Dates with daddy

Yesterday I went on a date.  I do that on occasion.  Yes I am married, but that doesn't stop me.  If I want to take out a girl, I do it, and Ashley knows all about it.  Of course, the girls I take out are my kids.  Yesterday, Cooper and I went high class baby.  That's how we roll. 

Yesterday Cooper was home all day with me.  She had a few chores to take care of during the morning which she did with little or no complaints.  That sounds like a shock, I know.  A five year old that actually listens!  Wow.  Cooper did her chores while I took care of some of my own.  Anyway, after it was all done we went to lunch.  I didn't expect to eat where we went, but I should have known.

I told Cooper to change clothes so we could go eat lunch.  Her first words were, "at Micky Dees?"  For those of you non-parentals, that is McDonalds.  I said maybe, then after seeing her big eyes and wild hair, off we went.  I must have blacked out because the next thing I know I was standing in line at McDonalds.  I don't remember agreeing to it, and I don't remember driving there.  But, there we were standing in line with Cooper smiling.

So we order our fast-food, unhealthy lunch.  We sit and eat, enjoying our grease burger and chicken breast nuggets (or so they say).  More than that, we enjoy a lunch without argument, without tattling, without stress.  We laugh a bit, eat some, and enjoy a daddy/daughter date. 

Cooper was very happy, as evidenced here.    

<blockquote><a href="http://www.quotecosmos.com/quotes/29195/view">The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children..</a></blockquote><br> <a href="http://www.quotecosmos.com/authors/7785/Edward_Duke_of_Windsor">Windsor, Edward, Duke of</a><br> Quote from <a href="http://quotecosmos.com">Quote Cosmos</a>

Daddy jungle gym

"You will always be your child's favorite toy." 

~ Vicki Lansky, Trouble-Free Travel with Children, 1991

So far this is true.  For some reason my children not only see me as "daddy," but also as a jungle gym.  They will climb on, step on, pull and push on, my legs, back, stomach, head, and arms.  Some days I feel as though I was placed on this earth to serve as my childrens' personal tree to climb. 

Last night we were winding down the night.  I had just given Riley a bath and emerged as soaking wet as she was, only fully clothed.  She is nearly ten months old and has learned that splashing is fun, but splashing daddy is funny.  She laughs at my reactions to the unexpected drops of water that bounce off of my eye ball.  Its like she knows exactly when to splash, just as I turn my head around.  Anyway, I had just gotten her dried off and clothed when Ashley and Cooper came into her room.  Then my role as the toy began.

Ashley sat in the recliner while Riley was playing with Cooper on the floor. I was laying on the floor when Cooper decided I was her personal surf board.  She jumps onto my back, standing up, and begins to "ride the waves" while shifting her weight to stay up.  When she is tired of surfing my back, she decided I was better use as a horse.  So she began to sit on my back and bounce up and down in an attempt to get me to get up on all fours and walk her around.  

When she was younger, and smaller, I used to do that.  I had to be careful though because I never knew when the game was starting.  If I was on the floor for any reason she would run up and jump on, ready or not.  I would be bent over picking something up from the floor and got pounced on.  It was like she was a cat lying in wait for the prime time to strike because her timing was always perfect.  So out of the surprise I would pop up and the game was on.  

Ever seen "mutton bustin?"  If not, look it up.  It is ridiculously funny.  There are five and six year old children attached to the back of sheep running around the arena at a full out sprint.  The kids are hanging on for dear life, squealing and loving every minute of it.  That is similar to Cooper jumping on my back.  I bounced around the room while she grabbed me around the neck, holding on as tightly as possible.  I only stopped when the air supply to my brain was reduced and caused me to black out.  Well, not really, but I was getting choked.  

So, last night, I was again expected to be the mutton Cooper wanted to bust.  I just didn't have the energy.  So I would roll over and off she went.  Thinking I thwarted her plans, I would roll back onto my stomach and get jumped on again.  Apparently it was more fun to get tossed around every time I turned over.  So, a new game had begun.  

Cooper isn't the only one.  Riley has also learned the fun of climbing on daddy.  Another time I was again lying on the living room floor, but this time on my back.  My eyes were closed because I thought, erroneously, that I could get a quick forty winks.  Riley had other plans.  She crawled across the room and slapped me in the face.  Oh so funny to get that surprise.  She proceeded to crawl onto my face, and over to the other side.  Then, she crawled back across my chest to get back to the toy Cooper had.

The funny thing about this is, it does not matter where we are, my children think I am their toy.  Hannah and Cooper have walked up to me while standing with other adults having a conversation.  Each will pick a side and walk right up next to me so that I have to move my arms up.  Thinking my children were being affectionate and wanting a hug, I raise my arms a little.  Seeing the opportunity they intentionally created, they jump and wrap their hands around my biceps and hang on.  They lift their feet off the ground and just dangle.  Now, had I been expecting it, I may have been able to prevent tragedy.  But, on one occasion, they fell to the floor, crashing down because my tree limbs cracked under the unexpected pressure.  My apologies to my children.  

As I get older, and the kids get bigger, I wonder how I will survive.  Ashley may need to stock up on ice packs and ace bandages so I can survive the next decade.  But in the end, injury and embarrassment are worth a few minutes of fun with my children.  Hannah already is to the point where she remembers climbing on me when she was younger and telling me how much fun the "daddy horse" was.

It is worth it to be "daddy jungle gym" for the sake of creating a few memories for them, and being their favorite toy...as long as I don't end up in traction.   

Daddy in training

Sometimes I hear the "Rocky" theme song in my head.  I think it is the soundtrack of my day.  You will understand why shortly.  There is nothing like waking up at 515 am and being wide awake.  The best part about it is that I have to work tonight.  Oh, boy.  I am so excited, can you tell?  There is at least one good thing about being up, so is Riley.  Actually, she is the reason I am up before the roosters.  Riley decided that daddy did not really need to sleep and should be up to entertain her.  So here we sit, eating our morning puffs and coffee.  I need the coffee.

As much as I hate to admit it, this is all my fault.  Were she not so adorable I would let her cry herself back to sleep, but as we all already know, daddy is a "suckaaaaaaa."  Much like Pavlov training his dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell, she has trained me to get her from the crib.  When I hear the whining I am motivated to go to the noise and retrieve the little person making it.  My child is a genius.

So here we are enjoying or morning routine.  Riley is now tired of the puffs and has moved on to the yogurt drops and throwing her water and juice mixture on the floor and laughs as daddy retrieves it, over and over.  Later she will enjoy a bottle which she will repeatedly toss to the floor to watch her egg-head daddy pick up while she enjoys a laugh at my expense. 

All of this makes me wonder, when did my children train me?  How is it that someone of superior intelligence and years of education and training is done in by a little person who has been on this earth less than ten months?  How is it that our five year old and nine year old daughters can train me to respond to their whims?  I am the adult here, right?

Realistically I know that my wife and I are in charge.  We run the household, not the heathens.  But every now and again I realize our authority is being chipped away at by the three combatants we share the house with.  Little by little they are training us, well actually training me, to be their puppet.  

In truth, I love it.  I need to enjoy times like these while they last.  One day my children will hate me for running off boyfriends, making them drive the family car instead of buying the car they want, and for generally embarrassing them in public by the way I dress.  So raise a glass folks.  Here is to the other fathers in training out there who wake up to "Gonna Fly Now," bed head and all.  We are off to watch Totally 80's videos on vh1 Classic.  Oh, boy. 

Let me see your war face...

Tonight we were sitting at dinner around our freshly cooked meal.  Actually, it was from Rosa's in Lubbock so it was not that fresh.  Anyway, Riley was in her highchair enjoying her Hawaiian inspired jar of organic baby food.  It was some pineapple, ham, and rice concoction that actually did not appeal to me, but Riley seemed to enjoy it. 

So there we sat when Riley decided I was not feeding her fast enough.  She let out a screech and made the funniest face.  Riley balled up her fists, pulled her hands up, and made the face.  She actually seemed angry for a second.  If she could speak, she would have likely started yelling at me that I was starving her and it wasn't fair.  Note:  She is in the 85th percentile in weight, she is not missing any meals.  Actually, that is what my other children act like.  So, we started laughing at her and Riley started laughing, too.

