"Daddy?"
"What's up, sweetie?"
"I'm worried about Mr. Fluffball."
"What's wrong?" (I'm suddenly concerned that our new purchase of one day is sick, or worse...dead? Imagine saving for a bunny for 6 months, getting your dream animal and then having it die on you after one day?)
"He's pooping a lot and I'm worried about him."
"Oh honey," I say with a smile, "let me tell you about bunnies..."
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Welcome Mr. Fluffball!
Mr. Fluffball is a rabbitt, and a new addition to our family.
I fought the whole thing for a long time. But Liese saved her money to buy a cage. Then, she had enough money for the rabbitt.
The last thing I wanted was a rabbitt running around the house. We already have a wild dog and two cats - one of which thinks he owns the place. Now, a bunny???
But when Mr. Fluffball came home, and I saw the joy in my daughter's eyes, I realized that I was mistaken. This little friend is just what my daughter needs. So, welcome to the family, Mr. Fluffball!
I fought the whole thing for a long time. But Liese saved her money to buy a cage. Then, she had enough money for the rabbitt.
The last thing I wanted was a rabbitt running around the house. We already have a wild dog and two cats - one of which thinks he owns the place. Now, a bunny???
But when Mr. Fluffball came home, and I saw the joy in my daughter's eyes, I realized that I was mistaken. This little friend is just what my daughter needs. So, welcome to the family, Mr. Fluffball!
When the Schneken Beckin's
We have this thing. Okay, I have this thing, that whenever I go grocery shopping I always treat myself to something sweet - a schneken. So, which ever one of my children are with me also benefit.
Yesterday, Marcus was the lucky child. As I was picking out fruit and veggies, he was thinking about all the different kinds of donuts or cookies he could get. After I narrowed it down for him, "We're going to get a cookie." (Because those are free to kids), Marcus decided it would be an M&M cookie.
I said, "Well, we'll see. It depends on what kind they have."
Sure enough, when I went over to the cookie platter, they had two with M&M's. I chose the one on the top and gave it to him. "Look," I said. "Just what you wanted!"
Marcus looked at it - his little face, evidently not pleased. "It doesn't have a lot of M&M's."
"Well, no, but that's the one you got, so you should be happy."
He came around enjoyed his first bite. After two more little bites it crumbled and fell onto the floor. I picked it up and blew on it (5 sec rule), but then I looked at the floor. Pretty disgusting.
"Hey, let's go back and ask for another one."
I explained to the lady that the cookie fell and she said, by all means, grab another.
I looked and saw that one cookie with M&M's remained. It was loaded with M&M's! So, Marcus got his wish. Sometimes, things just work out the way you want them. (Anyone who's read The Secret and knows about the Law of Attraction, might suggest this was more than luck.)
Yesterday, Marcus was the lucky child. As I was picking out fruit and veggies, he was thinking about all the different kinds of donuts or cookies he could get. After I narrowed it down for him, "We're going to get a cookie." (Because those are free to kids), Marcus decided it would be an M&M cookie.
I said, "Well, we'll see. It depends on what kind they have."
Sure enough, when I went over to the cookie platter, they had two with M&M's. I chose the one on the top and gave it to him. "Look," I said. "Just what you wanted!"
Marcus looked at it - his little face, evidently not pleased. "It doesn't have a lot of M&M's."
"Well, no, but that's the one you got, so you should be happy."
He came around enjoyed his first bite. After two more little bites it crumbled and fell onto the floor. I picked it up and blew on it (5 sec rule), but then I looked at the floor. Pretty disgusting.
"Hey, let's go back and ask for another one."
I explained to the lady that the cookie fell and she said, by all means, grab another.
I looked and saw that one cookie with M&M's remained. It was loaded with M&M's! So, Marcus got his wish. Sometimes, things just work out the way you want them. (Anyone who's read The Secret and knows about the Law of Attraction, might suggest this was more than luck.)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Rusty Church
Since we've moved, going to our church is a 45 minute drive away. Not something I'm always up for. So, for the past two weeks we tried out two local churches. The last one was so bad we (my two little one's and I) left 20 minutes into the service.
