Duckabush Blog: Parenting Archives

Year of Wisdom

This morning is a strange mixture of clouds and sunshine – a row of clouds darkens the morning but ends east of the highway and blue sky prevails beyond that. The mountain looms on the edge of darkness and light, pink-tinged in the sunrise.

Daniel at age 2, when we first moved to WA in 1999.

For some reason it makes me think of the way that we look at life – often we focus on the dark grey clouds above us and the gloom that surrounds us, failing to notice that only a few miles away the sun is shining. When we first moved to Washington in 1999, we lived in a suburb of the East side of Seattle, and Kathy quickly discovered that sunshine or rain was often a very local phenomenon. She used to jump in the van with the kids (we only had three at that time) and drive around ‘chasing the sunshine’. Even though the blue skies were usually over Lake Washington, she often was able to find a park or a playground where it was not raining just a few miles from our house.

Rachel loves Daniel (1999).

Too often I think we accept spiritual gloom and rain in our lives when just a little effort to ‘chase the sunshine’ would be well-rewarded. So, ever practical, I immediately think of the spiritual analogue of our little red minivan. What kind of things can I do that have the potential to move me spiritually from one locale to another?

• Reading my Bible almost always helps me to affirm the superior reality of the Kingdom of God and to see with eyes of faith. Sometimes the gloom is an illusion, and the sun is shining right where I am – my eyes just need to be adjusted to see on the right frequency. The Word of God is excellent medicine for this kind of reality check.
• Prayer has the capability of dispelling the densest fogs or transporting me to new and interesting places.
• Worship (from the heart) always seems to lift my heart above the clouds.

Joshua loves Daniel (2000).

I’ve been thinking about one of my sons this morning – we have recently celebrated his eighth birthday, and there are many things I would like to teach him. Unfortunately, he has a less teachable spirit than I would prefer and pays attention to my instruction only when it suits him. On the day of Grandma's birthday party, he committed the faux pas of telling his Grandma how much we spent on one of her birthday presents, and both Kathy and I sharply rebuked him. He looked at me with a whipped-dog expression, seemingly unaware of his indiscretion, even though I had (that very morning) laboriously explained the desirability of concealing how much was spent for a particular gift.

Grand-Dad loves Daniel (2000).

In retrospect, I’m not sure he was actually present at the time – I may have been explaining that to Rachel or Joshua, so perhaps the sharpness of our tone was inappropriate. There is a distinct difference in attitude between Daniel and the older two – where they seem to hang on my words, squeezing and testing my instruction to come to a complete understanding, Daniel is usually so eager to go off and do something that he barely listens to what I say and retains much less than I expect. As a parent and a teacher I find it very discouraging – how can I capture his attention long enough to communicate even a tithe of the things I want to teach him?

Uncle Thom loves Daniel (2001).

Part of the problem is that I am lazy. I assume that my son knows something because I have explained it once or twice to the older kids – yet I am consistently finding that his understanding lags considerably behind theirs. Maybe I am unfairly expecting him to build on principles that have never been adequately explained to him. Yet one of the major advantages of having multiple children is that knowledge is frequently handed down from child to child – I know that the older kids spend a lot of their time telling the younger ones how to do what is right.

Sarah loves Daniel -- or does she fear him? (2002)

I’m thinking of declaring this the Year of Wisdom for Daniel. When I was a sophomore in college, I found myself sorely lacking in judgment and discernment. I spent a semester praying for wisdom and re-reading the book of Proverbs. Not long after that I lost my ROTC scholarship and ended up in the Army as an enlisted man for three years, proving that I was correct in my self-diagnosis. I have often felt that the time I spent in the Army was the answer to my prayer, and that my life has benefited greatly from the wisdom I gained through that experience. My family teases me for telling Army stories, yet I find that many of the lessons I learned (often painfully) during that short three-year period continue to be applicable.

Grandma loves Daniel (2002).

My parents often compare me with my middle son, and remark on how much he reminds them of me – which makes me sad, yet hopeful. Is there any way that I can teach my son so that he doesn’t have to learn everything the hard way?

Cousin Samuel loves Daniel (2003).

When I was in college the first time, I held back from asking questions because I didn’t want to reveal my ignorance (or the fact that I hadn’t done the reading required for that class period). When I returned from my enlistment in the Army, I had a keen sense of how much I was paying for each class period, and I asked questions any time I did not fully understand something. I learned a lot more the second time.

Uncle Phil loves Daniel (2004).

So I’m thinking of granting Daniel special privilege in this coming year, such that any time he has a question, he can invoke his Year of Wisdom privilege until he is satisfied that he understands something. This would mean that all other activity or conversation would stop until he was sure he understood. I think that we have gotten into the habit of explaining things quickly and incompletely and have assumed that he already had the intellectual foundation necessary to understand things, where he does not, in fact, have that level of enabling comprehension. If he could see it as a special privilege and would actually invoke it, this might be the way to remedy his lack of understanding.

David loves Daniel (2005).

Added to that, I’m considering a special study of the book of Proverbs just with Daniel – focusing on his spiritual discernment as a foundation to any life wisdom he might acquire. Although the Bible reading I do at night with the kids is aimed at Daniel’s level of understanding, perhaps he needs some additional special attention. Since we’re moving his bedtime from 8 pm to 8:30 pm, now that he has attained the lofty age of 8, a good use of that time might be for me to spend it teaching him. He does try my patience, though – it might not be the best thing for me to do at the end of the day, when my energy is low.

Tim-Daddy loves Daniel (2004).

In many ways, my middle boy has a very winsome spirit about him – sometimes he tries so hard to please us, it melts my heart. He can be very generous and kind when he is intentional, and his cheerful helpfulness is an example to us all. His eagerness to bring good news is almost comical, yet very precious. Surely I can build on those character traits?

Kathy loves Daniel (2004).

A few days after his birthday, we opened the last of Daniel’s birthday presents, which was a model airplane powered by air pressure, capable of flying a hundred yards or so. We took it over to a nearby park and (after some initial failure) managed to fly it several times. Daniel impressed me greatly by taking turns with his older brother and sister, allowing them to fly the new toy. At one point, he promised that Rachel could fly the plane on the next turn, yet when I announced that it would be the last flight, he changed his mind and took the turn for himself. Predictably, the last flight ended in an ignominious crash, so that no one enjoyed it, least of all Daniel. Yet when I chided him about not keeping his word, he seemed entirely insensitive to the idea that he had done anything wrong – a response that is sadly not unusual with him.

Sarah loves Daniel (again, 2005).

When negative consequences happen to me, am I prone to seeing myself as a victim, and do I fail to see the extent of my own culpability? Am I the last one to see that my conduct is not pleasing to God? Perhaps the trouble is not so much with my son, but rather with the fact that he mirrors so much of my own folly. Maybe the problem is not that I am failing to teach him, but rather that I am teaching him all too well.

A Year of Wisdom wouldn’t do me any harm, either.

Trains, Buses and Monorails

Allergy season has arrived with a vengeance again, and I have forgotten to take (or bring) my medication today. It could be a very long day – already I am sneezing uncontrollably and peering about blearily with red-rimmed eyes. It is funny how a few discomforts can focus the thoughts internally – it will be an interesting challenge to see if I can be cheerful and friendly today.

Last Monday I took the kids in to the ‘big city’ to the Children’s Museum in the Seattle Center for the day. We had planned to go to the Pacific Science Center but couldn’t find our membership card – both Kathy and I called to see if they would accept some other form of proof of membership, but they were adamant (and rather rude) in their refusal. I guess some museum curators don’t want anyone to actually use their museum, or perhaps they are a little over-vigilant in wanting to make money.