I immediately thought of the scene from "Full Metal Jacket" when Hartman was talking to Joker.  The scene was when Hartman wanted to see Joker's "war face."  I asked Riley to see her new war face.  She squealed and screeched and made her face.  Then, I fed her again.  The war face is frightening, especially when she is hungry. 

Riley has now perfected yet another expression.  Now we have a war face, as shown here:

 

My first car

Every teenager cannot wait to turn sixteen and I was no different.  Why?  No, not my sweet sixteen party because I am a guy and we don't do such foolishness.  Two words:  driver's license.  My sixteenth birthday was somewhat disappointing because I didn't get my license.  No friends, I waited until I was seventeen.  Bummer.

After the license came the car.  I got my first car when I was a senior in high school.  The last semester in high school.  I remember it clearly.  Actually, I remember day dreaming about what my first car would be.  I wanted a truck, or some sporty job with a racing stripe.  Ohhhh, a jeep would have been nice, too.  No.  I got nothing like that.  What was my first car you ask? 

The year was 1992, late spring to be exact.  I knew my first automobile would be used and I did not care.  I just wanted something nice, and cool, and I wanted a non-granny car.  What I imagined myself driving was a Chevy pickup.  What I got was a blue 1986 Ford Tempo.  It's okay to laugh, I still do.  I got a granny car.  Bummer.

So there I was driving to school in a Tempo.  I was proud for about a week, until some snob decided to clown on me.  My sister was happy because she thought of me and my not-so-fine automobile as a taxi service.  I was pleased because I no longer walked to school.  But I didn't think so much about the car.  It wasn't cool!  It wasn't sporty!  It didn't have a racing stripe!

So, I worked at the YMCA in high school.  It's okay to laugh, I still do.  I loved that job though.  I had fun and stayed in crazy shape.  Anyway, my car was parked in the lot one day while I was teaching a swim lesson or something. I walked outside to leave and saw this huge white streak down the side of the car.  I knew immediately.  Some clown drove away and side-swiped my car.  What a punk.  My dad was furious.  He was convinced I was lying and just knew I had an accident.  I tried to explain it, but, no dice.  There was one positive I guess.  I now had my racing stripe, sort of.  And, it didn't make the car any cooler.

After three long months with my first car, it died.  That's right, after twelve whole weeks and it decided to put itself out of its misery.  I was heart broken.  Actually, I was.  Now I had to ride a bicycle wherever I went, or drive my parent's MINIVAN.  Oh how cool, seventeen and in a minivan.  And I wondered why I got no dates in college.

I think about my first car and was grateful my parents spent money on it.  They trusted me enough to drive it, or just wanted me to help chauffeur my siblings around.  Either way, they bought me a car and I was happy.  So now I think about the cars my kids will have.  Hannah, I'm thinking will be driving what my brother drove, an Olds Cutlass, or "Cut-Dog" as he so affectionately named it.  Cooper, maybe needs a Chevy of some type.  And Riley, well she will be out of luck since we will be to broke to buy her a car because her sisters' insurance will be out of control.  Maybe she can have the minivan I plan to have at the time she will be driving.  Hey, it was good enough for me.  

Morning fun with Riley

Here I sit at 6am when I should be sleeping.  I worked all night and need to get to bed, but here I sit next to the cutest snot-faced, booger-nosed 9 month old in the world.  I will save the descriptors of that, but you parents of infants know what I see in front of me.  Riley had been up since about 525am.  I was sitting in the living room on the couch, minding my own business, watching Vh1 Classic 80's videos.  I know what you are thinking.  Why watch those old hair-band videos?  Nothing except infomercials is on at this hour.  

Then, out comes the cry letting me know she is awake and wants desperately out of the evil crib her mother and I banished her to for the night.  I am so zoned into the Go-Go's video, I try to ignore it.  But Riley gets louder and more insistent that I go and save her from her captivity.  So when the David Coverdale video comes on I get up and rescue my baby.  Hey, I don't like him anyway. 

I walk in and she smiles as if to say, "Suckaaaaaaaa."  Riley laughs knowing her father is a complete pushover.  I will argue that I am too tired to fight it and just go get her, but we know the truth.  Anyway, I take her from the crib and see she is still wearing the clothes from yesterday.  No pajamas, but the same outfit she wore most of the day.  Why Mama, why?

So Riley is laughing and squealing at me as I walk to her rocking chair.  I made a ridiculous attempt to rock her back to sleep.  I lay her head on my shoulder and rest mine on the back of the recliner.  We start to rock and I realize something is wrong.  Do you know the feeling you get when you are being watched?  I got it.  So I open my eyes to see Riley with a wide mouthed smile showing her one tooth.  She is smiling and laughing again, making me realize that I actually am a "Suckaaaaaaaa."

We walk into the living room and she hears the overly synthesized 80's jams on the television and becomes interested.  Maybe it was the flashy neon colors on that guys face.  So there we sit, her on my chest, watching some guy wearing too much make up and sporting huge hair.  She quickly realizes, as I do, that it sucks and we go to the kitchen for a snack.  So here we sit eating apple-strawberry flavored puffed grain and a sandwich.  I pound away on the keys as she pounds the tray on her high chair begging for more puffs because she is obviously starving and wasting away.  At her last appointment she was in the 85th percentile in weight and 95th in height.  She isn't missing any meals folks.

Well momentarily I expect me tired wife ,who was awakened by the cries for food from my child, to walk in and ask me the same thing she asked me yesterday morning at about the same time, "What are you doing?"  She knows, as I do, I should be sleeping.  But she also knows, as I do, I am a softy and my 21 pound baby has her 230 pound daddy wrapped around her finger.  

I love being a daddy.  Now, off to change the morning doo-doo diaper.  Wish me luck... 

       

Family time

I have a family like many others.  We are spread all over the country.  I have a brother in California, one in Wisconsin, a sister in Louisiana, and my parents in Louisiana.  All of my siblings are married and only one is childless, well, for now.  That makes the holidays tough.  I remember growing up having everyone together for the holidays.  We always celebrated together and then something happened.  We grew up.

As I said, we are scattered all around.  We have our families, and our careers.  It makes it difficult to get together often.  I haven't been home to Louisiana since 2008.  I truthfully don't remember the last time the whole family, including all of our children, were together.  We have met for football games but someone was always missing.  We went to weddings, but again, someone was always missing.  Hannah lives on the California, so coordinating visits with the family is tough.  She is here for the summers but we haven't taken any trips since the trip in 2008.  Hopefully we can change that, and get the entire family together.

I find that as I get older I want that.  I want us all to get together and share family time.  I like our family gatherings.  Usually they go something like this.

When Mike was drafted we all went to my dad's house for the weekend.  Mike, Jonathan, my brother-in-law Jon, and I stayed up until after 3am playing dominoes and quoting movie lines.  We had a ball.  When Jonathan was up to be drafted we did the same thing again.  We were up all night and at 4am decided to go to Harrah's in New Orleans.  We gambled a little, went home, and crashed.  What a long night.  But again, it was fun.  We stayed in the garage cracking each other up playing cards and dominoes, and had complete conversations in movie lines.  Great times.

When Jonathan got married we stayed outside the hotel into the wee morning hours.  When Mike got married...similar results.  When we got together, we would talk about memories from our childhoods, and laugh at the things we did and clowned on each other.  Even my parents would get in on those conversations.  My sibling's spouses get in on stuff, too.  They clown with us and get in on the stories and we have a ball.

Of course now, as we get older and have families, our stories change.  We laugh at the things our kids do, and compare the things they do to what we used to get into.  And we still have good laughs.  I miss that stuff.  I get together with Ashley's family and have a great time.  We have good conversations and fun times.  I love my in-laws and the family.  But there is something I miss about hanging out with my siblings and parents, especially around the holidays.

One day maybe we can get the whole family, including all of our kids, together for a large family meal.  I don't mean in a restaurant, but in a home where we all do the cooking.  I miss that.          
 