It was one of those times. You know, the times you realize you make a mistake as soon as you arrive, but you can't do anything about it?
As soon as we sat down, a woman came over to us, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with such glee, "Welcome! Where are you from? It's so good to have you here today." The desperation in her voice was my first red flag. Then, the service started and both pastors were 85 years-old if they were a day! One stood there holding the Bible, his hands shaking as badly as his voice. The first lesson took ten minutes!
My kids were collapsing with boredom onto my lap and complaining - and after only five minutes! This was not good. I too was bored and by now, my eyes were frantically searching for the exits.
The church had 20 in attendance, all white heads, and it smelled like a sarcophagas that hadn't been opened in two thousand years. Finally, I whispered to Marcus, "Say you have to go to the bathroom." (I figured I'd take them to the bathroom and slip out the door and no one would be the wiser.) "What?" he asked.
"Say that you have to go to the bathroom."
"But I don't have to go to the bathroom!" he yelled. Two white heads turned around. Great, cheers, Marcus, I thought. I waited five more minutes and then said, "Oh sure, honey, let's go to the bathroom," and we left, never to return.
Well, this week we were driving our 45 minutes to church and on the way we pass a decrepid old church that looks like something from the Old South. It's still active but it gives me the willies every time I drive by. I always take the opportunity to thank the Lord I don't attend there, every time I drive by. Well, today, Marcus says, "Dadda?" I turn down the music, "Yes, buddy?"
"I never want to go to that old rusty church."
"Ya, me neither. Looks kind of old huh?"
"Yes. Except, no one goes there anymore."
"Well, I think people still do go there."
"No Dadda. Nobody goes there." I think he wanted to drive home the fact that no one attends that church so I wouldn't get it into my head that we should try it out. After all, I subjected him to that other church only a week prior.
"No, son, I suppose no one does."
"Dad, you can turn up the music now."
"Okay, buddy." And we continued our drive. By the way, we had a great inspirational service at our church. Visiting churches sometimes makes you appreciate what you have, doesn't it?
It was one of those times. You know, the times you realize you make a mistake as soon as you arrive, but you can't do anything about it?
As soon as we sat down, a woman came over to us, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with such glee, "Welcome! Where are you from? It's so good to have you here today." The desperation in her voice was my first red flag. Then, the service started and both pastors were 85 years-old if they were a day! One stood there holding the Bible, his hands shaking as badly as his voice. The first lesson took ten minutes!
My kids were collapsing with boredom onto my lap and complaining - and after only five minutes! This was not good. I too was bored and by now, my eyes were frantically searching for the exits.
The church had 20 in attendance, all white heads, and it smelled like a sarcophagas that hadn't been opened in two thousand years. Finally, I whispered to Marcus, "Say you have to go to the bathroom." (I figured I'd take them to the bathroom and slip out the door and no one would be the wiser.) "What?" he asked.
"Say that you have to go to the bathroom."
"But I don't have to go to the bathroom!" he yelled. Two white heads turned around. Great, cheers, Marcus, I thought. I waited five more minutes and then said, "Oh sure, honey, let's go to the bathroom," and we left, never to return.
Well, this week we were driving our 45 minutes to church and on the way we pass a decrepid old church that looks like something from the Old South. It's still active but it gives me the willies every time I drive by. I always take the opportunity to thank the Lord I don't attend there, every time I drive by. Well, today, Marcus says, "Dadda?" I turn down the music, "Yes, buddy?"
"I never want to go to that old rusty church."
"Ya, me neither. Looks kind of old huh?"
"Yes. Except, no one goes there anymore."
"Well, I think people still do go there."
"No Dadda. Nobody goes there." I think he wanted to drive home the fact that no one attends that church so I wouldn't get it into my head that we should try it out. After all, I subjected him to that other church only a week prior.
"No, son, I suppose no one does."
"Dad, you can turn up the music now."
"Okay, buddy." And we continued our drive. By the way, we had a great inspirational service at our church. Visiting churches sometimes makes you appreciate what you have, doesn't it?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The American Family Roadtrip
It's been awhile since I've signed in. A lot going on in my life. I wrote this over my summer vacation in California. The length should make up for a couple entries.
The day started off with such promise. The sky was blue (not something Portlanders take for granted.), we had been camping amid the quiet splendor of the Redwood Forest, and it was a Monday and I was not sitting in some God awful meeting, like normal, doodling and contemplating the varius ways I could excuse myself without being noticed. "Numb Butt Mondays," we call them....
We packed the car after breakfast and headed out for Mendocino, California, to experience the beach and inhale the smells of the salty ocean air mixed with the pungent aroma of Eucyalyptus. It was to be a mere two hour drive. A stroll, really, compared to our big drive from Portland only two days prior.
I turned off Hwy 101 at Garberville for the coast. The sign read, “Fort Bragg,” and my GPS, Stella, was commanding me (because that is her nature) to “Turn right, here. Turn right here!” Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems like Stella loses her patience with me if I neglect to follow her instructions implicitly and without question. She is too assertive, hence her name. I imagine the day when she barks out, “NO, stupid. Turn right, I said. Now you've mucked it all up. Can't you follow a simple command?” Ah, but I digress...
The road less traveled is not always the wisest, dear poet. It was as twisted and unforgiving as an anaconda's. Being of a sound mind and a weak stomach, I turned around after 15 miles, frustrated and cursing my error. How stupid of me, I thought. I never took this road 'back in the day.' I always went to Willits and headed over from there. “I'm not doing this,” I said with alarming authority. But it was too late. The damage had been done. We were almost, and I mean almost off this cursed road when Marcus exclaimed, “I'm having a heart attack!”
Marcus is four. Very articulate, and very expressive. Okay, we'll use the word, dramatic.
“Mommy, I'm having a heart attack. I want the movie off.”
My wife is thinking that he's being dramatic to have his way and change the movie. But, being the good mother that she is, she checks in with him.
“What hurts dear? What's the problem?”
“My stomach.”
Now I get motion sickness as I alluded to earlier. I can't fly in small planes, ride the Tea Cups at Disneyland, or go on the ocean. In fact, I always drive on long trips because I won't be driven and get sick. No sir. So, I follow this four-year-old description of something that has never happened to him “I'm having a heart attack,” and pull over the car.
We pulled over every few minutes for awhile. He didn't throw up, but he was nautious and coughing up spit. Finally, I stood outside with him for a good fifteen minutes while his stomach settled down. We finally made it to Willits for lunch. We took a nice long lunch and allowed his stomach to return to normal. It was a wonderful lunch. A 57 dollar lunch, but a wonderful lunch, nonetheless.
Soon we packed into the car once again and took off for the coast – this time on Hwy 20 from Willits to Fort Bragg. Awesome... or so I thought....
Turns out that Hwy 20, while better than the other road, is still very curvy. Curvy like a woman, curvy, not twisty like a snake.
This road was a serious road with serious drivers. People drive fast on this road. It's actually a driving course for middle-aged wannabe Mario Andredes. It calls out Macho. Only competent men with manly driving ability are allowed. All others are cursed and forced over to the turn outs in shame. Not wanting to risk hurting my manly pride, I drove with skill. I drove over the speed limit. If the sign read 20 mph around the curves, I took them at 30, just to prove to them that I belonged. Still, however, I had 3 cars close behind me. The pressure was mounting. I couldn't pull over so soon. The shame would be too much for my fragile male ego. I kept going.
And then it happened...
“Mommy I want the movie off.”
“Marcus, we just turned this one on. Maybe sis can forward this part.”
“I feel like I'm having a heart attack again.”
There is nothing worse on a family drive that a child throwing up in the car. I suppose it's some character of the American experience. The family vacation, driving across the fruited plains and the purple mountain majesties with the kids arguing and crying and throwing up. Anyway, I wasn't about to succomb to this rite of passage. I pulled over fast.
I no sooner turned around to see how he was doing when the first milky substance dribbled out of his mouth. “Oh my God,” I exclaimed, get something, quick!”
Jen picked up a towel and kind of brought it up to his mouth. And then the dribble turned into projectile. His head spun around and his little brown eyes rolled back into his head like a sharks, and he sheetrocked the towel. Then, for some reason I'm still not sure why, Jen took away the towel. Then he threw up over the car.
“Jesus, Jen. Now look what he did!”
“Why don't you stop being critical and do something!”
“What do you want me to do!”
As we were screaming at each other, Anneliese, who has serious germ issues and a real fear of throwing up, starts screaming, “I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared.” Meanwhile Marcus is vomiting and Nate, our oldest, is completely oblivious and says, “Hey I wrote this poem about a bird. Do you want to hear it?”
Ah yes...one for the annals of parenthood.
It ended on a good note, though. We eventually made it to the beach (Marcus fell asleep). The kids played, the day was beautiful, and we went out to eat at a wonderful restaurant.
The day started off with such promise. The sky was blue (not something Portlanders take for granted.), we had been camping amid the quiet splendor of the Redwood Forest, and it was a Monday and I was not sitting in some God awful meeting, like normal, doodling and contemplating the varius ways I could excuse myself without being noticed. "Numb Butt Mondays," we call them....
We packed the car after breakfast and headed out for Mendocino, California, to experience the beach and inhale the smells of the salty ocean air mixed with the pungent aroma of Eucyalyptus. It was to be a mere two hour drive. A stroll, really, compared to our big drive from Portland only two days prior.
I turned off Hwy 101 at Garberville for the coast. The sign read, “Fort Bragg,” and my GPS, Stella, was commanding me (because that is her nature) to “Turn right, here. Turn right here!” Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems like Stella loses her patience with me if I neglect to follow her instructions implicitly and without question. She is too assertive, hence her name. I imagine the day when she barks out, “NO, stupid. Turn right, I said. Now you've mucked it all up. Can't you follow a simple command?” Ah, but I digress...
The road less traveled is not always the wisest, dear poet. It was as twisted and unforgiving as an anaconda's. Being of a sound mind and a weak stomach, I turned around after 15 miles, frustrated and cursing my error. How stupid of me, I thought. I never took this road 'back in the day.' I always went to Willits and headed over from there. “I'm not doing this,” I said with alarming authority. But it was too late. The damage had been done. We were almost, and I mean almost off this cursed road when Marcus exclaimed, “I'm having a heart attack!”
Marcus is four. Very articulate, and very expressive. Okay, we'll use the word, dramatic.
“Mommy, I'm having a heart attack. I want the movie off.”
My wife is thinking that he's being dramatic to have his way and change the movie. But, being the good mother that she is, she checks in with him.
“What hurts dear? What's the problem?”
“My stomach.”
Now I get motion sickness as I alluded to earlier. I can't fly in small planes, ride the Tea Cups at Disneyland, or go on the ocean. In fact, I always drive on long trips because I won't be driven and get sick. No sir. So, I follow this four-year-old description of something that has never happened to him “I'm having a heart attack,” and pull over the car.
We pulled over every few minutes for awhile. He didn't throw up, but he was nautious and coughing up spit. Finally, I stood outside with him for a good fifteen minutes while his stomach settled down. We finally made it to Willits for lunch. We took a nice long lunch and allowed his stomach to return to normal. It was a wonderful lunch. A 57 dollar lunch, but a wonderful lunch, nonetheless.
Soon we packed into the car once again and took off for the coast – this time on Hwy 20 from Willits to Fort Bragg. Awesome... or so I thought....
Turns out that Hwy 20, while better than the other road, is still very curvy. Curvy like a woman, curvy, not twisty like a snake.