David was particularly excited about taking the train home. All the kids have been pestering me for an opportunity to ride on the train – my glowing reports of the joys of the Sounder commuter train have tantalized them for months. Not wanting to get up as early as commuters (the poor wretches), we took a bus in to Seattle, then another bus (through the bus tunnel) as far as Westlake.

David kept us apprised of any Herbies that we passed.

We walked the rest of the way (about 15 blocks or so) to the Seattle Center. This proved to be a mistake – I should probably have taken a transfer and ridden the bus all the way through town. It was further than I had anticipated and several of the kids were tired by the time we arrived.

Dancing and music and a picnic lunch

We ate our lunch inside the Seattle Center listening to some live music and watching some elderly couples dancing. There were perhaps eight to twelve couples with the average age well over 70. It was somehow very poignant to listen to the strains of Danny Boy and watch these brave souls step (or in some cases, shuffle) around the floor. Not an accomplished ballroom dancer myself, I was vaguely encouraged to see that some of them had still not learned to dance very well even after a lifetime of opportunity, while others moved with a grace that belied their years. I sat and imagined that some of them had probably been married more than sixty years, and wondered what Kathy and I will be doing when I am 86 and she is a young thing of 81. They danced for more than two hours (just finishing up when we came out of the Children’s Museum) which I thought was pretty impressive in terms of mere stamina.

Joshua embarks on a brief career in broadcasting.

The kids enjoyed the Children’s Museum, although I thought it was not as nice as the one in Olympia. Many of the exhibits were damaged or dirty and a number of the moving parts were out of order. I suppose they get a much higher volume of visitor traffic at the Seattle Center than in the comparatively-sleepy Capitol district of Olympia. David provided some brief excitement by opening one of the alarmed exit doors, thinking it lead to another part of the exhibit. By apologizing abjectly, we managed to avoid a tongue-lashing, although David frowned for some time afterward, as he often does when embarrassed.

A bunch of blue-tongued skinks

After finishing our tour of the Children’s Museum, we stopped at the food court for Icee drinks, universally choosing Blue Raspberry over boring old Cherry. Although we were tempted to ride the Ferris Wheel (in honor of the recent home-school reading of the story describing Mr. Ferris’ first attempt) I felt that David and Sarah might not enjoy the ride. We settled on a conventional Merry-Go-Round which was well-appreciated by everyone, even me.

This might have been David & Sarah's first merry-go-round ride.

We rode the monorail back to Westlake, which was a vast improvement over walking, and caught the bus back to the train station without mishap. Discovering that we were almost an hour early, I took the kids on a quick run through the Uwajimaya shopping center (an oriental grocery store and food court near my work) and introduced them to a favorite lunch choice (Pahd Thai with Orange Chicken). I had an entertaining few minutes trying to buy train tickets for the three oldest kids – the ticket machines wouldn’t accept my credit card and some of my dollar bills were very wrinkled. As the train pulled into the station, the kids started to panic, not realizing that the train would be sitting there for another fifteen minutes or so. Fortunately, I had enough quarters to buy the last ticket, and we boarded with relief.

The monorail beats walking, any day of the week.

We devoured the Pahd Thai Chicken (if it hadn’t been for Daniel’s solicitous care, I wouldn’t have received any) and experienced only one mishap with an exploding Sprite. The other passengers looked on in hunger and envy, so I made the kids put the few remaining noodles away.

We certainly would not have been welcome in the Quiet Car.

David seemed a little let down by the train – I think he expected to sit up front in the engine and to pull the steam whistle, wearing an engineer’s cap. He is an interesting little fellow – I could see his face twisting and frowning as he looked out the window, struggling with disappointment. He is usually very careful not to say anything that could be construed as ungrateful, having learned from his older siblings’ negative example. I come down pretty hard on anyone who vocalizes an ungrateful spirit, recently having taken a piece of cake away from Daniel at a family party for this very reason. I’m proud to say that he took after his Mama and spoke only cheerful things – he is a good boy, and well do I love him.

We eventually arrived in Tacoma, found our car and headed home. It was a full day of treats – the kids must have thanked me at least five times each on the way home. Kathy spent a good part of the day with her dear friend Julee, so I think I can say that a good time was had by all.

There is a strange but happy side-effect from these field trip days. While I love my children dearly, I am finding that the more time I spend with them on outings such as these, the more I want to be with them again, and the warmer my heart feels toward the little rascals. You might think that it would be a chore to spend the day with five little children, but I find it to be very fulfilling.

Being cooped up in the house with a bunch of bickering kids is no picnic, but spending comparable time out of the house on a field trip seems to introduce a very different dynamic, which is a delightful surprise. It probably doesn’t hurt that I ply them with treats and take them on adventures.

Ordinary Faith

On Monday we celebrated ‘Field Trip Day’ again, only this time a little differently. I forgot my camera, and for that reason I must make do with recycled pictures from other days.

Rachel spent part of the weekend out at the Duckabush with her friend Leanne and my Mom. On Saturday evening, before she came home, Rachel called and asked if Leanne might be allowed to come to our house for the remainder of the weekend. Knowing that it would fall to me to make the three-hour round-trip drive to return Leanne to her home, I eventually (and rather reluctantly) agreed.

David really enjoys his gymnastics class, offered at the local YMCA on Tuesday and Thursdays.

Last week in our Sunday school class we were talking about modeling servant-hood to our children, and I was convicted about the way that I talk about service in front of my children. Many times when I serve others it is after considerable persuasion and with little graciousness on my part – I identify closely with the son who said he wouldn’t go work for his father (and later did), in the parable Jesus taught. Our class discussed the use of a phrase like “I would love to do that for you!” or something similar. It is interesting to note that such language frees the served person from obligation to reciprocate and sends a clear message that this service is done as unto the Lord. In turn, this allows the served person to choose to reciprocate, which can rebound to additional blessing for them. Service is a choice, and there should be no question of hypocrisy – it just takes a moment to make up your mind that you will do it before you speak, so that you have time to decide to be glad about it.

Knowing that I would be seeing Leanne’s Dad (the director of Wilderness Northwest), I was determined to make some progress on the DVD of Summer Camp 2004 for that organization. I stayed up until 4 am burning a demo DVD for Jody’s review, and so we got a later start on our Field Trip than we usually do. My children had never been bowling before; I decided to take them bowling at Timber Lanes, conveniently located in Shelton, about half-way between Lakewood and the Duckabush.

Kathy packed us a lunch and shooed us out the door very patiently and graciously, considering we didn’t leave until noon. We swung by the bank to pay our monthly rent and ate lunch at a cool playground area adjacent to the bowling alley. Of course it began to rain just as we got there, but the kids were unfazed, shouting happily about the storm and the likelihood of pirates as they clambered about the play structure merrily.

We spent almost two hours bowling a single game, with Rachel, Daniel and David bowling against Joshua, Leanne and myself. They beat us handily with more than a 100-point margin – Joshua maintains that the bumper gates in the gutters gave them a considerable advantage, but I’m not so sure. David got several strikes and spares, routinely getting three and sometimes even four chances to knock down each set of pins. The machine had trouble registering his bowling ball, which crawled along at the speed of a lively glacier. Sarah ‘helped’ me and shouted with excitement every time my ball came up out of the ball return – “There’s my ball!” Sadly, she had to learn not to grab at the bowling balls as they came up out of the return the hard way, and spent several tearful minutes sucking her fingers on the bench. I was surprised at this, because Sarah is usually very cautious and listens closely when warned that something is dangerous. The proprietor of the bowling alley personally came down to our lane and gave all the kids a lecture about the hazards of the ball return machine. I guess I should have played it up a little more – sometimes I feign an injury (especially with something hot) while she is watching to give her a sense of healthy respect. We had the establishment almost entirely to ourselves, and it wasn’t too terribly smoky, about which I had been worried. A good time was had by all.