Christmas light adventures

Tonight we ventured out on our annual Christmas light sight-seeing tour with some dear friends.  We got together and showed the kids the lights around Lubbock, because lets face it, there is not much around Levelland.  This year went much the same as last year...with a few exceptions. 

We had a great time.  We piled into a Suburban and hit the streets.  First stop...the enormous line of cars at Chick-Fil-A.  Yes folks, it was about 630pm.  That is right at the heart of dinner time.  We arrive in time to pull into the rear of the line behind a string of cars that wrapped around the building. I said that right, around the building.  Chris and I were less that thrilled with the wait.  I am not that patient.  But, we sat because our wives and kids were in the car.  Three words...Keep The Peace.

Anyway, the wait was rather short considering the number of families feasting on chicken nuggets and waffle fries.  We got our fare and again, went on our way.  We ate and looked at lights around Lubbock.  Then we go to...Starbucks.  Ahhh yes.  We always find our way to a Starbucks to get something hot to sip on as we gaze upon the twinkling decorations.  Even the kids get in on some Starbucks.

Oh my friends, Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha.  It should be illegal.  I waited for Chris to order his first so all I had to say was, "I'll have the same."  It is embarrassing to order, but oh so good.  I used to have a Caramel Apple Cider, but no more.  I have been ruined by the peppermint and white chocolate goodness.

So, we finish our trip as the kids are falling asleep one by one, and enjoy grown-up conversation.  This is important for parents because it helps maintain sanity.  It helps to talk to someone and enjoy a conversation where I don't have to worry about hearing of some child's boo boo, which child ate all the glue at school, or try to decipher baby babble.  Don't get me wrong, I love it when Riley babbles at me trying to call me "MaMa."  But sometimes, I, like other parents, need to talk to other adults.  

So we complete our trek "in town" and head back to Levelland.  Sounds like a pleasant evening right?  A great time was had by most.  Riley was tired and cranky so she wasn't as thrilled.  But, let me recount for you the adventure that was last year's outing.  These nights are not always so pleasant.

Last year Hannah was here and Ashley was still pregnant with Riley.  We still had our Yukon so there was room for us all in there, even though every seat had a behind in it.  Luckily, Chris and I were in the front seats.  We had plenty of room, unlike everyone else packed into the rear seats.  So we pile in the Yukon and head out.  We had dinner and Starbucks, then hit the streets to see everyone's best light shows. 

As I said, Chris and I were in the front seats.  Ashley and Liz were in the middle row with Cason.  Cooper and Hannah were in the rear seat.  We all had our respective hot beverages.  Again Chris and I had our Peppermint White Chocolate Mochas.  Every time I think about it I want to go get one, but I don't want to go back to town.  Anyway, Ashley and Liz had something.  Ashley probably had a Chai of some type.  Hannah and Cooper had hot chocolate.  Here is where our story gets fun.

We decide to go to Ransom Canyon to look at the lights.  I had heard the residents there really go all out and decorate their homes very nicely.  I have to agree because everything looked great.  For those who have never been there, it is the most curved roads in the county.  That area has the curviest (is that a word?) roads on the Caprock.  They are not as bad as the mountains of Central California, but close enough for West Texas.  Parents, you may know where I am going.

So we are gazing at the lights.  It is cold outside and starts to rain a little on us, which due to the temperature is more like snow.  Everything looks great and everyone is having a good time.  All is well until I hear one of my children say, "Daddy, I'm gonna be....."  

Let me stop you.  If you have a weak stomach, skip over the next several paragraphs.  This statement was not stopped because she forgot what she was going to say or because she changed her mind.  The statement was stopped because of the vomiting that ensued.  Yes, Hannah got car sick.  I warned you to skip ahead.

I will spare the gross details.  However, I will tell of the comedy.  Hannah vomits from the back row.  Ashley, Liz, and Cason are in front of her.  Two words friends...projectile vomit.  It is a wonderful thing.  Nothing clears a car faster.  Adults are jumping from the car into the cold, freezing rain with no coats on.  People are yelling "Eeeewwwwwwwwwwww."  Cooper is freaking out and crying because everyone left her with the vomiting child.  She is screaming at the top of her lungs.  Only children remain in the car because they are buckled in, and hey, they can't get out.

I figured those who are exposed to the car crashes, emergency rooms, and all manner of gross would be okay with a little vomit.  Not so much.  So who comes to the rescue?  The nurse?  No.  The paramedic/firefighter/cop?  Wrong.  No, it is daddy who flies in and saves the day, sort of.  I snatch Hannah from the car and we run into the field.  Again, no coat on.  Hannah is puking on me while I stand over her making sure she is okay.  Ashley tends to Cooper and calms her down.  When asked why she was crying, she retorts, "Hannah threw up on me."  The look on her face was good though.  It was one of confusion because her parents would ask such a stupid question.  Even she knew that was dumb to say. 

We are all cold, wet, and stinky.  I use whatever I can find to clean up the vomit and hot chocolate from the back seats so people can get back in the car.  I brave the stench and mess and get stuff sort of situated.  Everyone gets back in and of course, the car smells.  I put Hannah in the front seat so I can shove her out the door if she starts to get sick again.  Not really, but I wanted her to be able to get out fast without climbing over other people.  I have the windows cracked a bit to ventilate with the clean, fresh smelling, outside air.  We drive from Ransom Canyon back to Wolfforth with all four adults with their faces pressed against the windows to breath fresh air.  Ever seen a betta fish come to the surface to breath.  Short quick breaths at the surface with wide open mouths.  Ok, all of us are basically doing that at the crack in the windows.  Were it not for the rain/snow mix, I would have just rolled my window down and drove home with my head hanging out like a dog.

We make it home.  The excitement and fun of the evening turned to odors and grossness.  four adults who had been so excited to hang out and look at lights with the kids are now wet, cold, and smelly.  The kids are tired and not feeling great themselves.  Hannah felt bad, and thought she ruined the evening.  I reassured her that it was okay, and that used to happen to daddy, too.  She comes by it honestly. 

In truth, nights like these are for making memories.  Regardless of the circumstances, we made good memories.  Our families hang out together and we will remember these times.  Our children will talk like my siblings and I do..."Remember that time when..."

Last year it wasn't as funny as it is today.  And, tonight went much better.  No car sickness, just a tired baby who let us know she was ready to go home.  The kids did great and the adults, well, we drank our coffee, visited, and enjoyed the company of family.   

A hit and run, and some anarchy

It is hard to think of something funny to write about when a doo doo day was had by your wife and kids yesterday, and you are tired after working all night.  But here we go. 

Yesterday some coward hit my wife's car in Lubbock then left the area without telling anyone.  To that cracker-nut...thank you. 

Really, I mean it.  Thank you for bringing chaos and stress to my wife.  Thank you for delivering to us a bill for our insurance deductable that we have to pay because of your stupidity and cowardice.

Ashley was parked in Lubbock on her lunch break and came back to the car to discover someone had hit the car, and fled.  Great.  Of course that is just what we needed.  She was able to get the car back to the hospital, but could not make it home.  So our car is now at the shop to be repaired.  Outstanding.

Then, there is Cooper.  Yesterday she apparently decided she was done taking instructions from her teacher.  Yes friends, she staged a one-student revolt in her kindergarten class.  Anarchy reigned for several minutes.  She decided that instead of sitting down as instructed, it would be a great idea to run around the room like a heathen child to draw attention to her anti-establishment protest.  Then she slammed some poor child's finger in a door (truly an accident).

But we are not done.  Displeased with the restraint showed by her teacher towards the rampage, she decided to attempt to recruit a fellow student to take part in the social disorder and an argument ensued.  I think the other child was not hip to the revolt and stated the disagreement, which displeased Cooper.  Her reaction?  Run around the halls and library.

Well, ultimately she got some attention, although not the attention she desired.  Ashley and I received phone calls from the PRINCIPAL.  Cooper was crying, maybe because she knew she was in trouble, or maybe because her attempted uprising against the man failed.  Either way, she bawled on the phone while recounting the events of the day to Ashley.  Welcome to our world.

I love Cooper, as I do my other children, but I don't always love her behavior.  I make light of it to retain some sort of sanity.  She misbehaved and we will deal with it accordingly.  At least Cooper accepted her punishment and owned up to her behavior. 