This road was a serious road with serious drivers. People drive fast on this road. It's actually a driving course for middle-aged wannabe Mario Andredes. It calls out Macho. Only competent men with manly driving ability are allowed. All others are cursed and forced over to the turn outs in shame. Not wanting to risk hurting my manly pride, I drove with skill. I drove over the speed limit. If the sign read 20 mph around the curves, I took them at 30, just to prove to them that I belonged. Still, however, I had 3 cars close behind me. The pressure was mounting. I couldn't pull over so soon. The shame would be too much for my fragile male ego. I kept going.
And then it happened...
“Mommy I want the movie off.”
“Marcus, we just turned this one on. Maybe sis can forward this part.”
“I feel like I'm having a heart attack again.”
There is nothing worse on a family drive that a child throwing up in the car. I suppose it's some character of the American experience. The family vacation, driving across the fruited plains and the purple mountain majesties with the kids arguing and crying and throwing up. Anyway, I wasn't about to succomb to this rite of passage. I pulled over fast.
I no sooner turned around to see how he was doing when the first milky substance dribbled out of his mouth. “Oh my God,” I exclaimed, get something, quick!”
Jen picked up a towel and kind of brought it up to his mouth. And then the dribble turned into projectile. His head spun around and his little brown eyes rolled back into his head like a sharks, and he sheetrocked the towel. Then, for some reason I'm still not sure why, Jen took away the towel. Then he threw up over the car.
“Jesus, Jen. Now look what he did!”
“Why don't you stop being critical and do something!”
“What do you want me to do!”
As we were screaming at each other, Anneliese, who has serious germ issues and a real fear of throwing up, starts screaming, “I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared.” Meanwhile Marcus is vomiting and Nate, our oldest, is completely oblivious and says, “Hey I wrote this poem about a bird. Do you want to hear it?”
Ah yes...one for the annals of parenthood.
It ended on a good note, though. We eventually made it to the beach (Marcus fell asleep). The kids played, the day was beautiful, and we went out to eat at a wonderful restaurant.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Joe Neighbor
My four-year-old was standing by the window upstairs looking over at the neighbor's yard. He yelled out, "Hello," and received a "hello" back.
My wife called out to him, "Who are you talking to?"
"Oh, just Joe neighbor."
Now we jokingly always say, "Hi Joe Neighbor!" to one another. The neighbor's got a real kick out of that one.
My wife called out to him, "Who are you talking to?"
"Oh, just Joe neighbor."
Now we jokingly always say, "Hi Joe Neighbor!" to one another. The neighbor's got a real kick out of that one.
A Fish Takes A Nap
The fish bowl was dirty, so I told my son that it needed to be cleaned out soon. The next mornng, his mother helped him clean it, and later that afternoon, my son fed the fish and came downstairs to talk to his mother. She said, "What have you been up to?"
"I just fed my fish, but he's taking a nap."
"A nap?"
"Ya, he's sleeping."
(pause) "How do you know he's sleeping?"
"He's lying on his side."
"Um....dear.... I think your fish might be dead."
"No, I just saw him swimming earlier today."
"Did you see him eat?"
"Well, no..."
The fish was given a buriel at sea ten minutes later. My three children, with drawn faces, watched in quiet as the fish was dumped into the toilet and flushed. Death is never an easy concept, even when it involves a fish.
"I just fed my fish, but he's taking a nap."
"A nap?"
"Ya, he's sleeping."
(pause) "How do you know he's sleeping?"
"He's lying on his side."
"Um....dear.... I think your fish might be dead."
"No, I just saw him swimming earlier today."
"Did you see him eat?"
"Well, no..."
The fish was given a buriel at sea ten minutes later. My three children, with drawn faces, watched in quiet as the fish was dumped into the toilet and flushed. Death is never an easy concept, even when it involves a fish.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Haircut observations
"The person who cuts your hair gives you squiggly hair," declares Marcus.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. and he gives me handsome hair."
PAUSE
"And he gives Nate thick hair."
"Yes, I believe you're right," say I.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. and he gives me handsome hair."
PAUSE
"And he gives Nate thick hair."
"Yes, I believe you're right," say I.
Accidentpurpose
"Sometimes I do things on accidentpurpose," said Marcus.
"Accidentpurpose? Do you mean by accident, or on purpose?" I asked.
