originally written a couple days after Christmas.) as we headed out to Florida. (Pleasant assumes you believe good things can happen before 4:00.) After fighting the kids into the car, turning down the thermostats, and going back to the house for the inevitable “I forgot to go to the bathroom.” or “I forgot my contact solution.” etc, we were off. Once we cleared the worst of the vehicular stairsteps (i.e. north/south and east/west roads) to get the luggage-carrier enhanced van heading east on US 20, I slipped in and out of brief micro-naps until we hit the Louisiana border. (somewhere near 3 hours. It was somewhere between 7-8 at this point.) And, this is really where our adventure begins…

Just over the border (or border plus 20 miles), the dashboard trifecta occurred. I was awakened by an “Oh, no.” and us getting off the exit of a perfectly good road to find out our dashboard was lit up with 3 extra dashboard lights (engine light, VSC, & Trac-off). As my normally calm wife calmed down, I searched by phone for “sienna engine light on” and “sienna VSC light on”. The answers were not completely satisfying, (it could have been an o2 sensor OR it could have been as simple as the gas cap not being on tightly enough.) but having just taken the van in for a 100,000 mile physical at the dealership, I felt somewhat reassured that the van was not about to turn into a huge pile of scrap metal. Regardless, after a breakfast stop, I did earn the driver’s seat for what I anticipated to be just a couple of hours.

The dashboard “lights of doom” continued to stare back at me as the miles ticked by. As my “shotgun” (aka “wife”) fed me occasional directions, I just kept plowing on. I would sometimes hit the rumble strips on the side of the road as I was constantly checking all 3 mirrors for visibility. (Driving in the mini-van with our 4 bios and 2 exchange students made us a family of 8. There were no options to leave the rear-view mirror with clear visibility. Thus, all 3 mirrors were critical as my eyes were constantly checking one of hem..) And, when the windshield got too dirty or misted over, I would turn on the wipers. (The wipers never seemed to have enough moisture–they kept squeaking.) When I was thirsty and my navigator was not available, I would yell to the back to get me a water. And, when I saw hunter’s dragging a deer from the woods to their car, I had to tell someone what I saw. (I was informed later how hard all of my actions made it to sleep.)

As the first tank headed toward fumes, we found a much needed gas station, but we filled up and emptied the end of our digestive tracks on the eastern side of Mississippi. We got all of our packed lunch items (my daughter made me an excellent sandwich of ham, cheese, lettuce and cilantro the night before.) out and I settled in for another period of unknown length in the driver seat. The unexciting “Welcome to Alabama” sign greeted us as we dreaded any extended driving on a 2-lane road. (It is hard to believe driving from Texas to Disney involves driving 20+ miles on 2 lane roads and quite a bit of small town and city driving. Maybe Disney ought to pay for road improvements on all of the many roads leading to their Magic Kingdom.)[On the way back, we went a different set of roads where it was almost entirely 4 lane or more. Despite these improvements, the deep south is not racing to become “super” accessible.]

After crossing the long bridge south of Mobile, I (yes, I am still driving. And, yes, the dashboard lights are still bright. At one point, I mentioned to my wife maybe she should find a Toyota dealership near our condo in Orlando. I could try and take the car first thing in the morning to get the lights tested and see if it was a ghost or a REAL problem. Somehow she never got to far with this project. She took a picture of me driving and posted it on Facebook[see above] and she opened about every app on my phone while she was playing.) the Florida panhandle awaited. If one is not aware, it is nearly 275 miles from the beginning of the panhandle to I-75. I set goals of driving 50 miles, then 100, then 200 miles of this distance. The distance kept increasing because the cities were not coming up anywhere near the desired mileage goals.

As I completed my second tank of gas behind the wheel, we confirmed the next exit would bring a gas station and a couple of candidates for dinner. (I have called Mickey D’s “Yech-donalds” for years.) As we settled in after the fill-up and after the obligatory evening meal demanding by all growing children was purchased, I hopped in the passenger seat to rest my weary body. My wife hopped behind the wheel and got us back heading to US-75.

We hadn’t driven too many miles before I realized all of the lights that had been on the WHOLE time I was driving were now out. Either the gas cap miraculously tightened itself, the car used a seldom used “self heal” feature OR the van was ready again for a woman’s touch. Whatever the cause of our now “perfect” looking dash, I was grateful for the van seemingly affirming my driving time was “up”.

Cantaloupe Goes Airborne

I have been doing this trick with balls of all sizes for sometime….a few decades. To try and put more pressure on myself, I allow myself to propel the occasional fruit into the air. It may not seem like pressure to anyone else, but my wife’s “encouragement” in the background should I have to clean up anything resembling exploded fruit does give me a mini-rush. Apples are only a small rush because any errors only results in bruising. It is the cantaloupes, tomatoes, and maybe someday the watermelons that will give me the assurance my heart is still in tip-top shape.