Oh, and to the hit-and-run coward...no, I don't like you or your behavior.  When you decide to act more grown up than my 5 year old, call me.     

Boys and Girls...not so different

Sometimes I think my daughters are more like...well, boys.  No I don't wish I had boys, and I don't dress them as boys.  Well, except for the one time Riley wore boys clothes.  But that was only because it was cold and I put sweat pants on her.  Yes, I was resourceful.  Ashley thought I was just lazy.

Anyway, as I said, sometimes they act more like boys.  Cooper belched the other day at the table.  She brought the thunder and shook the picture hanging on the wall.  Yes, I am so proud.  And Cooper isn't the only one.  Hannah burped so loud, and unexpectedly, I shuttered.  Wow.

And what is it about them not wanting to blow their nose.  I remember seeing little boys with their mothers running away to keep from getting a Kleenex wiped under their noses.  It is like a badge of honor or something to have snot running from their noses.  My daughters...yes, the same.

Here is a recent conversation.  "Cooper, go blow your nose."  Reply:  "No."  You have "boogers."  Reply:  "So."  "That's gross."  Reply:  "No it's not."

Huh?  The child is grossed out by a spider running up the wall but not by snot and boogers streaming from her face.  I don't get it. 

Why this job?

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."
English philosopher Edmund Burke 

I have been trying for over an hour to think of something funny to write about.  Tonight, I just don't have it.  I got nothing.  I have been typing and erasing for most of that time, because as an officer I cannot always say exactly what I want.  It is frustrating at times. 

I came across something tonight that I have forgotten about.  I stumbled on a website that has poems dedicated to fallen officers, being a police officer/deputy/trooper, and to the job.  Some of them reminded me of officers and friends we have lost, and others reminded me what it is to do the job I love. That means the good and the bad of it all.  Here is where I edited a lot.

This job is not what people think it is.  And I think that the general public really does not want to know although they ask.  Sure, I have been asked about the scariest, most violent, or worst calls I have been on.  And yes, I have been to some funny calls, but people want to know about the bad stuff.  To those of you who have asked me, or will ask me...I am sorry.  There are just some things that you don't want, or need to know.  There are things I don't want to discuss with anyone, especially a stranger or someone I don't know that well.

And let's face it...you probably don't really want to know anyway.  And after I tell you, it's too late.  Think of it as me protecting you.  I am keeping you from having the nightmares we have had.  I am keeping you from becoming as pessimistic as we can become.

I can put up with the donut jokes, the name-calling, and the ridicule.  I can overlook the profanities I have been called for writing a ticket.  I can't forget what I see, nor can any other officer.  Our profession has some of the highest rates of suicide, divorce, depression, and alcoholism.  Does anyone every stop any wonder why, or care why we are the way we are?

We are a unique bunch of people.  We get put down by the very same people who later call us for help (I say that from experience).  Why?  Why do this job knowing that I could not come home one night?  Why subject myself, and my family, to such a prospect?  Why put myself through the things I see and experience?

I am not a very social person anymore.  What I mean is, I don't make a lot of friends.  I have a close circle of trusted friends that I would not trade for anything.  I have a loving and supportive wife who has only known me as an officer, and yet, she married me anyway.  She is more social than I am, and I am sure that makes her crazy when I don't always have as good of a time as she does at parties with people I do not know.  I scan the room looking for the bad things, or people.  People find out what I do for a living and want to share a bad cop story or a bad experience they had and ask me why they were treated the way they were.  I don't really want to discuss the cop who wrote you a ticket for speeding.  I don't want to speculate why he did not take a report for what you called him for.  Again, I am sure all of it frustrates her, but can she blame me?  I don't want to discuss my day sometimes, with anyone.  I don't want to tell her everything because I want her to sleep nights, even on nights like this where I can't sleep.  I don't want her to become as non-social as I am. 
 
But why do this? Why be one of those guys in blue?  For me, it is simple.  I believe in something.  I believe that evil has to be dealt with.  I believe those who commit a crime against another need to face the repercussions of their actions.  I believe in helping those who cannot always help themselves.  I believe in doing the right thing.  I believe good men are needed to stand in those roles.  I believe us to be good men.  We are not perfect men, but good men.

Like any other profession, we have bad days.  We may not smile.  We may not wave.  We may not want to engage in conversation.  We may want to just simply sit alone and eat our meal, undisturbed for a few minutes while we contemplate the events of our day to that point.  Don't take it personally, we don't.

Some will read this and have smart ass remarks.  Some will think of an officer they know and give a kind word.  I am not trying to provoke a reaction, but simply writing for myself.  It's sort of therapeutic I think.  At least it has been thus far.

Now, off to try to sleep before an early day, and the start of my week.    

Huh?

If my children were blessed with any super-powers, their power would be the power of randomness.  Sometimes it can be mentally debilitating for Ashley and I.  "Dun da da daaaaa....Random Child."

I can see it.  Cooper standing in the middle of the living room wearing a red jumpsuit with cape and a mask.  On the center of the chest is a huge "RC" in a shield.  Proud of her random statement that puts me on my back due to the mental confusion, she stands over me laughing with her hands on her hips.  Yes, she uses her powers for evil.

It is actually comical at times.  Hannah and Cooper both have been blessed with the power of being random.  Example, you ask?  I think so.  The other day Cooper walks up to Ashley and I and says, "I'm like a teenager, only 5."  Dun da da daaaaaa.  She walked away laughing and I was left with a dumbfounded expression and a lot of confusion.  It can make your head hurt, can't it?

Initially I thought, how ridiculous.  But her statement actually made some sense.  Five year olds are overly dramatic and emotional, just like a teenager.  Five year olds are stubborn and have crafted the art of lying, just like a teenager.  How brilliant.  The fact it actually made sense only confused me more.  How did she know?


Anyway, both of my older children have the equal capacity to be completely random in their statements.  Cooper learned from Hannah, and Riley will learn from them both.  Ashley and I will be sitting around one day minding our own business, when all of the sudden, Riley will be sent into the living room by her diabolical sisters with this statement..."I love cheese, and roast beef makes me happy."  She will turn and walk away with a smile while we are left stupefied by the complete randomness of her confessing a love of dairy products and cold cuts.  


Huh?  You love cheese?  Roast beef...what?  They all will laugh while and revel in our confusion while presenting Riley with the "Random Child" super-suit she just earned.  We will be left wondering if Bill Cosby was right about all children having brain damage.

Yes friends...your child can be random, too.  It's tiring at times, take it from me.  Get familiar with this brilliant rebuttal..."Huh." 

It Is Madness

Black Friday.  Wow, it starts earlier every year.  And this year, it started on Thursday.  That is insane.  Last night I went to work and went through my shift as normal.  Then around midnight I saw the traffic patterns changing.  Wal-Mart became the all important destination.  

I drove by and looked in the parking lot, as I did not want to chance getting stuck in the viper's pit, even in a marked patrol unit.  I was scared, I admit it.  I saw people everywhere.  I though to myself, how ridiculous.  Why would people go and sit in line, in some places in sub-20 degree weather, for some toys/electronics/whatever it is they wanted.  Here's a tip for other parents.  For those of you who are first time parents, keep this simple truth in mind.  Ready...toddlers could care less what is in the box.  Just give them the box.  It would be the greatest gift on earth.  Hours of fun I tell you.

I am not really dogging on anyone who waited in lines at 1:30 am.  I understand there are some good deals on all the holiday wish list items, and hey, the kids are asleep so it is a great time to sneak around and buy stuff.  

As I said, I went to work, and got off shift at 4am.  I had a "honey-do" to complete, and that was to go to Wal-Mart to get milk, water and something for breakfast.  Again, I was scared.  I saw the traffic, I saw the people.  I just knew there would be madness inside.  I pulled up to the store and parked in the South 40.  And I just sat there...contemplating.  Should I or shouldn't I?  Do I risk it inside, or risk getting in trouble at home?  