Although Sarah technically is too young to join 'Nastics, sometimes Kathy sneaks her in.

Eventually we tore ourselves away from the game, with many a regretful glance back toward the video arcade. I had bought each of the children a small pop at the bowling alley, which was a big hit, especially because we had not packed enough drinks for lunch.

We arrived at the Duckabush around 4 pm, and spent an entertaining 20 minutes watching video clips from the Camp DVD with Jody. Unfortunately, he had to take Leanne somewhere, and so we were soon left at our own devices. We swung by our old house (everyone needed to go to the bathroom) and decided to watch a movie, just for old time’s sake.

I called Kathy and asked her if she missed us – there was a long pause, and then she said, “Well, no.” The honesty somehow made me glad, although she called back about a half-hour later and said, “Now I miss you.” Of course, it is safe to miss us when we are 90 minutes away, heh heh. We ate a nutritious dinner of Hot Cocoa and Macaroni & Cheese, finished the movie and cleaned up – it felt good to be at the old homestead, even furnished with unfamiliar furniture and decorations.

Knowing that we couldn’t leave the valley without stopping in at the Bringhams, we dropped by “just for a few minutes”. I hadn’t reckoned with Tom’s crafty conversational wiles, though; we stayed for almost an hour, engaged in interesting discussion. We arrived at home around 9:30 pm, tired and happy, except for Daniel, who was tired but not particularly happy.

During the ride home, Daniel had slumped down across his seat and fallen asleep on the bench directly behind Joshua, who was sitting up front beside me in the passenger seat. Somewhere around Olympia, Joshua became weary and decided to put his seat back into the reclining position. Imagine Daniel’s surprise and dismay to wake up with his head trapped in smothering darkness, pinned to the seat. Wrenching his head free, he scraped the side of his face, and cried for some little while. As a claustrophobe myself, I can’t say I would relish (or even mustard) waking up in that situation.

One place where Daniel really shines is in Homeschooling PE.

Wednesday evening I had a bit of an adventure – I heard on the news that the Sounder trains were cancelled due to some kind of labor relations problem with rail workers nationwide. I tried to get a bus schedule from Sound Transit’s website, but it was down, of course, due to the unusually large number of people probably doing the same thing. I was worried about the estimated 3000 extra commuters that would be piling onto the already-crowded buses – how could I manage to get a place on the bus? I envisioned hours of waiting at some bus stop, watching bus after bus pass by, each packed to the gills with irritable commuters. Not my idea of a fun way to spend a Wednesday evening.

I called Kathy to let her know that I wouldn’t be home any time soon, and she offered to call her good friend Julee to see if I could meet her husband somewhere in Seattle & carpool. Instead of being at his office in Seattle (where he was supposed to be) Colin answered the phone at his home in Lakewood (must have been working from home that day) and without missing a beat, responded, “Of course I’d be glad to pick Tim up!” He is a silly man, which is a big part of why we like him. I was tempted to call his bluff and ask him to drive the hour up to Seattle to fetch me home -- but a clever person like that will always have a quick rejoinder. “Oh, I’d love to, but my sick grandmother just called, and needs me to take her to the hospital,” or something like that.

Joshua would have come to pick me up, if he wasn't too busy in his new role as environmental activist.

Eventually I found the bus route map I needed and hatched a clever plan to walk upstream from the usual bus stop to catch the bus before it filled with disenfranchised rail passengers. As I cut across the plaza near the train station, I caught sight of two police officers lounging against a fence. On a whim, I asked them if they’d heard any news about the trains, and they told me that Sound Transit had managed to get one train running. They didn’t seem very confident or knowledgeable, but I decided to nip across the street and glance down into the station to see if there was a train waiting – sure enough, there it was!

I dashed down the steps, nearly trampling a TV cameraman in the middle of an interview with the station master, and boarded the train with a full minute to spare before it departed. The Sounder was nearly empty – everyone else must have believed the news and taken the buses.

I think that spiritual life is like that many times – we get ourselves all worked up fearing or dreading some adverse situation, only to discover that our fear and dreading was unnecessary and that God had already made a way for us to have joy. I’ve continued to read Hind’s Feet on High Places to the older children at night, and a recent chapter described just this sort of thing. Little Much-Afraid is faced with a fearsome climb of the Precipice Injury, and nearly turns back out of dread. But when she actually climbs the mountain, she finds it is bearable and not nearly what she expected. The scriptures teach that without faith it is impossible to please God – when we give ourselves over to fear and dread about the future, we are not exercising any kind of faith. Strange – I always thought I had faith. Maybe I never had the ‘tell this mountain to go throw itself into the sea’ kind (Matt 17:20), but a respectable amount of the ordinary ‘we badgers, we hold on’ (C.S. Lewis, Prince Caspian) kind of faith. These last two years have shown me how deficient I am. I think that a lot of my so-called 'faith' in God was really faith in myself -- it just wasn't revealed until I was tested. I think that true faith is, by definition, extraordinary. And yet there is honor and faith in quiet, steady holding on to the truth of who God is.

And then there is 'misplaced faith', demonstrated by these children who thought they would live to reach the bottom of the stairs.

And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. -- Hebrews 11:6

Man Eaten By Tree

We have been plagued with good weather lately, day after day of warm sunshine and clear blue skies. Ordinarily, we get a break on the weekends, when clouds and rain close in so that all the office workers can stay home and do their taxes. But this last weekend remained sunny and we were eventually forced to do something about it.

We celebrated David’s birthday on Saturday, complete with a train cake and grandparents. A friend from the Hood Canal area was visiting and stayed to snap pictures and help me play remote-control car tag on the basketball court with the kids. On Sunday we went to church and hosted a Bible study in the evening – it was a full weekend.

Playing tag with these two remote-controlled cars kept us occupied for more than two hours, I'm embarrassed to admit.

I had wanted to visit Mt. Rainier for our next field trip, and a little research suggested that a number of the hiking trails were open, although travel to the Paradise area (5400’ elevation) was restricted to those with snow chains. This has apparently been a year of minimal snowfall on Rainier, such that the sledding areas are closed due to insufficient accumulation (they require a full 60” of snow cover to protect the vegetation). I ran my suggestion past the Field Trip Quality Council and it was tentatively approved. Though technically a volcano, Rainier has been dormant in recorded history. After what seemed an eternity of searching the garage for boots and snow pants Monday morning, we all piled into the van and headed southeast.

Since we have moved into the suburbs, Rachel has honed her already-sharp eye for Volkswagon bugs and beetles. She recently set the record (21) of ‘Herbie sightings’ in a single day. We decided to try (as a team) to beat her record, and eventually we did, scoring a total of 35 Herbies in the course of the day. Each time we would see one, we would break into a loud and raucous chorus, sung to no particular tune:

Oh, we now have seen [insert proper number here] Herbies,
We now have seen [same number] Herbies,
Oh we now have seen,
We now have seen,
We now have seen [same number, repeated for emphasis] Herbies!

To while away the time between sightings, I would sing variations on the “I wish I could find that big mountain” theme while Rachel accompanied me with “but I’m too proud to ask for directions”. Eventually David asked us to stop, so we limited ourselves to one chorus per Herbie sighting – it was a great hardship.

Fortunately, Kathy can actually make a cake that is recognizable, so we didn't repeat the Winnie-the-Pooh cake debacle of 1996. Notice the 'Herbie' caboose -- we call that literary foreshadowing.