Photobombing For Friends

As we walked into Disney Saturday, my son and I decided we needed an additional project. Besides the fun we would have dodging all of the many extra people that were here over Christmas, we decided we should take advantage of the many photobombing opportunities that presented themselves on Main Street USA. SOOOOO many people are posing for pictures and soooo many people are trusting to get a good picture to treasure for years. What better place to photobomb? It was great place to test out all of those “Photobombing for Dummies” techniques described in the very helpful book. (Does this book exist? If so, then it is certainly over priced.)

I will admit my son and I did have some reservations as we attempted to “place” ourselves in the various pictures. As it said in the book, the key to this art is being discrete without being excessively obvious. Our efforts largely failed on the side of being overly discrete. Possibly to the point where the distance between us and the “real” group being photographed was too far to be consequential or rankable in the annals of “photobombing”.

As we counted our failed attempts, we somehow found ourselves in the line for “Pirates of the Caribbean”. My attempt to photobomb while in the “pirates” line failed on the “to obvious” side. Because of the line, it was hard to walk-on and pretend like it didn’t happen. So, my lips got ahead of my head, and I spilled my guts and told the photographer (an early 20’s girl traveling with her sister, mom, and boyfriends) of my son and my “challenge”. She was overly sympathetic. She even snapped another picture almost immediately where I could “photobomb” without any remorse. It was a very liberating feeling. No upset photographer, and I got to score a photobomb.

The rest of the 1/2 hour or so journey through the Pirates line was spent talking with 2 or 3 or the members of this family. One used to live in Dallas. (mom) One was a football player for the U of South Alabama football team (They got beat by Bowling Green in their bowl game.), and one was his girlfriend. (The rest of the crew was not as chatty with outsiders.) It was a good way to get my “fix” and get myself into the fun that is available while wandering through lines that are a necessary part of the pre-ride experience.

Later in the day, we saw this same family in the “Haunted Mansion” line. I made a comment about “not photobombing anymore” as we passed in the wandering line. As the line got closer to entry, we ended up where we could have talked in the line. But, it seems friendships formed while photobombing are not long-lasting friendships. And, as much as I felt semi-bonds were formed earlier in the day, it just seems appropriate the bonds formed while engaging in such destructive behavior were horribly short-lived.

Mommy Directions

After going to the Christmas musical at Gateway church last year, we (definitely my wife and girls for sure) were excited to go again this year. When momma wants to go, we try and make it happen!

Unfortunately, today was not an ideal day to make it happen. As we fought the sprinkles and the full parking lot, our battle proved impossible when we wanted to find 7 seats all together inside the auditorium. My wife ended up sitting with two of the girls (one exchange daughter and one bio). My son and I sat together in the overflow area, and the other two girls sat together inside the auditorium because they would not tolerate watching the Truthical on “screen-only”.

Just after we sat, my wife gave me a quick text about our post-musical meeting place- “Meet you outside the entrance where we came in”. The church is monstrous, but I was certainly capable of retracing my steps. I texted back letting her know to look for the two other girls before settling in for the show. After a few Broadway songs with “revised” words, some witty dialogue, a few cute kid moments, and the post-musical altar invitation, my son and I easily found the entrance my wife described in her text.

The first 5 minutes we waited, we assumed it was difficult to pull all of the girls together. The next ten minutes were spent watching the crowds thin as the “leavers” swarmed to the exit and the “comers” for the next performance rushed to fill the vacated seats in the balcony above. My phones vibration pulled me away from my people watching. After confirming I was at the correct entrance, my wife requested I raise my hand. Of course, if she would have been at the correct entrance, we would easily have been reunited at this point. My son’s phone call to mom confirmed what we suspected-the large Christmas tree at the OTHER entrance had caused my wife to lose all sense of direction. Just like at a Disney amusement park, she was drawn to the big object regardless of where she really wanted to go.

Although the large quantity of incoming and outgoing cars and those jockeying for better parking spots to avoid excessive rain accumulation on their umbrella-less bodies greatly delayed our evacuation of the Gateway premises, my wife was confident behind the wheel. You see, in our 20+ years of marriage, we have learned a couple of things about each other. I was not shocked or angry when she was unable to find the entrance she described. And, I was relieved beyond my ability to express when she volunteered to drive us out of this parking lot of perdition. Individually, we have a few faults, but the team is AWESOME.

Knuckle Grapes

A visit to Sam’s brought a new 3 pound container of green grapes into the house. While not all past vine dwellers were as welcome, I am happy to say my daughter picked very well today. The texture gave slight resistance and the skin was just the right firm. The only thing slightly wrong with them was their size! Most of the grapes were as large as the top half of my thumb! As we ate some of them with lunch, the smaller mouthed individuals made each grape last for 2 or 3 bites before the grape was fully consumed.

After lunch, my son decided to participate in a game we occasionally do to assist in father-son bonding. Usually the game consists of tossing M&Ms into the air on an arc toward his head. If I do my job correctly, a couple small neck adjustments will allow the M&M to easily be caught in his mouth. Because we apparently needed to do some “power bonding”, we attempted the M&M trick with these over-sized, under-seeded fruit ovals. My sons skills were quickly evident. He adjusted how far he opened his mouth (he had to open it ALL of the way), but otherwise, it was the same eye-mouth coordination as before. The first two grapes followed this pattern. He zeroed in on the grape, caught it in his mouth, and he was careful not to choke on the green projectile.