Needless to say, as any married man knows...I went inside, although reluctantly.  I had already heard the stories about fights in the center of the store.  I was in uniform and knew I was safe, but still apprehensive.  The store at first looked empty.  That could not be.  I saw the madness in the parking lot.  Then I turned the corner of the first aisle and saw people in LAWN CHAIRS sitting in the aisles.  So I stood there watching, and wondering, what the heck they were doing.  They were waiting for the next set of deals to start.  I was on the grocery side and these people were sitting in lawn chairs down the grocery aisles....on the opposite side of the store from where they wanted to be.  The funny part was that they looked at me like I was insane.  

So I had just got off of work, went to get a couple of grocery items (at 4 am).  I was the crazy one?  No sir.  No indeed.

Again, I don't think they were nutso or anything.  I just wonder, why?  Why sit for hours in a lawn chair in the aisle of Wal-Mart?  What is so important?  I don't know.  I know plenty of intelligent people who were out in the bedlam that is Black Friday.  I saw the traffic going to Lubbock at 2am.  I talked to the "soon to be waiting in line for hours" shoppers.  They were excited.  They were psyching themselves up while chugging old, gas station coffee.  Well, they had the old coffee because other officers and I drank all the fresh stuff.  Ha Ha Ha Ha........

Sorry, that was mean, but still a little funny.  Anyway, to all of you out there engaged in the shopping insanity, be good please.  No fist fights over the newest Elmo toy.  No body slams to get the Nintendo DS.  No knees to the groin to steal the flat screen the old man is holding.  Everyone stay calm.

While all of this is going on, I will be fast asleep, safe and cozy in my bed.  Enjoy your shopping folks.   

 

The Board of Education

"It used to take me all vacation to grow a new hide in place of the one they flogged off me during school term."  ~Mark Twain 

Lucky for me I never got spanked in school.  I don't think my wife did either.  I did however, get plenty of them at home.  Corporal punishment was lawful, and in full use when I grew up.  No lawsuits, and no parents spewing crap about their kid's rights being violated for getting a whooping after acting a fool.  My parents, I'm sure, were okay with me getting a tail whooping at school if it became necessary.  Luckily, I never tested that.

Isn't that how it goes though?  A kid acts like a thug, and say, steals something from a classmate.  The kid gets caught.  In my school days, that was an automatic tail beating with the proverbial "board of education."  It was a large wooden paddle with tape around the handle for grip, and holes drilled along the board.  Bad stuff folks.  I witnessed the carnage of Principal Baccus' whoopings by seeing my classmates come back to class with split pants.  I remember that beating well.  That kid actually came back with the back of his pants split right up the middle.

Back then, parents expected their children to get spanked at school if they acted a fool.  Then, after school, when dad got home...the beatings would begin again.

Today however, that would be viewed as abuse and some parent somewhere would be filing lawsuits against everyone from the teacher to the Pope.  Parents would argue that their little angel, little Johnny, would never steal (even though he was caught with the contraband).  They would say, "No...no...he doesn't deserve that."  "He's a good boy blah blah blah."  My response...yes, yes he does.

I know of a kid that was caught with marijuana, in his shoe, on campus.  The kid got arrested, as he should have.  I mean, he sneaked dope into school, was sharing with other dopers, and got caught.  His parents were outraged.  Outraged at the fact he was using drugs?   No.  Not at the fact he was using dope on campus...but that he was arrested!  They were angry their child was subject to search by school officials (perfectly legal by the way), who promptly called the police when they fond his stash.  They argued his rights had been violated.  WHAT?  I couldn't believe it.  Here's my issue...deal with the fact your kid smokes dope.  Deal with his "puff puff, pass" mentality.  Being arrested should have been the least of his worries.  If it were me, I would have been begging to stay in jail to spare myself the much deserved beating at home.  
   
So what have we learned here today?  More school whoopings!  Bring back the original "board of education."  

She wore what?

Everyday when I send Riley to daycare, I would normally expect she would come home wearing the exact same clothes I sent her in.  Isn't that what anyone of us would expect?  I mean, she is not yet old enough, or coordinated enough to strip herself down to her green and white diaper.  

Ashley sent extra clothes to daycare, like every parent of an infant does.  But, I never expect for the clothes to get used.  I figure the "backup outfit," as it is called, would just stay in the bag and not see the light of day.

Yesterday I picked up Riley to a funny, well no, hilarious scene.  Once again, I have photos.

I think Ashley brought that outfit to daycare months ago.  That would mean, it was months ago that she actually wore it...when it fit.  I pick her up wearing that following a blow out doo doo diaper.  The shirt is too small, and the shorts even smaller.  

What was funniest about it to me was the white socks and brown shoes, well, along with the fact the clothes are way too small.  That's my little fashionista...   
  

And so it starts.

This morning started out like all of the rest.  Everybody up...and dressed.  I was getting Riley changed, because of the ritualistic morning doo doo diaper.  I got her dressed and walked back into the living room.

Cooper was so proud of herself.  She built Riley a "playhouse" in the middle of the living room.  I have photos...

Take a good look.  At first, it indeed appears to be a fun little play area.  Look inside and you will see a toy basket filled with fun goodness for Riley to enjoy.  It's not the inside...but the outside we should focus our attention to.  

Notice the pillows?  Notice walls all around?  It's not a playhouse...but a cage!  Cooper built Riley her own custom jail cell.  Cooper was so anxious to trap her inside and lock her up.  Why?  Because she did not want Riley in her room!

So it starts.  The battle over sacred ground that is called "my room" begins.  What will it be like when they are teenagers?  Will Cooper handcuff Riley up in her own room?  Will she construct a more elaborate "booby trap?"  Who knows.  What I know is this...we are in for it.  
 

What the ???

So yesterday we had another milestone.  Cooper has been battling a loose tooth for some time now.  I think it started on Halloween when she bit into an evil piece of candy.  She loosened a lower front tooth while attempting to enjoy the sugary goodness that is a candy necklace.  

Well, time has gone on and she has grossed out everyone around us by walking up to them and casually looking up, proud of herself, and wiggling her tooth as if to say, "look how cool I am, my tooth can move."  Sometimes, to add to the gross out factor, she would move it with her tongue.

On Saturday afternoon, we were all sitting on the couch.  I had my head buried in the crossword puzzle from the paper.  Cooper was sitting in the middle of the couch near Ashley.  Ashley was doing something, but neither of us was directly paying attention to Cooper.  So, out of no where we hear a loud, "what the..."


What the...what?  No profanity laced tirades began.  No jumping from the couch in agony and misery, and no theatrics.  With just a simple "what the," her first tooth came popping out of her head.  Cooper was so proud of herself and she sat there, staring at the tooth.  Likely, she was contemplating how much money the now expected, and soon to be coming Tooth Fairy was going to give her in trade.  By the way, what is the going rate for a baby tooth now?  We have to figure it is her first missing tooth which I'm sure adds some value, and inflation over the last several years, coupled with the number of first teeth on the market.  What, is a George Washington in order?  I'm sure Cooper is looking to get a cool Abe Lincoln from the deal.  Not the coin, but a five spot.     

Now there is a gap where the baby tooth used to reside, a gap Cooper has now become accustomed to sticking her tongue through.  No friends, there is nothing like a child walking up to you, looking up and sticking her tongue through a huge gap in her grill.  Nice.  I'm waiting for when she does it holding cash money and laughing.

That's the image I have.  Cooper, in several hours, will be awake.  Having discovered whatever cash has been paid to her she will run from the room, followed by her hair.  It is crazy in the morning, remember.  So she will run in clutching the dinero with wide eyes and wild hair mumbling something about free money for teeth.  Were I not so tired, it would be comical.  

I just hope that doesn't make her start yanking on all of her teeth at once to try to collect some cash.  That would stink.  I'm sure there has been a child somewhere that put it all together and figured he could get rich quick be snatching all his teeth baby teeth out to score some green.  Note to Cooper...it won't work.  You don't have the pain threshold.  And the Tooth Fairy is on a budget so slow your roll.     

A Sad Day Indeed...

"In valor there is hope." - Tacitus


Today I went to a funeral for someone I didn't even know.  I have already been asked, if I did not know him then why did I go?  It is very simple.  He would have gone if the situation was reversed.  