Competition was pretty fierce to be the first one to see a Herbie – Rachel had a very hard time subsuming her individual accomplishment into the team sightings (and kept a separate running total of how many she had seen, apart from how many we all had seen). I demonstrated my maturity by teasing her unmercifully about this. I’m not sure she ever did understand why it was so funny – I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

We finally arrived at the Park Entrance, although I did stop a few times along the way for pictures of the mountain. This was done in tribute to my father’s long-standing tradition in which he would stop for every possible photo opportunity involving Mt. Rainier. As a child, I spent long minutes sitting in the car waiting for him to capture such photographic masterpieces as:

• Mt. Rainier looming over garbage cans
• Mt. Rainier looming over a field with cows
• Mt. Rainier looming over a field without cows
• Mt. Rainier looming over a few rusty cars
• Mt. Rainier looming amidst a large bunch of clouds

I might as well just start out with a gratuitous shot of The Mountain.

I estimate Dad has as many as a thousand pictures of Mt. Rainier and its environs – we used to tease him that he worshipped the Mountain, a charge he denied fiercely, but which did not deter him from stopping for yet another picture of Mt. Rainier looming over wild flowers.

We bought an annual pass to the park, confirming my optimistic intention of visiting at least twice more, and we drove on to our first objective – a restroom. Daniel continues to lead the family in his need for frequent rest stops; I had foolishly given him a Capri Sun about 40 minutes before we got to the park. We stopped at the campground at Sunshine Point, and enjoyed a half-hour of clambering over sun-baked rocks and volcanic sand along the banks of the Nisqually River. David really liked playing at the river, and later asked at least five times to go back there, in spite of the fact that he fell (or was he pushed?) in the river within the first minute of our visit. It was a little nerve-wracking for me to watch Sarah make her uncertain way over the rocks. I kept expecting an injury with expensive dental repercussions, but we were mercifully spared such a mishap.

Only David could look this cheerful after a dunking in the Nisqually.

We ate lunch at the Kautz Creek picnic area, enjoying the sunshine and spectacular view of the mountain, and throwing snowballs at one another. Although the bridge was out about 1.2 miles up the trail, I thought it might be nice to walk at least that far, remembering this trail from my own childhood. Surprisingly, the hike was mostly in shadow, a new-growth forest having mysteriously sprung up in the last thirty years or so. Joshua seemed very amused by my indignation over the ‘sudden’ growth of the forest and the fact that I considered 30 years a ‘short’ period of time – it made me feel like quite the geezer.

I rounded up the usual suspects, but we never did find out whether David fell or was pushed.

The kids enjoyed a running snowball fight throughout the hike, and we all had fun hiding in a big hollow tree, some more than others. The trail ended abruptly at a sharp drop-off where the bridge used to be, and we weren’t able to get down into the creek bed, which was disappointing (some of us would have welcomed another chance to fall in). I had neglected to place a mandate on jackets or sweatshirts, and we were all glad to get back to the sunny parking lot – it was pretty cool in the snowy forest. David and Sarah were tough little troopers, walking nearly the entire 2.4 miles roundtrip – I was very proud of them both. David could not resist picking up snow along the path, and so I took on the additional duties of Chief Hand Warmer.

It was a little snug, but I was fine, until I remembered Old Man Willow from Tolkien's The Fellowship of the Ring

We drove up to Longmire and explored the Inn and General Store there, buying a few obligatory postcards. We hiked the short ‘Walk of the Shadows’ loop around the Longmire meadow, and then played some more in the snow around the Inn. It was coming up on nap-time for the little ones, and so I decreed that we would head for home, keeping a sharp eye out for Herbies all the way. Everyone (except Joshua and probably me) dozed until we stopped off near home for ice cream cones at McDonald’s Playland – we sat around the table there and I told the kids how much I had enjoyed the day with them. They all agreed I was a wonderful Dad, so I gave them each their ice-cream cone. You can’t be too careful when fishing for compliments, I’ve found. I let them all play a little while, and then we went home.

Not even Washington, crossing the Delaware, looked this heroic.

It was a glorious day – we all were a little sunburned, and I managed to snap a number of pictures of the mountain that would make my Dad proud. Kathy got some well-needed respite from being a 24x7 parent and home-school teacher, and the kids got a chance to play in the snow. For some reason it is (so far, anyway) easier for me to set this field trip day aside than it is for me to set aside five distinct one-hour blocks on separate days – maybe the expectations aren’t quite as intense, or perhaps there is some other explanation. Whatever the reason, I finished the long weekend charged-up and ready to face my work-week again.

The Geneva Convention was thrown to the wind, as were caution and a few snowballs.

Kathy and I are really enjoying the Parenting class at our church, taught during the Sunday School hour by a couple with eight children. I think a lot of people are cheating themselves out of most of the joy of parenting – like anything else, it seems to be just a matter of applying a little effort to get the most out of it. We’re watching carefully to see how those with teenagers manage – I think we might be in for some wild and wooly times ahead.

A few weeks ago the leaders of the Parenting class had to be out of town and asked Kathy and I to teach. It was surprising to me how much I enjoyed the chance to teach and what a difference it made in my spiritual walk, to have the opportunity to exercise my spiritual gift. I think the lack of teaching opportunities is one of the things I've missed most – except for a brief visit to Michigan, I haven’t taught Sunday School in almost two years.

As it turned out, the leaders’ retreat was cancelled, but they let me teach anyway, which was very gracious but a little scary, since David and Kelly were there and could see it first-hand if I messed up. A number of our kids were sick, so Kathy stayed home while I taught the class, then we swapped and she went to church while I stayed home. Fortunately, she collaborated with me in advance, which turned out to be a big help.

Even the rocks Sarah throws are dainty.

One of the things we talked about this last week had to do with how we define success, and how we communicate those definitions to our children. I felt rather convicted that I have heavily bought into worldly measures of success, including power, prestige and (perhaps most of all) money. I was reminded that at the end of my life, it will matter a lot more what kind of a husband or Dad I was than what was printed on my business card (or if I even had one). At work we’re in the midst of Performance Review season, and my focus has been on finding ways to measure my strengths and weaknesses. I wonder what my review would look like, if I faced an annual review as Dad:

Please rate the employee according to the following criteria, using the following scale:

1. Strongly Agree


2. Agree


3. Disagree


4. Strongly Disagree


5. Not Enough Information

• Keeps his promises
• Is fun to be around
• Teaches the scripture
• Lives out what he teaches
• Tells the truth
• Works hard
• Pursues justice
• Acts with gentleness and compassion
• Forgives and doesn’t hold grudges
• Is generous
• Shows kindness
• Demonstrates patience
• Exercises self-control
• Loves others
• Provides for his family
• Disciplines his children
• Lives with his wife considerately
• Treats others as more important than himself

David and Sarah were very sweet to each other throughout the day.

Ultimately we will all face the King of Kings, receiving from His hand our eternal reward based on just such a review, only much more comprehensive, as our works are tested by fire. These kind of reflections encourage me take a deep breath and square my shoulders – I have some work to do on a few of those, I’m afraid.

Toothless in Tacoma

Children are strange creatures. It doesn’t seem that long since I was a child (indeed, some would say I still act rather childishly) yet I am constantly surprised by my kids. Last week Joshua and I were trying to decide what to do for his Special Day – he is so much less competitive than I was at his age. Rather than be defeated, he would prefer not to play – at his age I would have played at least until I could win consistently. He won’t play any game against me these days – we come from such different philosophies. In my thinking, the only shame is not being willing to try – there is no humiliation in losing a game. Then again, I don’t lose very often, so I can afford to be glib.

Joshua often enjoys a seat by the fire.

I’ve been reading Bible-related animal stories to the kids at night during ‘Chapter Time’ – fictional stories about animals reacting to various human events loosely associated with scriptural stories. After we prayed, I sent each child to bed, calling them by a silly nickname. Names are such powerful things – each child waited until I called them by their nickname and ran off delightedly telling the others what I had called them. “Off to bed, Faithful!” I said to Rachel, making a pun on the lavender-colored hooded sweatshirt that she wears 24x7 until we have begun calling it ‘Old Faithful’. “Get into your bunk, ‘Toothless in Tacoma’!” I said to Daniel, teasing him about the recent removal of his two lower front teeth. Even Sarah wanted to be called something, so I dubbed her “Muffin Toes” which all agreed was appropriate. “Brown Eyes” (David) and “Special Boy” (Joshua, in honor of Thursday being his Special Day) ran off to bed well-satisfied.

Two roses -- both still blooming at Christmas

I really like being a Dad, which is a good thing, considering how much time it requires. It will be a strange thing to have these rascals grow up and move out – assuming they ever do.

Special Days

Now that we are mostly moved-in to the rental house in Lakewood, and Kathy has returned from her two-week trip to Michigan, there is a sense of settling in as we hammer out our daily routines and begin to establish patterns of living in this new place.

In the past, I have intermittently observed ‘Special Days’ with my children. Special Days™ entail an hour (or ninety minutes) of focused time spent on just one of the children, each day. The weekly schedule somehow worked itself out to be:

• Joshua -> Thursday
• Rachel -> Monday
• Daniel -> Wednesday
• David -> Tuesday
• Sarah -> Friday

Sometimes Special Days get a little rough.

Truth be told, Sarah never really got her ‘Special Day®’ – I had mostly discontinued this regular practice by the time she was old enough to be aware of the privilege. Isn’t it tidy, though, that we now have five children – Monday through Friday is filled. When David was born, and his siblings asked, mercilessly, when he would get a Special Day©, the party line was: “When he can say 'Special Day™', he can have one.” Of course, that led to the children coaching a 3-month-old David, helpfully: “Say Special Day®, David, say Special Day©.”

The kids used to wait on the fence for me in 1999 when we lived in Kirkland. How time flies!

The kids really looked forward to their Day – I found it a good opportunity to catch up on what they were thinking and to ‘connect’ on an individual level. The practice started when I was working for AT&T Wireless and we lived in Kirkland – I began to bring one child (at that time we had only three) to McDonalds on a weekday morning. We would eat breakfast together and I would watch as they clambered around on the play structure – it was surprisingly fun for them to peek and call out to me from various vantage points. The key seemed to have me engage in their play, rather than (as I sometimes tried) sitting and reading my book while they played. Later (as my work-from-home privileges were extended and I had some flexibility in my work day) we began to diversify – I would take one child ‘exploring’ in a nearby park during lunch time, or I would go on a bike ride with another child. Sometimes we would go to Denny’s, or have a picnic lunch in the yard, play a board game, or just muck about with toy soldiers and blocks on the floor.

One favorite activity was to line up a bunch of soldiers and take turns shooting marbles at each other’s army, eliminating soldiers as they were struck. I don’t know why that was so fun – perhaps the ‘realistic’ dying sounds and rolling around on the floor added to the charm of this simple game. This might be a little bloodthirsty for some, but our kids like it and I'm particularly skilled at "Arrrrghhhh!" sounds.

This little girl can say "Arrrrghhhh!" with the best of them.

The smaller children prefer to simply sit down and read through a stack of 15 or 20 books. I used to keep a journal about the time we spent, which Kathy would read with no small amusement and the occasional snide remark about the way I always record the weather.

I saw a number of benefits from this practice. First, Kathy and I noticed a distinct improvement in the children’s behavior, particularly Rachel and Daniel. Similarly, we saw a definite decrease in emotional outbursts when ‘Special Days’ were regularly enjoyed. I felt more in-touch with my children, and more confident in my discipline. I had more opportunities to teach the kids about God, and a chance to seriously and patiently answer some of their many questions. I think that Kathy felt loved and proud of my involvement with the kids.

But it takes a lot of time and energy, especially now that there are so many of the little blighters, I mean, darlings. Even while I was unemployed, I found that I was only able to celebrate ‘Special Days’ with the kids on a sporadic basis. Each week, the expectations seemed to be higher and higher and the pressure to find a ‘really fun’ activity became almost paralyzing.

This picture doesn't really have anything to do with this blog, but since I didn't write about Halloween, it will have to be stuck in here. Daniel received a lot of positive comments about his costume.

Perhaps now, more than ever, it is important that I spend some individual time with each child, so that they will feel valued and loved ‘apart from the crowd’.
I’ve taken the kids out to breakfast at McDonalds once or twice since we’ve moved to Lakewood and everyone found that to be a fun outing. Celebrating their special days by eating out five times a week seems a prohibitive expense, and hacking an hour out of each busy workday seems nearly impossible.

And yet … Special Days seem to be very important to the kids. When I get home in the evening, I am usually hungry and tired, and don’t particularly feel like Super Fun Daddy. Our evenings are rarely well-scheduled, and mealtimes are sometimes irregular. How can I carve out the time, privacy, money and energy necessary to make this time well-spent?

When I was nine or ten, our family planned a week-long ski vacation in Switzerland. My folks pulled us out of school, and we set out southward in our little VW square-back wagon from our home in Wiesloch, Germany. About an hour or so into the journey, Dad was cruising along in the left lane of the Autobahn at around 90 mph, when the engine suddenly shut off. Expertly changing lanes as traffic whizzed around us, Dad nipped into an opportune rest area and the car coasted to a halt beside one of those emergency roadside phones. Ultimately, we rode to town perched high on the bed of a tow truck. My little sister, Posie, thought it was great fun, and looked down on the traffic below with regal pity and considerable glee. We were back at our home before dark, very disappointed with the sudden end to our vacation.

In a moment of brilliance or deep wisdom, my parents decided to pretend that we were still on vacation. Dad was on leave, we were excused from school, other social and ministry engagements were cancelled. They reasoned that no one would be the wiser, and we could enjoy some family time at home. We kept the window-shades down in the house, and (with our car in the shop) no one knew we were home.

This is one of the only family photos in which I am not scowling, so I include it for historical reference.

The weather was cold and rainy, so we just stayed inside and played board games for much of the time. We popped popcorn and ate a lot of breakfast foods; meals were not according to any particular schedule and were often self-serve affairs, ‘whatever you can find’. Dad astounded us all with his famous technique of ‘stirring sandwiches’ and general ineptitude in the kitchen.

It was during this week that the Great Rubber Band Fight was born, and we spent hours planning strategies to dislodge my Dad from his fortress and to capture Big Red, the coveted WMD of rubber bands. We learned that Mom, although a noncombatant, was hardly nonpartisan, and would smuggle aid to the enemy at the first opportunity. Posie honed her Kung Fu techniques, and amused us at every opportunity with fierce attacks on her hulking brothers. It is also during this time that I remember my parents first drawing out the plans for the retreat center they hoped some day to open, a project that is even now under way.

It was Thursday before anyone discovered we were home – maybe we left one of the blinds open, or perhaps one of us incautiously answered the phone, but the jig was up, and my parents were swept back into the rush of their usual commitments. In the meantime, we had one of the best vacations ever.

Sadly, there were no pictures taken that vacation. But here's my brother showing a little leg, anyway.

Those are the kind of memories I want my children to have. (Not memories of my brother's hairy leg -- memories of fun family vacations. You understand the need to clarify.) That is why ‘Special Days’ are so important – they communicate to each child on a regular, scheduled basis that they are precious and valued. Kathy has bought many activity books for me and often has ideas – there is no real excuse on that front. So it just comes down to this question: where are my priorities? Would I rather play Age of Empires by myself than spend that time with my kids? In theory, the answer is a resounding “No!”. But some questions are rhetorical – it can be best not to answer them, or not to look too closely at the answers.