Although I did not consciously want to “mix it up”, my sub-conscious was likely a little bored. The third grape did embark on an arc just like the other grapes, but as it knuckle balled (my fingers planned this without my realizing it) toward my sons mouth, it ended up being to great of a challenge-the “center” of the grape was to hard to calculate . It smacked him in his upper lip as his mouth was anticipating the impact. We did allow a “knuckle-less grape” do over which was much more successful.

While fruit does not always bring people together, I am glad my son and I can “rework” old games with grapes as a centerpiece. I have not always been a perfect father, but on the days when I “know” I have done a pretty good job, it usually involves a bit of laughter and a dash of ridiculous.

Would You Like A Paper With That?

Happy Thanksgiving to all! Do you have your ads yet?

As my wife and I got up this morning, she made the coffee while I wondered out to Walmart to get the paper. (I do feel badly they are working today. However, due to a dispute with the “Fort Worth Star Telegram” over their vacation policy when subscribers “hold” their paper, we are not getting a paper over the past few weeks. It is my hope my wife and I will come to a resolution before Thanksgiving arrives next year.) As I drove the mile or so to acquire our paper, I found I was not the only one on a similar trek. As I walked through the doors, I quickly looked to the right where the papers are usually stacked. With the “paper” area completely clear, I quickly glanced to the left. Fortunately, a space on the left was full of papers! I grabbed one, used the self checkout to pay when I found the bar code, and after a couple of “Happy Thanksgivings”, I was out the door and heading home.

As I pulled into the garage, I noticed a small problem with the paper–it was “The Dallas Morning News”. The shrunk wrap bag of ads was still prominent, so I was pretty sure the presentation of the paper would be well received.

Me (to my wife): Do you want the good news or the bad news?
Wife: They were out of papers with ads?
Me: No problem with the ads; I just grabbed the wrong paper. I just hope you like their puzzles, too!

After looking over the ads, eating our crockpot pumpkin oatmeal w/ coffee, and doing some initial shopping strategizing, the food prep continued.

Our little re-purposed, brightly wrapped tissue box is waiting to gather all of the Thanksgiving notes (What are you thankful for? Write it down and stick it in the box.) today’s attendees deem worthy of the effort. As we set down at our meal, we pass around the contents so they are equally distributed to all who share our table. You may or may not get your written contributions to read from the box, but you will hear your “thanks” read to those you are sharing the table with.

Regardless of how you express “thanks” in your home, please make a special effort to be thankful for the abundance of blessings – both appreciated and under-appreciated. May all of our lives be richer for this “holiday pause”. May we look across our lives and find some area where we struggle to be thankful and commit to trying a little harder. May we look across the table and commit to be nicer or more patient with someone with whom we are sharing this meal. And, since we are Americans, may we forget what we don’t like about our country for a few hours. May all of our eyes be open to see the blessings that are daily all around us!

Fun Parents

As I sat down at McDonald’s today to tap into their internet and slurp on an slightly sweetened iced tea, I was greeted by a family sitting two tables in front of me.

The dad in his early 20’s had droopy jeans, a knitted hat pulled over his head with a bit of hair sticking out, an unshaven face, and a couple of tattoos above his elbow peaking out from under his t-shirt. The mother had her back to me. She had shoulder length black hair with a black t-shirt. The youngest child (under 2) was in a highchair with his hair combed into a rooster type style. The older brother (no older than 4) was facing me, but blocked by his mother. He looked to be his younger brother PLUS 2 or 3 years.

As I notice the youngest brother begging pancakes off of his father’s plate, I see the smile on dad’s face as he continues to fill the nearly perpetually gaping mouth. I see little brother reach for dad as he goes to refill his Dr. Pepper (Don’t leave me dad.) . I see mom haul little brother to the bathroom to change a diaper. I see big brother watching everything going on while keeping the hand moving from plate to mouth. I see how both boys are wearing clothes that could easily be described as pajamas. I decide I will say something to the parents (see Blessed Eggs), but as they get up from their table, they go into the play area.

When they emerged from the play area, I couldn’t help but make a comment. I am not sure it was the best comment, but it was the one I had:

"You must be fun parents.  Not every parent would let their kids wear pajamas on a     drizzly day."
"Thank you. The boys insisted.  They just got their new pajamas yesterday.", she       replied.
"You guys enjoy the rest of your day.", I said with a smile.
"You, too.", the dad said with a bigger smile

It isn’t your appearance or my standards that make you a fun parent. It is how your kids see you. I have no idea what this family’s home looks like, but I know this family knows how to love their kids. I am not so arrogant to think my words made any difference in their day, but saying the words did in mine.

Syrup on the pajamas? No problem. I am sure this loving mom will have them washed for bed tonight.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy