Stream of Consciousness

This morning, when I got into the car, I turned the radio on at a low volume.  It all started when the conversation with Logan had reached a stalemate after I told him that I didn't wish to continue the "potty words discussion" he had been so eager to launch in the house.  My irritation was due, in part, to Justin egging him on which Logan found to be completely agreeable...and I did not.  I told Justin off as I struggled to wrestle Logan's wiggling feet into his shoes.  The last thing I saw was Justin thundering down the hall shouting,

"My plan is working!" while the sound of maniacal laughter reverberated off the walls.

During the car trip a commercial began to play...something about mattresses or diapers or seafood.  The announcer had a very low voice but there was nothing notable apart from that.  I could see Logan's face in the rear view mirror as it began to work itself into an expression of great concern.

"Daddy?  What's that?"
"You mean the voice?"
"Ya."
"It's the radio."

There was a struggle to process this information.

"Where is it?"
"It's coming out of the speakers behind you."

Now there was a struggle to turn in his car seat and locate these magic talking boxes.

"You can't see them," I explained.
"What color are their eyes?" he asked.

Okay, I had better start paying more attention to this conversation because I think I missed something.

"Who?" I asked.
"Theirs," he said with a hint of exasperation.  Apparently I'm the dumb one.
"I don't know what color they are.  I can't see them.  Can you?"
"No," he said.
"Oh."  Good.

There was a moment of quiet reflection while I reviewed the conversation notes in my head and pulled into the driveway.  I got out and began to unfasten Logan's seat belt. 

"Is it dark?" he asked.

Umm, not in my world.

"No," I said.  "Is it dark wherever you are?"  I was beginning to wonder where that might be.
"No," he replied.

There was more semi-quiet reflection as he held my hand and we walked to the door.  I walked.  He skipped and flailed.

"Hey!  The sun is out!" he exclaimed as though we had just emerged from a bunker.

Well, that would certainly account for it not being dark.  Is this not the same sun that was out while we were in the car?  Logan, do you smell toast?

- 29 September 2011

Mad Scientist Career Path [Video]

We train 'em young.

- 4 March 2011

Teletubbies

"I like Teletubbies but I don't want any of my friends to know because they might think I'm weird."

I wish I could have 8-year-old problems again.

- 21 January 2009

Nice and Creepy

Each morning, when the boys and I get up to go walking before dawn, we are twice overtaken by a jogger who follows an expanded version of our circuit.  For some reason both boys are obsessed by this jogger and are determined to find out if "both people" are really one and the same.  Admittedly it is hard to tell in the dark but this morning we finally found out that it is the same person.

"Let's see where she goes." 
"We already know where she goes," I replied.  "She has been passing us for weeks." 
"Let's stalk her all the way home...and give her cookies!"

I had the urge to run after the jogger and remind her not to accept cookies from strangers.

- 27 September 2011

Glad I Could Help

"Is tea coffee?"
"No."
"Whew, close one!"

- 24 April 2009

Multilingual

"I can speak every language.  Dog, cat, baby, cloud, human & Spanish."

Umm, could you use human a little more often, please?

- 30 March 2009

I Hope This is a Solo

After Logan tooted in the car.

"My poopoo is singin!"

Please, God, don't make us join in the chorus.

- 14 April 2011

Once Upon a Time

On the way home from the park we drove past one of our senior assisted living facilities.

"Oh hey, I see Pioneer House!  I went there once."

So many question instantly formed in my head.  Why?  When was I in a coma?  Did they know you were there?

"With Camp Fire."

Oh.

"You have to put in a code to get out...'cause sometimes the old people try and sneak away."

- 24 September 2011

I Don't Think Ethan Knows What That Means

It is amazing how your own children's words will make their way back to you.  Having a chance to spend time with your children's friends is rare but enlightening.  The perspective that it provides is two-fold.  In the first place, you can find out what is really going on in their lives without your child pre-screening the information.  Secondly, you are provided the much needed affirmation that other parents are going through the same thing despite what you may have been led to believe.  If you ever find yourself in this situation remember these sage words.  You are going to get information of every shape, size and volume whether you like it or not.  Will it be alarming, amusing and potentially embarrassing?  Yes.  So, fasten your seat belts because it's priceless.

Case in point: George.

I was looking after George during our nightly YMCA adventure while his mother ran home and he stayed behind to play with my son.  Since kindergarten, George has been one of Ethan's best friends.  Indeed, this quote sums it up nicely.

"A whole day without George is like a day without peanut butter."

- 29 September 2009

Obviously a bad day no matter how you slice it as Ethan loves peanut butter above all else.  These two are basically the same boy living with different families.  Both are tall, wiggly, space-invading, 3rd-grade Cub Scouts who you can always hear.  Always.  Each one thinks that the other is extremely funny and they spend a great deal of time trying to live up to that standard.  Their bodies and mouths are in a state of perpetual motion.

This evening, after I had herded Ethan off to swimming lessons, George and I went to watch from the viewing gallery.  As we went to sit down, I was not aware of having made contact with the seat before the conversation was under way. 

"My brother is the 'zero percent guy' you want to have in your house.  Ethan is the 'one hundred percent guy' you want to have in your house," he announced.

I did my best to participate but it is difficult to be prepared for an interview when you don't know what job you've applied for.

"He is, huh?" 
"Ya, my brother is baaaaaaaad.  Ethan is goooooooood."
"I'm sure you like your brother a little bit."
"I like him five percent," he stated.
"Well, that's something to build on," I said.
"What is Ethan's favorite show?" he asked.
Okay...  "Mad," I said.
"I like that one too...and Myth Busters.  Did you know I have a pet parrot?" he inquired.

I only had time to open my mouth.

"Actually it's a parakeet," he continued.

This line of conversation went on for several minutes.  I managed to throw in an occasional question about pet care and flying schedules but I was in no way a major contributor.

"What is Ethan's favorite soda?"
"Orange," I said.  "Like Fanta."
"Oh.  Mine is Coke," he replied.

This too went on for several entertaining minutes.  I was informed about the many different Coke-branded products that existed around the world and the spectacular collection that was recently auctioned off which almost certainly contained all of them and more.

So far I was doing very well.  I was apparently showing the proper amount of enthusiasm, using the correct facial expressions and chuckling in all the right places.  Indeed, I have had years of practice and was thoroughly enjoying myself.

As the conversation circled around to Ethan for a third lap, my mind began to wander.  I started to realize that what I thought was "just Ethan," constantly regaling us with stories of George and asking questions about him that I was powerless to answer, was actually "just boy."  This is the same conversation I was constantly involved in at home only now George is asking about Ethan.

After a moment I realized that I had lost the thread of the conversation.  The only voices I could hear were those in my head.  I looked over at George.  He obviously had a radio on in his head.  Suddenly he burst out in song, right in the middle of Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F) by Katy Perry.

"There's a stranger in my bed.  There's a pounding in my..."  He trailed off still humming the tune.  After a moment of silence he looked up at me and said, "my mom listens to that." 

I laughed hard and mentally tightened my seat belt. 

"Ethan's mom listens to that too," I assured him. 

Meanwhile I was frantically texting George's mother and relaying this hilarious turn of events.  Once I had sent the text I looked up and saw George with a firm grip on his hair, struggling with his thoughts.  His face was contorted and he was fidgeting.  There was something very important that he wanted to say he just couldn't find it in his head.

"Oh, Ethan knows so many words that I don't know," he said to his lap.
"Ethan knows so many words that even Ethan doesn't know," I assured him.  "Don't let him fool you."
"Ethan said that Justin's got a little bit of puberty...and you don't want that!"

Dear God, please deliver me from this spot...and hurry.

"I don't think that Ethan knows what that means and you probably don't either," I said.
"No, but Ethan said I didn't want it and I believe him!"

It was at that moment that I noticed George's father standing behind us listening to the conversation.  There was nothing to do except shake my head and shake his hand.  Look him right in the eye?  Absolutely.  These fellow parents are people I consider to be friends and, remember, I'm sitting there talking to their son. Undoubtedly they have had a similar experience talking to my son.  I look them right in the face with an expression that says, "I know what you're going through...I have three at home just like this," and they understand.

- 22 September 2011

1st Grade Math

"Dad...there are almost 8,000 people here...let's count their eyeballs!"

Hmm...what would that equasion look like?

THEIR EYEBALLS (6-YEAR-OLD BOY + 8,000 PEOPLE)    =  PASS

                                     ME + HEADACHE                                                  

- 28 November 2009

How Are They Gonna Know?

As a kid growing up in Spokane, Washington, I knew everything there was to know about the sewer system and waste water treatment plant.  You see, in order for us to get to Riverside State Park, a popular destination in my family, we had to drive right past it and, naturally, we wanted to know every detail.  My father was only too happy to oblige.  I never imagined that there would be anything peculiar about having this particular knowledge set, however, thinking back on it now, it seems slightly odd.  Perhaps it is because I'm a boy and this kind of twisted curiosity is inherent in all boys.  Perhaps not.  All I can say is that I knew what happened when you flushed and I knew what that smell was.

Growing up in Walla Walla is a little different.  Passing the waste water treatment plant isn't something most people do by accident.  As with any child, the questions they ask during potty training cover most of the important points of this subject.  "Where does it go?  How does it get there?  What happens to it after that?"  To most children of a potty training age, however, the concept of the world beyond their own home is abstract enough without throwing in the invisible-mystical-underground-poop-conveyance-system.

What they know for sure is this.  I flush.  It leaves.  I don't have to pack it around the house anymore and Mom and Dad don't have to change it.

So, when Justin's scout leader brought up the subject of a field trip to the sewage treatment plant, I couldn't wait to get home and tell him.  Sure enough, he was so excited he nearly peed.  Thank goodness for the potty training.

"Good!  I'll need to go to the bathroom right before we leave."

It did not occur to me that there was anything unusual about that statement.

"Always a good plan," I agreed. 

Typical one-track-mind Dad response...nobody pees in the car, go before we leave...finally, one of my children was paying attention!

"I want to find out how they label it," he said.

??

"Label what?"
"Well, how are they gonna know which one is mine?"
"Which one what?  Ohhhh!"

- 3 May 2009

What's Going On?

This morning, as the boys finished ringing the church bell and mass was about to begin, there was a sense that something was amiss.  Almost immediately it became apparent that the service would be conducted without any manner of musical assistance.  Not a choir, cantor, organ, piano or guitar to be found.  Now, our parish isn't without its collective talent.  Indeed, we can be counted on to carry a tune and even stay in the same key from time to time.  But to be caught completely unawares...well, at the very least one of us could have brought a kazoo.

The beginning was highly awkward to say the least.  Slowly we settled into the idea that nobody had so much as a slide whistle.  As mass proceeded it became evident that any kind of musical rescue being mounted on our behalf would certainly not reach us in time.  Those who would be carrying the tunes this morning and those who would not divided in silence and faithfully continued.

Throughout the first half of mass the boys were uncharacteristically quiet.  For the second time this week I could tell that something was on the horizon and I was nervous about how that something would manifest itself upon arrival.  I didn't have to wait long.

Shortly after communion had started the priest began singing Hail Holy Queen Enthroned Above.  I am still not sure if it was the pomp and circumstance of the sacramental proceedings or the haze of the communion wine but the aforementioned division of singers and non-singers was suddenly abandoned.  All at once a smattering of parishioners attempted, in vain, to follow the priest's lead.  Were their mouths still full?  Had the wine fallen into empty stomachs?  From beside me came a loud whisper.

"Dad, what's going on?"

"With what?"

"The singing."

Uh oh. 

"What do you mean?"

"Why are they sad?"

"I don't think anyone is sad (yet)."

"They sound like someone just died."

"Keep your voice down and bow your head please." 

I'm going to do the same thing and try not to laugh out loud.

That's when it dawned on me that I had heard this before.  Not just the song itself but the exact way it was being sung.  Anyone familiar with the movie Sister Act?  Apparently my wife had had the exact same thought.  We exchanged a look that said, "please God, send Whoopi Goldberg to deliver us from the rest of this song."

I am certain that this post will warrant an extra Hail Mary.

- 18 September 2011

Doing It Wrong

Finding time to exercise in our house is a privilege that is difficult to achieve.  Take this morning for instance.  I thought I was safe but Logan thought differently.  He finds me in the middle of my first rep.

"What are you doing Dad?"
"Exercising."
"Can I watch?"
"If you must.  But you...have to...stand back."

I'm not just about to stop and I'm certainly not changing my routine due to the sudden presence of a judges grandstand.

"Are you going to use the tread me-o [tread mill]?"
"No."
"What do you call it?"
"Exercise."
"Do people do it?"

I tried so hard not to roll my eyes because I knew where this was headed.

"Yes."
"Do Daddies do it?"
"Apparently."
"Do Mommies do it?"
"Why don't you go find Mommy and ask her?"  I didn't expect that to work.
"No."

More watching.  A few appraising faces.

"Watch this!" he said.  There was an attempt at a head stand.
"I don't sink you're doing it right," he told me.
Sigh..."Why?"
"You're not using the tread me-o."

Screw the tread mill.  "I don't want to use the tread mill."
"Mommy uses the tread me-o."
"So she does."
"I'm going to go use the tread me-o."

He disappeared.  I'm not sure where he went after that.

- 17 September 2011

Ethan Got an Idea

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!"

"What is it Logan?"

When I opened the door, there stood Logan wearing an angry scowl.

"Ethan got an idea...and pushed me down...and I hit my head!"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

Now I can hear a commotion coming up the stairs.  Logan turns on the spot to shout over his shoulder at his older brothers.

"Stop that noise!  I'm trying to tell on YOU!"

...silence...

"Is there anything else Logan?"

"No.  The end."

...sigh...

- 17 September 2011

You're Gonna Kill Me, You're Gonna Kill Me

Four simple words with such fantastic implications. 

The untrained observer can easily misinterpret this phrase thereby wasting untold amounts of valuable time that could have been spent either calling an ambulance or making another sandwich.  A professional, however, will know how to analyze the situation based on four key factors thus avoiding undue bloodshed and/or wasted luncheon meat.

First, how many times is the phrase being repeated in rapid succession?  A mere single utterance can easily convey a matter of polite interest.  "You're gonna kill me."

• I forgot to schedule your doctor's appointment.
• I picked up the wrong dry cleaning.
• I ate the last banana.

Second: tone of voice.  A single utterance coupled with an urgent tone raises the bar.  "You're gonna kill me."

• I forgot to feed the cat/fish/baby.
• I used flea powder instead of baby powder.
• I forgot to tell you that the toilet overflowed this morning before school.

Third, uttering the phrase twice, in rapid succession, and applying a tone filled with shock and disbelief should raise a red flag.  "You're gonna kill me, you're gonna kill me."

• How many toes am I supposed to have?
• Do we have a fire extinguisher?
• How important was the tool shed?

Finally, be on the lookout for the kind of rocking back and forth that is usually associated with autism.  This is a useful and often overlooked indicator.

Upon being greeted by all four indicators neatly wrapped up in one convenient package, two things must happen immediately.  Find the missing child and find your emergency room punch card.

"You're gonna kill me, you're gonna kill me...you're gonna kill me, you're gonna kill me."  Justin had just appeared in the bedroom doorway with the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"No, no, calm down Justin.  Where is Ethan?" I asked.

"You're gonna kill me, you're gonna kill me," he repeated.

"I'm sure that's not true.  Where is Ethan?" I asked more urgently.

"You're gonna kill me, you're gonna kill me," came the reply.

"Yes, yes, we'll get to that.  What's going on?  Where is Ethan?

"Umm, he fell."

"Fell as in fell or fell as in you pushed him?" I asked.

"Umm, yeah.  He's in the kitchen and he hit his head on the counter.  Is he gonna die, is he gonna die?"

Suddenly my brain snapped into focus and I realized that the distant screaming was not, in fact, my subconscious.