It is not about knowing him.  He was a brother in blue.  No matter what department, or color of the uniform, we are members of a unique brotherhood and profession that I have the highest respect for.  This job that we do can be one of the most exciting yet terrifying, funny yet saddening, gratifying yet demanding callings there is.


In this job we see the best, and the worst, in society.  We deal with liars, dealers, and abusers, as well as those who cheat on, steal from, and beat on others.  But we also see the Good Samaritans from time to time.  We see someone wave at us while directing traffic and offer a bottle of water.  We see those who go out of their way to assist another motorist for no reason other than to help.  We also see the coming together of a brotherhood in times of loss and tragedy no matter who you work for, of where you work.


Yes, we are members of a unique brotherhood.  We take care of our own.  Trooper McDonald died in the service of his community.  Someone called, and he went...no questions asked.  He was committed to doing his job as well as he could.  That commitment deserves respect and gratitude.  Thank you for your service, sir.


Everyday law enforcement officers respond to calls for service, even at risk to themselves.  If you know some of these folks...give them a hug, or a kind word.  We may not always smile or be excited due to the day we may have had, but we will be grateful.


I don't usually write stuff like this, but I guess I felt I needed to.  It is a sad day because we buried a brother.  Everyone be safe...   

Daddy's helper

It's funny how children always want to help.  I can be cooking, sometimes cleaning, or getting Riley dressed.  Cooper will want to help.  There are sometimes when it is not safe to let her help, like when I'm cooking certain things.  I mean, I don't want her to get a grease burn or anything from popping oil when I'm stirring jambalaya.  But there other times when I want or need the assistance.

Take this morning for example.  Cooper was awake and in her room.  Yes, the bed head was in full effect.  I went to Riley's room and got her up. Immediately I know a couple of things.  First, she will be wet and quite possibly dirty.  I think she weighed an extra few ounces when I picked her up.  Second, Cooper will be in shortly to assist.

So I put Riley on her changing table and in walks "the hair."  Riley is still waking up and Cooper wants to play.  She starts looking in the dresser drawers for Riley's attire while I change the diaper.

I open the diaper...to a doo doo diaper.  Cooper doesn't see it as she is busy coordinating her sister's wardrobe so I ask her to come help me.  I ask her to take the doo doo diaper to the trash because let's face it...I didn't want to.  When my siblings were younger, I had to throw away the doo doo, so why shoudn't my kids.  With the most serious face she can make she pauses...looks at the diaper, then looks at me in the eye...and says, "I'm outta here."

She did not smile nor make a joke, but I had to laugh.  I think it was the seriousness with which she made her refusal.  Seconds earlier she was talking to Riley and laughing.  Then, you would think I had just broken her favorite toy.  She gave me a "oh no you didn't" look, like she could not believe I had just said that.

It must be nice to be able to be selective about what you help with.  So, I finished changing the diaper and threw it away myself.  The I realized, I was bested by a 5 year old because she looked cute and funny.          

As a father...

I always want these posts to be funny but sometimes it is just not there.  Blank mind, no jokes or humorous stories.  Sometimes, I got nothing.  Today is one of those days.  Parents with multiple children will get gut checked every so often.  Today is that day for me.

As a father, I love my children.  I love all of my children.  We are a blended family.  It is a case of mine, hers, and ours.  Hannah is the oldest.  She lives with her mother in California and is here every summer, with some other random days in between.  Cooper is my step-daughter, although I rarely, if ever anymore, identify her as such.  Riley is our newest addition.

As a father, I know that with multiple children there will be a natural competition for attention.  I grew up the oldest of four kids.  I know it happens.  One child will at some point think that a parent loves one child more than another, or spends more time with another, especially with a baby in the house.  We went through a short period where Cooper thought we liked Riley more than her.  She saw us spending so much time taking care of her, but did not understand the necessity.  The solution to that, I think, was to have her help us so she was included.  Disaster averted and problem solved.

As a father, I know it is delicate balance, especially when all three girls are together.  Each of my daughters are different.  They have different personalities, different likes and dislikes, and different needs.  It is a juggling act, to be sure.  Hannah wants to watch Zach and Cody, and Cooper wants to watch Hannah Montana.  Hannah wants to play Wii Sports, Cooper wants to play Wii Music.  That is only the beginning.  Wait until Riley is old enough to vocally state her wants and likes.

So today I feel like a complete failure, as a father.  Here's where it gets depressing so stop reading if you want to stay happy. 

Cooper told someone recently that she wished I called her a princess like her uncle calls her cousin, and wished I treated her the same as Hannah.  Told you.  You can stop reading now.  How could I be so stupid?  How could I allow such a thing to happen?  How could one of my children think I loved her less than the others?  Gut wrenching to say the least.

I love my girls.  Should anyone dispute that I will gladly meet for a conversation.  I would do anything for any one of them.  Disrespect my children, we will discuss it.  Hurt my children, that's your ass.  I would die for them.  The "them" equals Hannah, Cooper, and Riley.

Becoming a father is easy.  Being a father is hard.  Being a good father...well, I'm still learning.  

Mahna Mahna...

So I remember watching the Muppets as a kid.  Great stuff, right?  As I got older I picked my favorite.  The Swedish Chef, although unintelligible at times, extremely funny. He was not the handiest in the kitchen, but creative.   I remember seeing one where he was making flap jacks and when flipping them he got them stuck on the ceiling.  His solution...a Blunderbuss.  Comedy.  If you don't know what that is...think of a Pilgrim's musket. 

It is a shame that The Muppet Show isn't on the air anymore, having been replaced by shows that are marketed for children...but clearly are not for them.

Then, there are Muppet videos on You Tube.  Seeing some of the videos brought me back to childhood.  Holy smokes.  Then, ohhh, the Muppet Studios channel.  Greatness...

So, I was watching the "Mahna Mahna" video one day on the computer while lying on the floor.  Riley was playing nearby and heard the video playing.  She is a fan.  Arms go up in the air, bouncing up and down, and some singing ensued.  No, not me...Riley.  Well, I sang as she laughed.

I remember when children's television was simple, funny, and not questionable.  No garbage, no Hannah Montana.  Yes, I do not like that whole Hannah Montana thing.  What sort of role model is that?  True, television starts should not be our children's role models, but it happens, right?

Wanna know who my role model is...Animal.  Think about it, he's a rock star drummer who is girl crazy.  I wouldn't mind having his hair.  Gotta love the Muppets...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NA90IlymdZ4

No easy way.

"Don't handicap your children by making their lives easy."  -  Robert A. Heinlein

I think my parents believed that line a little too much.  Yes, I had a very good childhood.  Then something happened.  I became old enough to hold a broom.

I see too many kids (basically teenagers) today that want for nothing, and earn nothing.  What they have is simply handed to them, making their lives easy.  All it is doing is setting them up for a difficult life later.  Parents give the excuse that "school their job."  That's doo-doo.  My siblings and I had no such luxury.

At the time, I hated doing chores.  Let's face it, I still don't like them very much.  Now of course, it is not called a "chore," and all husbands know this.  It is now called a "honey-do."  Some wife somewhere gave it a fancy name to make it sound better in order to trick her husband to doing work on his day off when he should be watching a ball game.  

As much as I disliked chores, they were a necessary evil in our house.  As soon as we were able, we had things to do.  Dishes, garbage, dusting, vacuuming, and doing laundry.  No matter what it was, we had to get it done.  I am the oldest of four kids.  There was no clean house.  Our house was what was politely known as having a "lived in" look.  That's what visitors called it anyway.  That basically meant that there was generally some things laying around and our house was never sparkling clean.  Three boys in the house.  You think we had anything clean for more than several hours?

As I said, we had work to do.  We cooked, cleaned, and did laundry.  After all, we were manual laborers working off our debt to our parents for the expense of bringing us into the world.  I think my youngest brother is still working off his balance.  I think my three children already owe me about $100,000.  Guess what they will be doing soon.  