And so I began with Daniel, since it was Wednesday. He and I gathered up the Stratego game and closeted ourselves upstairs with a small table and our game. I taught him some of the key strategies I learned from my uncle Steve and carefully let him win (a surprisingly difficult and painful thing for one as competitive as I). We talked about the game and nothing of consequence, but I think he enjoyed it. He (having been coached in advance) carefully thanked me when we were done, rather than complaining that it was ‘too short’ or ‘not fun enough’ as has been his habit in the past.

Naturally, with such a strong beginning, I missed the next two special days. We dined with my sister and her family on both of the successive evenings, and the time slipped away without celebrating Joshua or Sarah’s special days. Over the weekend, I made up Joshua’s (we spent an hour playing a computer game together) but Sarah remains short-changed. So far no one has pointed out this slight to Sarah, but I’m sure one of the children will quickly correct that oversight.

Would you buy a used car from this girl?

When we were talking about Special Days at supper on Wednesday, and she was informed that she would get one, her little face lit up: “I get a Special Day?” she shouted, raising her little eyebrows in a comical manner. She doesn’t know what it is, but if the rest of the kids get one, by golly she wants one. Tonight I will try not to forget Rachel’s day – I don’t want to unnecessarily fuel the competition between her and Daniel.

It can be difficult sometimes. I don’t know about you, but I find that “Chutes and Ladders” does not provide sufficient intellectual stimulation to be truly enjoyable for me. Lying down on the floor and driving trucks around on the rug can lose its charm after only a few minutes, for many of us. But I have found that if I focus on the son or daughter rather than on the activity, it rivets my attention. Every now and then a window opens and you get a glimpse of the heart of your child – it can be a breathtaking view.

I have to be really careful to take my ‘parent’ hat off during Special Days. In my passion for encouraging righteousness, I constantly struggle with my tendency to judge, correct or rebuke my children on a 24x7 basis. While setting a standard and holding your children to that standard is a large part of parenting, Special Days seem to operate outside the scope of that parental function. It seems to be a matter of trust and relationship building – often during such times my children confide in me their doubts and dreams, victories and sins. Taking a harsh, corrective stance at this point can quench that trust more quickly than you can imagine. When a child opens their heart to you, it is like being invited into a precious garden. You can walk carefully on tip-toes, admiring each blossom, or you can stomp in with hobnailed boots, ripping out any plant that might be a weed. When I choose the latter, it is often a long time before I am again invited in. It is hard to remember this.

The other day Kathy was listening to a homeschooling tape about Filling Your Child’s Love Bucket and the speaker shared that her husband celebrates “Special Days” with his children. Kathy was vaguely affronted that someone else had ‘stolen’ our family given name, but I must say that I wish all Dads would steal it. We live in a society where the broken family has become the norm, and many children are growing up with little or no relationship with one or both of their parents, even where their parents remain together. It is such a little thing, only an hour a week, but it seems to make a huge impact on the heart of a child.

Our couch was too heavy to move out of the garage, so there it stays.

[Editor's Note: Since this blog entry was written, I have enjoyed considerable success. I played Battleship with Rachel, read books over rootbeer floats with David, played Tri-ominoes with Daniel, taught Joshua to play an Avalon-Hill game, and read books with Sarah. So far this week I took Rachel to Baskin Robbins (Kathy nearly threw a temper-tantrum over the unfairness of it all) and played Legos and Crossfire with David. Perhaps because of the sporadic nature of past Special Days, David hasn't realized I intend to make this a weekly event. Each time his Day is over, he asks for another, and I magnanimously grant him another day on the following Tuesday. He runs off and tells Kathy, excitedly, "I get another Special Day on Tuesday! It warms my heart. ]

This boy would take all his Special Days in a tractor, if we had one. In Michigan, he stuck like glue to Kathy's Dad, and called me "Grandad" for a week after they got back. High praise, indeed.

[Special Day™®© is neither a registered trademark or copyrighted in any way, shape or form. I just like playing with the HTML codes for those symbols.]

Sticky Fingers at 35,000 Feet

With combined frequent-flier miles (some graciously donated by my folks) the five children and I were able to fly to Detroit this month to join my family in celebrating my brother's wedding. It is not an trivial matter, flying with five children, as you can well imagine. The three boys and I went to Texas in August and had not one, but two layovers. It was an extremely long flying experience (both ways) especially for such a short visit (less than a week). It did, however, result in many miles accrued for our frequent-flier memberships. It also made me very confident about dealing with a 'short' trip to Michigan of only 4.5 hours. Really, how bad could it be? We have this spiffy portable DVD player which makes flying much more entertaining. I traveled with Tim's old laptop so I could watch movies or write if I desired. I even had Tim load a movie on to his MP3 player. I was set.

Don't they look sweet? What adorable children!

This time Tim was able to get a gate pass and accompany us to our departure gate. I guess I looked a bit overwhelmed with five squirmy, active children. They were probably so glad someone was willing to claim us and help us so they didn't have to feel responsible. I loaded all the kids up on Dramamine before we boarded. The four older children swallowed it fine but Sarah decided to chew it. We'd learned on our last flight that it was NOT a chewable medicine (tastes awful). The other kids were all yelling at Sarah to drink her juice, take a bite of a cracker, something. It was funny. She just scrunched up her nose and kept chewing. She made a face, finished the pill and then calmly drank her juice. She's obviously tougher than the rest of us.

As always, I dressed the children in matching red shirts, so they could be easily found if they were somehow separated from us. For some reason, Tim didn't wear a red shirt as he accompanied us to the gate -- can't imagine that he would have wanted to distance himself from us or anything.

... and now for the un-posed picture showing the fighting & arguing ...
We were in the BACK of the plane (row 44) so we took advantage of their early boarding time -- I figured they wouldn't hassle me as they board those back rows first plus I'm sure I looked just a wee bit stressed handling back packs and lap top bags and assorted baby blankets. Thankfully we can't really see ourselves during those moments. "Hold on to your sister's hand. Don't drop that bag! Wait, wait, not yet. Okay, keep walking. Don't stop, there are people behind us." The only thing more awkward is trying to hold a baby at the end of the walk way while closing up the stroller. I think one time I actually handed one of the children to a complete stranger while I found the clasp on the stroller. Ah, the things we are driven to in times of stress. On this night the last thing I saw was Tim waving to us sweetly as he watched us board the plane. For some reason it was very touching to see him standing there loving us.


"Round up the usual suspects"

Joshua and Daniel fell asleep almost immediately. Rachel settled down to look out her window but David and Sarah were full of energy. They enjoyed a lollipop which was a nice diversion but gave them sticky hands. Since I'm one of those awesome, plan-ahead moms (I wish) I had some cute apple-scented hand wipes in my bag (out and ready to use). I quickly disposed of the remains of their candy and wiped their hands down thoroughly. Sarah was cheerful but a bit wiggly. I finally pulled her across the aisle to sit with me and Daniel. She was fine there. David, however, began to lose his ability to stay quiet and calm. It turns out my careful wiping of his hands had left a nasty residue on his comfort, sucking fingers. This was a BAD mistake as he proceeded to let everyone in our area know how upset he was. We were in the middle of taking off so I couldn't take him to the bathroom to rinse his fingers. I didn't have any water with me on hand so I was left to (very effectively) say things like, "Quiet now, David. Just a minute, honey, I'll help you. Okay, I hear you, we all hear you. It's okay." Finally I just threw caution to the wind and slipped across the aisle to sit with him. He settled down fairly quickly and went to sleep.