"I mean by accidentpurpose. It's not by accident and it's not on purpose. It's both."
"Oh, I see..."
"But you can't get arrested...right, Dad?"
"No, I wouldn't think so..."
"Accidentpurpose? Do you mean by accident, or on purpose?" I asked.
"I mean by accidentpurpose. It's not by accident and it's not on purpose. It's both."
"Oh, I see..."
"But you can't get arrested...right, Dad?"
"No, I wouldn't think so..."
Sunday, March 14, 2010
scusemenoproblem
I wouldn't normally write on the topic of...well, "breaking wind." Not the typical blog entry or conversation starter. But in this case, I'm compelled to dedicate a brief couple lines to the topic.
I happen to love the age of four. It's one of my favorites. Each of my three children, after they have turned four, have been a constant source of laughter and entertainment. Parenting is hard work, as anyone with a child can relate, but the words and phrases that come from their mouths at this age are priceless and make the whole parenting gig worthwhile.
Seeing the world through a young child's eyes is refreshing and life-affirming, and my youngest always delivers. His current phrase is, "scusemenoproblem"(Excuse me no problem). Every time the child's bottom speaks, he reply's in a low monotone voice, "scusemenoproblem." If in fact, his bottom happens to speak in succession, M will reply, "scusemenoproblem, scusemenoproblem, scusemenoproblem." Of course, I must tell you, that now the whole family has adopted, scusemenoproblem.
I happen to love the age of four. It's one of my favorites. Each of my three children, after they have turned four, have been a constant source of laughter and entertainment. Parenting is hard work, as anyone with a child can relate, but the words and phrases that come from their mouths at this age are priceless and make the whole parenting gig worthwhile.
Seeing the world through a young child's eyes is refreshing and life-affirming, and my youngest always delivers. His current phrase is, "scusemenoproblem"(Excuse me no problem). Every time the child's bottom speaks, he reply's in a low monotone voice, "scusemenoproblem." If in fact, his bottom happens to speak in succession, M will reply, "scusemenoproblem, scusemenoproblem, scusemenoproblem." Of course, I must tell you, that now the whole family has adopted, scusemenoproblem.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to feed your children healthy, nutritious food? Having just read, In Defense of Food, and watched, Food Inc., I can tell you it's downright hard, if not nearly impossible. I highly recommend both the book and the movie to all who want to become educated about the food that goes into their bodies. It's very disturbing.
As a result of reading Michael Pollen's, In Defense of Food, Jen and I have changed the way we eat and shop at the store. If, for example, bread isn't made with four ingredients, we don't buy it. We basically shop on the peripherial of the store and avoid the middle aisles, if at all possible. No, we haven't become militant about it. I still like my Doritos or an Oreo every so often. But we are much more careful about what we offer our children and what we put into our own bodies. 1 in 3 children born after 2000 will develop type 2 diabetes. The amount of sugar and high fructose corn syrup going into our kids bodies is off the charts. It pays to be educated and not a victim to the four corporations that control all of the food in this country.
One final note: As someone who loves food, taking some time to prepare fresh, flavorable food, and making time to sit down as a family and share that meal together is what it's all about. Long live delicious, healthy food, quality chocolate, and a fine wine!
As a result of reading Michael Pollen's, In Defense of Food, Jen and I have changed the way we eat and shop at the store. If, for example, bread isn't made with four ingredients, we don't buy it. We basically shop on the peripherial of the store and avoid the middle aisles, if at all possible. No, we haven't become militant about it. I still like my Doritos or an Oreo every so often. But we are much more careful about what we offer our children and what we put into our own bodies. 1 in 3 children born after 2000 will develop type 2 diabetes. The amount of sugar and high fructose corn syrup going into our kids bodies is off the charts. It pays to be educated and not a victim to the four corporations that control all of the food in this country.
One final note: As someone who loves food, taking some time to prepare fresh, flavorable food, and making time to sit down as a family and share that meal together is what it's all about. Long live delicious, healthy food, quality chocolate, and a fine wine!
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