The whole time I was being put to work I just thought of it as punishment for something I may or may not have done.  Actually, I was being taught something.  I was being taught the value of work.  My ingenious parents were actually not handing me a life, but helping me earn one.  Whoa.  That was one of the best lessons I learned growing up.  Rest assured, my children will learn it too.  My children will not grow up spoiled and expect everything to be handed to them.  I won't make their lives so easy when they are younger that it will be extremely difficult when they become adults.  Now, don't think I will be standing over them with a whip forcing them to hand wash my socks over a rock or anything.  I simply mean that my children will develop a good work ethic and learn what it is to earn something.


So, I will be thinking of ways for my children to re-pay their debt to Ashley and I, and am in need of ideas.  Let me know if you have anything new and innovative, and legal.

When am I old?

"Old is always fifteen years from now." - Bill Cosby

I hope that is true.  That wouldn't make me old until 51.  Today, I turned...36.  Thirty-six is only old to teenagers and my wife.  She reminds me all the time.  The 3 at the beginning of that number doesn't look so bad, but the 6 at the end does.  I'm over the thirty-five hump and one year closer to...I can't say it...fffforty.  Whew, that was rough.  I have gray hair, I'm almost forty.  When does the mid-life crisis set in?

Some days I feel every bit of thirty-six.  Others, not even close.  There are days I feel like I did when I was eighteen.  Eighteen was a good year.  Lots of things changed.  That is a lot better than feeling sixteen, let me tell you.  I hated my high school years.  You could not pay me to go back to high school.  At sixteen, I was an insecure, acne-faced introvert.  That made my life oh so wonderful as you can imagine.  I remember high school being a time of sports, acne medications that did not work, and running away from attractive females I was too embarrassed to talk to.  Yes, I remember their names, but they shall remain nameless.  Oh, and big hair.  Not mine, the girls.  Although, I think my head was too big for my body during those years, and it could have been because of the satellite dishes I had on each side of my head.  I think I finally grew into them.

At eighteen, there was no more acne, and no more introvert.  How things changes in two very long and painful years.  I was somewhat brave enough to talk to girls, who will still remain nameless.  Of course, I still had many dateless weekends, but at least I was brave enough to ask.  Eighteen was a happy time.

Now, I'm not saying I don't like my life now.  I love it.  I love my wife and family, and my career.  Life is going good.  I get to catch crooks every day.  I think it's just that whole, "being on the other side of thirty-five" thing.  That doesn't appeal to me, really.  Being that close to the middle of my life is scary.  

I know, there are people older than me who may be reading and thinking I'm whining or something.  Of course I am.  Because...I don't want to be as old as you!  I don't want to get old.  I don't want to deal with things old people deal with.  What was that "Toys R Us" tag line?  "I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid."  That's me.  I still have fun in that store.  I love the Legos. 

At some point I will be, "that old guy."  Wait, I heard that from a teenager recently.  Punk kid.  Some days I feel old, especially when I say something like...turn the music down!  Or, "don't make me come in there."  There are plenty more, but I can't remember them.  Wait, isn't memory the first thing to go?  I forgot.                 

Dinner time...which would you prefer?

"My mother's menu consisted of two choices: Take it or leave it." - Buddy Hackett

Oh so true.  Growing up my mother and father both cooked.  Both of them cooked pretty well, for the most part.  But no matter what we were having, there were always two choices...take it or leave it.

I remember being young and sitting at the table with both parents and all siblings.  As good as that was, the menu was not always desired.  I remember my mother always cooked the same thing on New Year's Day.  She made black eyed peas and cabbage.

I was okay with black eyed peas.  Cabbage however, no dice.  There was one year, I must have been 13 or 14 years old, when my mother told me I couldn't get up from the table until I ate all of the cabbage and black eyed peas.  Well, I ate all of the peas.  That was no problem.  But cabbage?  It was a green pile of soggy, gross smelling foulness on my plate.  Unfortunately there was no dog to feed it to.  So, there I sat.  I was all alone at the table...for about an hour.  Then I realized no one was checking on me.  So, I had an idea.  All of the other plates were still on the table, probably because it was my turn to clean the kitchen.  I decided that slowly, I would move one fork full of the nastiness from my plate onto the other plates.

Luckily, my ploy worked.  Now, it could have been because I was so smart that out-foxed my parents.  Or, it could have been that they just gave up on waiting and forgot about me sitting there alone.  Either way I won, sort of.  Because I had only eaten black-eyed peas, I was starving a little while later.

But that was how it was at our house.  You ate what was fixed, or you did not eat.  It you got hungry later...oh well.  Sure, as we got older we had a little more of a say in the menu, but by then I was almost out of high school and starting college.  By then, I had the freedom to eat somewhere else.

Looking back, I guess it really wasn't important what we ate at dinner time.  What was important was the fact we all ate together around one table.  Sharing dinner with the family was good times.  When I got older I missed that.  I never realized how important it was until we didn't do it anymore.  As we all got older our schedules became so different.  We all had one game or another.  We had jobs or after school events.  Dinner became an after thought.

Luckily, I am able to still do this with my family.  When we cook a meal, we sit around the table to eat.  Yes, we eat out sometimes.  But we also cook at home a lot.  When we do, we sit around the table, not in front of the idiot box in the living room.  For those of you who do that...I'm not judging.  We just prefer to sit at the table, maybe with some music in the background (ask my wife why.)

Actually, I will tell you.  Anyone remember the Carl's Jr commercials?  If you don't know what that is, it is a fast food burger joint.  They had commercials that seemed to turn up the volume on people chewing their food.  I cannot stand...no, let me re-phrase...I hate hearing people chewing.  Holy smokes, that sound makes me cringe.  I must have some noise to drown it out.  It's like nails on a chalk board to me.

Anyway, we sit around talking a little, eating, and just enjoying several minutes of non-busyness, no matter which menu option is offered. 

I'm serious...that's a lie.

"A person with no children says, 'Well I just love children,' and you say 'Why?' and they say, 'Because a child is so truthful, that's what I love about 'em - they tell the truth.' That's a lie, I've got five of 'em.  The only time they tell the truth is if they're having pain." - Bill Cosby

Generally speaking children can be honest, when it suits them.  So far, only two of my children are capable of telling lies.  Riley can't even speak yet so we have more time before she learns the art of deception from her sisters.

I expect my children to lie to me at first.  Sort of like a suspect at work.  I arrested a guy one time with drugs on his person.  This fool had felony narcotics in HIS shoe.  When I found it, the first thing out of his mouth was "That's not mine."  Really?  Well, who would it belong to?  Suspects always lie at first.  So do children.

Here is an example.  Of course, as always, I have plenty as any parent would.  Hannah had an aquarium in her room when she was younger.  It was only five gallons, but it was full of small tropical fish.  I had a small can of fish food behind the tank and she helped me feed them nightly.  Well, one night I went in to her room to feed the fish.  There, floating across the top of the tank was a layer of multi-colored flakes.  I don't mean a thin layer in one area.  I mean a slab of flakes covered the tank from side to side.  I asked the obvious question.  What happened?  Her response, "I don't know."  I asked her if she fed the fish.  She looked at the tank, looked at me, then back to the tank.  Hannah then looked me in the face and said, "No" while shaking her head.  Keep in mind, she was an only child at that time.  I knew her mother and I did not feed them.  So by process of elimination, she must have done it.  She finally admitted it, realizing her error in judgment.  But why lie? "I don't know."  Stressful I tell you.

Some children, like adults, have "tells" when they lie.  Cooper's is easy.  Ashley and I know she is lying about something when she follows the statement with, "I'm serious."  That is her dead giveaway.  I could be color blind (which I am not), and she could hand me a red book and tell me it is green.  The only way I would know she is lying is when she followed the statement with "I'm serious."

I said earlier that Riley would learn the are of deception from her sisters.  But, maybe some of it is instinctive.  It's like they know to lie, assuming it is for self-preservation.  Maybe they think that the lie will get the out of the trouble.  But does it?  Of course not.