Joshua enjoys a well-earned respite

They all slept the rest of the entire flight. It was a nice, empty flight so we had lots of room. Daniel and Sarah had one triple section to themselves, David and Rachel another and Joshua and I the last. We could all stretch out. When we arrived Joshua sleepily said, "That was the best flight I've ever been on." Ha! He must have slept just fine. We didn't watch a single movie or read any of the books I packed. Well, better to be prepared then bored and screaming. I'm sure everyone around us would have agreed with that statement.


Daniel, the world-weary jet-setter

Of course, it was 3 in the morning WA time and David and Sarah were not so thrilled with being awakened. David cried and cried. I held Sarah but couldn't get through the aisle with the two back packs on my shoulders. David was weeping (fairly quietly at this point) in front of me. The older kids had long since walked ahead of me. Finally the nice college-aged man behind me offered to carry one of the bags so I could at least make some progress forward. David cried the entire length of the plane, on the walk way and up until the doors of the check-in gate. At some point Grandad picked him up and carried him. The next time I caught his eye, David smiled this innocent, content smile. Argh! It was wonderful that Mom and Dad were able to meet us at the gate and help with all of our carry-on's.

A successful voyage!

Whew. We'll see how the return flight goes. This blog (which was intended to be a short little paragraph) has grown quite lengthy. Hopefully the cute pictures make things bearable.

Breath of Life

“The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Genesis 2:7

Over the course of the past year or two I have had many occasions to remark on the graciousness of God and His many gifts to us. From time to time I have reminded myself that each breath is a gift from God and that without His grace I would not continue to exist. It is one thing to say or think, but quite another to experience.

With five children around the house, Kathy and I are no strangers to illness and injury. Sometimes it seems that every time we place the smaller kids in a church Nursery or expose them in any public venue, they come home sick. This Sunday, when four of the children woke up in varying degrees of sickliness, I stayed home and Kathy attended church with her friend Julee and family.

Our two-year-old, Sarah, has suffered with a cold for almost a week, and began the day with a squeaky voice and a croupy cough. Most parents will recognize the strange-sounding bark-like cough that is caused by inflammation of the throat passages near the vocal cords – it is a distinctive and worrisome noise.

We kept Sarah under observation throughout the day – she was cheerful and active and seemed to improve as the day progressed – we put her to bed around 8:45 pm, expecting to see her no sooner than 8 am the next morning.

In spite of Kathy’s repeated warnings and admonitions, I stayed up and played a computer game until midnight. She cleverly napped on the couch and was in bed by 10 pm – uncharacteristically early for such a night person as my beloved wife. About 12:30 (just as I had fallen asleep) Rachel woke us up, saying “There’s something wrong with Sarah.”

I found Sarah standing in her temporary crib, alternately crying and gasping for breath. I carried her to our room, where Kathy held her while I rooted around for our nebulizer and albuterol (medication administered in cool mist form to open up bronchial passages) that we have on-hand to treat David’s occasional wheeziness.

We gave her the albuterol and calmed her down enough to put her back to bed, each labored breath marked by a loud raspy wheeze. I pulled her crib into our room and we all went back to sleep. About 2:30 she woke up again, gasping for each breath as if she were drowning. By this time we were pretty worried. We didn’t dare treat her with the albuterol again – it wasn’t prescribed for her and it didn’t seem to help much anyway. Kathy told me to take Sarah outside for a few minutes while she ran the shower to create some steam. Then she held our toddler on her lap just outside the shower stall while I frantically searched the yellow pages for an urgent care or emergency room facility.

We moved to this new house in Lakewood only a week ago, and we didn’t know where any hospitals or urgent care places are. Although the local phone company had promised service by 5 pm on the previous Friday, they had failed to deliver on this promise, and we had no dial tone. I’m still pretty upset about that … phone companies ought to be required to maintain dial tone between tenants of rental houses and apartments so that people could at least dial 911 for emergency assistance.

Anyway, I ended up driving to the nearby 24-hour grocery store and asking one of the cashiers for the location of a nearby hospital. He gave me directions and I rushed home. Sarah was still not getting any better, and we felt it was time to get her some medical attention. I plopped her in her car seat and rushed off through the rain-covered streets, praying that the clerk’s directions were accurate.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably less than 12 minutes, I found the hospital and (after one wrong turn) parked in the emergency room lot. Sarah’s breathing had become more and more labored as we drove, and she began to choke and vomit as I tried to unbuckle her from the seat, no longer breathing at all. I threw her face-down over my arm and pounded her little back with my palm as I ran for the emergency room door.

The place was empty except for a receptionist, who rose halfway out of her chair as I rushed in, perhaps fearing for her own safety.

“She’s not breathing – I need help NOW!” I yelled.

Her look of alarm at my charging arrival changed to a focus of concern for Sarah. Her eyes narrowed in critical appraisal, and she said to me, “She IS getting some air.”

Sure enough, the vomiting and choking had stopped, and she was actually breathing, in a gasping sort of way. The receptionist led me quickly back to a cubicle and several nurses cleared Sarah’s airway and sat her up on a hospital bed. They gave her a shot of some kind of steroid that was intended to reduce the inflammation, and began with a breathing treatment of some kind. They attached a monitor to her toe that measures the saturation level of oxygen in her blood – the nurses seemed relieved to see that the percentages were in the high 90’s, perhaps indicating that she was getting the air that she needed, even if it was less than was comfortable.

She looked so tiny on that big hospital bed, surrounded by hospital technicians and medical machines. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, and her little lips were purple. I thought to myself, “This is one little girl that we CANNOT do without.”

Thanks be to God for preserving my daughter’s life! I shudder when I consider all the factors that could have conspired to delay my arrival at the emergency room, or the possibilities that could have prevented us from knowing about her plight in the first place.

After continuing with several breathing treatments, the emergency room doctor recommended that Sarah be transferred via ambulance to a children’s hospital in downtown Tacoma. They put in an IV, which was painful to watch, and difficult to explain to my little Muffin. By this time Sarah had developed a deep distrust of all medical persons, and would answer only a tearful “No!” to all questions posed by people in lab coats, no matter what they said. I rushed home to get a change of clothes for Sarah and to inform Kathy of Sarah’s condition and destination while they waited for medical transport – then I rode with Sarah to the children’s hospital in the back of the ambulance.

Ultimately we were transferred to a room upstairs in the hospital after another breathing treatment or two and a long wait in the emergency room of the children’s hospital. The expressed intention was to keep Sarah under observation overnight. Kathy had the dubious privilege of sitting at home beside a disconnected phone wondering what was going on with Sarah and how I would communicate.

Happily, she began to show substantial improvement later in the day and we were eventually released just before dinner. We managed (with no little difficulty) to persuade Sarah to imbibe her anti-inflammatory steroid (this time in capsule form, ground up in applesauce) and put her to bed. Kathy slept with her in one of the other bedrooms so that I could catch up with my rest and go to work the next day. In the morning, Kathy brought Sarah into our room and I spent ten or fifteen minutes just lying next to her, watching my little girl sleep. It is a tremendous privilege to be a parent, but it does not come without the occasional moment of terror.

Sarah is back to her normal self now, and will probably retain no recollection of this experience, but I think it is something I will remember for the rest of my days. I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose a child, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to find out.

Gravy

It was a bright and sunny day on Monday, already near 70 degrees by the time I boarded the ferry, with hazy blue skies and mountains on every horizon. The last time I checked the weather, they were saying this week would be partly cloudy and in the low-to-mid 70s; now they are predicting 90 degree temperatures.

Sunday was one of those picture postcard summer days, with sunshine pouring down like a golden waterfall. The kids spent almost the entire afternoon in the pool or playing with the sprinkler on the lawn. We bought a funny sprinkler that has twenty or thirty little nozzles on flexible tubes coming out from the main hose – when turned on, the nozzles flail about like a bunch of spitting snakes. Rachel appointed herself “Sprinkler Drill Sergeant” and amused herself (and the rest of us) by ordering the snakes about in an imperious voice. Leanne came over and they played outside for several hours.