As a child I told my share.  I remember having a friend's slingshot.  Bad news for an 8 year old.  I was walking down the street and saw a cat.  You know where this is going.  I decide in my infinite wisdom it is a good idea to try to shoot it with a small rock.  So, I load the rock, pull it back and let it fly.  It flew alright.  It flew right past the cat and shattered a glass storm door.  Imagine my surprise.  I wasted no time in running to my house, through the back yard and into the garage.  I was scared to death.  Some time passed and everyone got home.  There was a knock at the door and I knew it was about the shattered door.  I did what I thought I could do, lie.  Did you do it?  No, sir.  I thought I would get away with it.  I didn't think about one key thing.  Witnesses.  Crap.  The little old lady that lived across the street saw everything.  I was done.  I was asked, "why lie?"  My response..."I don't know."  I knew why, I didn't want a butt whooping, which I got anyway.

Unfortunately, my children will continue to lie, just as I did.  I guess the parent's curse works.  You know, the one where they tell you that they hope you have children that act just the way you act.  It works. 

Friend, or Parent?

"Children nowadays are tyrants. They contradict their parents, gobble their food and tyrannise their teachers." -Socrates.

So I went to bed and realized quickly that I would not be going to sleep anytime soon.  I tried to get comfortable, rolled over and closed my eyes.  Then, they popped open.  Instead of continually turning over and waking up my exhausted wife, I got up.  So here I am again, typing.  Let's see what comes out.

Well, obviously some things don't change.  Funny how even then children were seen as tyrants.  Now, I am a parent that loves his children.  But, there have been times when I thought my children were attempting to overthrow this house.  Hannah and Cooper have attempted to run wild a time of two, (or three of four) and I can only imagine what it will be when Riley is added to the mix.  If my wife and I are to overthrow the coups attempts, we need to act now.  There will be three girls attempting to take over the house some time soon.

I can imagine it.  Months of planning will go into it.  They will all have their complaints.  Riley will be the most hostile because we will be strictest on her.  Well, daddy will be because I will have hopefully learned from my mistakes from the other two.  But, I can imagine them huddled around a flashlight in the dark of the night wearing their matching pajamas Ashley will have probably bought them.  That's how she rolls.  Every year, there is matching pajamas for the girls.  Except for the purpose of the meeting, it would look very cute.  To tell the truth, they are already working towards it, just independently.  Once they learn to pool their resources, we are in trouble.  

Anyway,  here is the not-so-funny part of this blog thing.  It is sad how some children act today.  I hope my children will not be that way.  I hope they will not be "tyrants" like some others.  In my profession I have to be many things.  I have to be a law enforcer, counselor, problem solver, and at times, friend.  It is amazing though how often the police are called to deal with "juvenile issues."  I have had more than my share of calls where parents have asked me to fix a problem it took them fifteen years to create.

I have watched children disrespect their parents, call them names, and even curse them.  Do you know what would have happened if I ever cursed my parents?  I can honestly tell you...I would likely have been unconscious for several minutes due to the smack in the head.

Several months ago I responded to a call where a mother did not know what else to do but call the police.  So, I show up and get the story.  She tells me that her 16 year old son is out of control, disrespectful, and gets drunk.  I show up and get face to face with a little thug wanna-be.  he ended every sentence with "yo."  I asked him for his name and his response was "Why do you need it, yo?"

So already, I know where this is going.  At that age, had I been contacted by a 6'4, 230 pound cop, in my home...I would have had to change my pants.  Of course, I had respect for adults, my parents, law enforcement, and the mail man.  This little clown had no respect for anyone.  I talked with mom about several issues, including how she and her husband disciplined the turd.  What they told me was a common tale, unfortunately.  Basically, they wanted to be his friends, and not his parents.  Sad, really.  There was no discipline.  He was allowed to do what he wanted and now, they are surprised at how he acts.

I can assure you of one thing.  My children receive discipline.  My children receive structure.  I am not their friend, but their father.  If they misbehave, they will be corrected.  It they do well, they will know that, too.  But my children will not be tyrants who contradict us.  My wife and I will raise our kids, not the school teachers or cops.  Well, technically by one cop.  Hopefully, this will head off any coups attempts for a while.  Well, at least until they put me in the old-folks home, which they will likely do if my wife doesn't put me there first.   
     

Play time

"The essence of childhood, of course, is play, which my friends and I did endlessly on streets that we reluctantly shared with traffic." - Bill Cosby

So I definitely am a fan of the Cosby quotes, in case no one noticed.  And I was asked how come I did not post anything this morning.  So for all of my loyal readers, here you go.  Actually, I only have one loyal reader and she's married to me.  Anyway, I think she only reads it to be nice.

There are a lot of differences today compared to when I was a child.  I remember being locked out of the house during the summer.  The first time I think I was tricked.  I am sure I was told to go outside and as soon as the door closed, it was locked.  Now that could be so that my parents could have a few moments of quiet, or it could have been done to let us learn how to play.  I could only imagine a parent doing that today.  The child goes outside and the door locks behind him.  The child realizes he has no electronics (iPods, etc) and begins to pound on the door begging to be let back in because he is lost and does not know what to do.  I have one thing to say to that child...use your imagination.

One house I lived in had a dirt back yard.  Yep, 75% of the yard was dirt.  I remember having Tonka trucks.  Now, I mean I had metal Tonka trucks.  I had the real deal.  With the dirt and several Tonka toys, I built a city.  It was complete with streets and intersections, buildings and houses.  Hours of fun was had.  I remember standing outside and looking at the dirt.  I thought of all the things I could do with...dirt. Building a city came to mind. 

So, the only times I was aloud back inside were to go to the bathroom and eat.  Even then, sometimes I could not even go in to go to the bathroom.  Then, it was back out into the world.  My friends and I could stay gone from morning to night.  I played in the streets, in the neighbor's yards, and basically anywhere else I wanted.

My grandparents at one time had a house in a cul-de-sac.  The other neighborhood kids, some of whom I went to school with, would play baseball in the street.  I joined in the game and remember playing endlessly.  We would hit, run, and slide in the street.  Yes, you read correctly, slide in the street.  I remember not even thinking about it while running to second base, which was a curb.  The throw was coming in from the outfield (a neighbor's driveway), and instinctively I hit the deck.  I was an all-out run and slid feet first into second.  If course, since I was on pavement, I only slid about a foot and a half.  And, I was safe!  I was so happy about safely reaching second on a sliding double that I didn't even think about the pain I was in...FROM SLIDING ON THE STREET!  What was I thinking?

I definitely was not worried about ruining clothes.  Oh, and that is another difference.  Play clothes for kids now fall apart after several good uses.  I can testify to that as a parent.  We wore the jeans from Sears that today could double as a bullet-proof vest.  They would stand up to anything.  And if you did tear them, mom just put a patch on it.  I had several pairs of those jeans with multiple off-colored patches.  We didn't care about fashion.  We wore functional clothes.  They don't have that today do they?  Kids go outside (if they even go out) dressed like they are going to a party.  And, what is the last thing parents say when the kid leaves the house?  "Don't ruin those clothes!"  Kids can't truly play under those circumstances.  Sent them out in some ratty clothes with permission to do what they could to tear them up.  As for my friends and I, we would see that as a challenge and do what we could to go home wearing shredded denim and cotton. 
 
Actually, we played like that for years.  We played outside free from all cares.  We did not have to worry about food, a parent would throw a sandwich to us as though they were feeding a pack of wild dogs.  We didn't care about being tired because we had endless energy.  Just watching us would exhaust kids today.

We didn't have the electronics kids have today.  We had Atari.  Well, some had it.  Those of us that did not made up games to play.  We had water gun fights.  Ohhh, that was the greatest.  It the dead of summer we ran around shooting each other with water guns.  I don't mean we had Super Soakers.  No, we had squirt guns.  One trigger pull equaled one squirt.  That was truly up close and personal combat.  Sometimes, we added extra artillery by throwing water balloons.  We climbed trees to attack from an elevated position and set up ambushes.  We were tactical giants, at least for a bunch of 9 year old kids.  We had our own style of urban warfare.

Well, my kids are almost to the age where I can kick them out of the house and into the backyard for the summer.  I could just throw Hannah and Cooper into some old clothes to destroy, give them some squirt guns and let them go at it.  If I was feeling brave I could give them water balloons, too.  No iPods, no Nintendos, just two $0.99 plastic squirt guns and an endless supply of water so they can learn how to truly play and explore.