At one point (Kathy and I had retreated inside by this time) they came up with the bright idea of using a hose to create a mud hole. Then they began wallowing around in it like hogs – I wish I had taken a picture. By all reports, they covered themselves from head to toe in mud; I made them all wash up thoroughly in the little pool before coming inside. The pool (which we had just cleaned and refilled) was brown with their residue.

A week or so ago we invented a variant of Dodgeball that can be played on our deck – this weekend we played it for quite a while. The rules are simple and it is a game that can be played by everyone on various levels. Joshua makes it a matter of pride to avoid being ‘it’ for as long as possible, and never moves from the position he thinks is most defensible. Daniel delights in the brinkmanship of taunting whoever is ‘it’ and runs from safe zone to safe zone whenever the ball is dropped or not immediately returned. Rachel combines these two strategies, while David (as a pseudo-combatant) runs freely around and is only occasionally struck by the ball (usually by accident). Sarah provides cover for the others and makes a big production out of hiding behind the deck box for safety.

This is a moment that may not last for very long, wherein the children are all of an age where they want to play with me. In just a few years, the older ones will have moved on to other interests, most likely. But for now, there is a window of opportunity in which we can all play together, and everything can become a game.

Somehow I got a hold of Joshua’s blow-dart gun, and a new game was born. Possession of the rubber-tipped blow-dart entitled the holder to the dart-gun itself, and the hunt would begin. The objective was to shoot an opponent with the dart without losing possession of the gun – all the kids joined in the mad scramble to retrieve the dart whenever it was fired, in hopes of becoming the new hunter. Sarah went around asking to be shot, and David shrieked with glee (and simulated fear) whenever anyone would brandish the blow-gun. It was a lot of fun, for some reason.

I guess I simply like being a Dad. I really enjoy being fun with these strange little people; it never stops to fill me with wonder that God has allowed Kathy and I to have a part in creating these precious lives. Sometimes I worry about my lack of ability in molding them into the kind of people that God wants them to be, but mostly I just revel in the fun of being a parent. I figure if I can teach them to love God, the rest is gravy.

We had scrambled eggs and toast and grapes and cantaloupe and root beer floats for dinner, watching one of the “Little House on the Prairie” episodes. After supper we wrestled for a while on the living room floor and then I sent them off to bed. I read them a chapter from the Bible (we’re back in Genesis again) and then a chapter of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. It was a very good day.

Absentee Dad

Now that I have become a full-time employee, it becomes imperative that I find a solution to this ‘commuting conundrum’ which plagues me.

While few would criticize my decision to accept employment in Seattle after 17 months without full-time work, it seems unlikely that I will be winning the coveted “Father of the Year” award when I see my children only on weekends, due to a 3-hour commute each way. In my experience, whatever people may say about “quality time”, children require both quantity and quality time from a father.

Yesterday Kathy was laid up with her back injury, and I spent the day at home. At one point I played a game of dodge-ball on the deck with the kids – not more than 30 minutes in all, with the requisite number of injuries. That silly game is probably one of the things that they will remember, if only because I so rarely play with them outside.

So I need a solution that will allow me to:

1. support the financial needs of my family


2. assist my wife in parenting the children


3. build lasting love relationships with my kids


4. grow the intimacy of my marriage


5. provide an environment that is pleasing and conducive to my family’s growth

So far, my employer is willing for me to work from home, one day each week. I haven’t yet managed to test that out – I’m still working through some technical issues with my laptop and remote access. I expect that being home one workday each week may help to take the sting out of my long absences on the other days. Nevertheless, I am not satisfied with this arrangement – last week I didn’t see Sarah between Tuesday and Friday nights, leaving before she is awake and coming home late each night.

I don’t want to move hastily, ahead of God. If He sees fit to provide me with another work-from-home opportunity (like my former job, in which I traveled to the city only once a week), it would be a shame to miss that chance. At the same time, I don’t want to fall into the trap of persisting in behavior that is destructive to my family out of timidity or indecision.

I suspect that a lot of men have sacrificed their families to their jobs on a “temporary” basis only to discover that, after 15 or 20 years, their window of opportunity to impact the family has slowly closed. I suspect that no one laments on their deathbed, “If only I had spent more time at work!”

My children (and Kathy, for that matter) are reluctant to move to Seattle. And of course, there is the question about what to do with our house – the proximity to the Retreat Center property restricts our ability to sell the home in good conscience. I recently hit on a possible compromise: we could rent a small house in Seattle or Tacoma and live there half the week. We might occupy such a potential house from Sunday night to Wednesday night, and spend Thursday through Sunday in the Duckabush. This would likely cut my commute down to a manageable 1 hour each way on Monday through Wednesday, freeing up 4 hours each day to spend with my family. On Thursdays I could work from our home in the Duckabush, and on Fridays make the long commute in to Seattle.

While the cost of maintaining two households would be non-trivial, it is already costing me more than $400/month to commute to work, not considering the lost time in the car and on the bus. (Ferry time, of course, is redeemed by the quality of these fine blog entries.) If we found a house that was sufficiently inexpensive, we might substantially improve our quality of life by such an arrangement. It occurs to me that the opportunity to visit zoos and museums and parks, as well as the chance to make some new friends, could outweigh the inconvenience of living between two houses for Kathy and the children. I have hopes that Kathy might attend BSF this year with the youngest two children if I can be home consistently on Thursdays.

If you read this blog entry, and have a reaction, please leave a comment expressing your viewpoint. I would value any suggestions that you may make, especially since this idea is still in an embryonic state.

Xylophone of Doom

On the way home from Pokagon (a State Park just across the border in Indiana) we visited the Outlet Mall. Making a beeline for the Book Warehouse, several of my children admired a book with a built-in xylophone. No lover of noise-making toys, I gruffly assured them that I would NOT be purchasing the book for them, especially considering a long van-ride home.

Then I made a big mistake: I left Grand-Dad alone in the store with three of my kids while I took the other two to the bathroom. When I returned, the deed was done -- he had purchased the book and given it to my children to share amongst themselves.

The book seemed innocent enough, and I'm sure that my father-in-law meant well. Who could be opposed to such wholesome songs as "Jesus Loves Me" or everyone's favorite, "Ho-Ho-Ho-Hosanna!", even when inexpertly rendered on a xylophone? Yet it is with such an exterior that Satan often disguises his most evil instruments of sin and temptation.

No sooner was the book out of the bag than my angelic offspring began to bicker among themselves for exclusive use. Years of parental instruction on the proper sharing of toys was thrown recklessly to the winds, as each child usurped their turn to pound out "This Is My Father's World". Even Sarah was able to quickly articulate (at shrieks exceeding 90 decibels) her outrage when Joshua sneakily made off with the book in the midst of the melee.

Admittedly, the book has a certain charm. Each of the 12 songs are laid out with colored numbers indicating which of the bars to strike with the little plastic hammer. With only a small amount of training, it is possible to generate a song that is actually recognizable (unlike similar efforts on a recorder, which generally produces a series of undistinguishable and off-key tweets).

My children do not lack for toys. Yet at 9:15 that evening, two of them were reduced to shouting recriminations and crying tears of frustration over the possession of this same xylophone. As I reflect, I have serious doubts that man can ever learn to live in peace with his fellow, if we cannot even gracefully share something as trivial as a xylophone.

Ooops -- I better conclude this blog entry -- Kathy just went downstairs and she left the xylophone on the bed -- if I hurry, I might be able to sneak in an extra turn.