"Show me, Justin!"

Well that wasn't hard.  I remembered where the kitchen was.

"Am I gonna die, am I gonna die?" cried Ethan.

"No, Ethan, but that sure is a lot of blood," I said.

Hmm, that wasn't smart.  The screaming seems to have intensified.  Think fast.

"Well, let me take a look at your forehead, please.  Would you let me...put, put your ha...move your hand!"

"Am I gonna die, am I gonna die?"

"He's gonna die, he's gonna die."  Thank you, Justin.

Despite the chaos, your brain is beginning to process the fact that Justin appears to be learning his lesson.  This is good.  He seems remorseful.  He is upset about what he has done.  He is concerned for his little brother's well being.  This is a rookie mistake.  Don't let the noise and confusion mask the true meaning of these words.  You see, "he's gonna die, he's gonna die" is the string that ties up the entire package.  If Ethan dies, you're gonna kill me!  Self preservation?  You got that right!

"Calm down both of you!" I said.  Nobody is going to die...(right now).  Alright we need to get your jacket and boots on.  Yes, I will help you.  I need you to hold this washcloth over your wound.  Justin, you too!  You're going with us!"  (If this is going to work properly, you need to come to the ER and see exactly what's about to happen.)

"Dad, what's gonna happen?  He's gonna have to have stitches, isn't he?"

"I don't know, Justin."

I do know, Justin.

"Stitches?!" cried Ethan.  The screaming intensified again.

"No, Ethan."

Yes, Ethan.

"We'll go to the hospital and see what the doctor has to say."  (Besides "hold still and stop screaming".)

"What about dinner?" he asked in a manner devoid of all hysteria.  This caught me completely off guard.

"What?"

"What about dinner?  Isn't it dinner time?"

"Ethan!  You just split your head open.  It's not time for dinner.  Now both of you...boots, coats, hats, gloves, car, go!  Ashley?  You and your folks will have to go to mass without us.  Say a prayer for both boys."

Thankfully, the car ride started out quietly because I had to navigate through a blizzard to a hospital that was halfway down the hill.  We began to drive as I tried not to write the ironic headline "Man Dies in Crash on the Way to the ER" in my head.

Suddenly, Ethan let out a scream and began to bawl again.  How did I avoid crashing into a tree?  I still don't know.

"What happened?  What's wrong?  Is it your head?  We'll be there in two minutes," I said.

"Is Justin going to get coal?" Ethan asked.  Dead silence from Justin's seat.

What?!  It took my brain a few moments to wrap itself around the question.  I'm certain there was an audible chuckle.

"I don't know, Ethan.  I just don't know," I said.

"Cause he didn't mean to and I don't want him to get coal in his stocking."

"That's very nice.  [another chuckle]  Let's just worry about getting to the hospital in one piece first, shall we?"

"Okay."

Let the learning commence!

We were the only ones in the waiting room though the ER, as a whole, was very busy.  An interesting fact considering that this was Christmas Eve.  There was the perfect amount of anxious waiting.  Long enough, indeed, to contemplate the imminent arrival of coal.  When Ethan was called back to one of the curtained beds, I asked Justin to remain in the waiting room.

"There's a television," I pointed out.  "And there's a Christmas special on."

I could see that the gurney Ethan was stretched out on was well within earshot of the waiting room.  Perfect.  Would it be mean to say that Christmas had come early for me?  Maybe.  There was plenty of screaming, crying and hand-holding.  Ethan managed like a pro and, once the needle had been put away and the anesthetic took effect, was terribly fascinated by the goings on.  All the while, Justin was left alone with his thoughts...watching A Miser Brothers' Christmas.  Do you remember the television special I mentioned?  The entire plot revolves around two brothers who nearly ruined Christmas because they wouldn't stop fighting.

Despite missing dinner and mass, Christmas had come early, if only by four hours.

- 24 December 2008

In the Beginning...

At first, it was just the two of us living in wedded bliss.  The house was quiet, the furniture was whole, the evenings were ours.  The people on the other end of the telephone actually wanted to speak to us.  We knew not of purple dinosaurs nor pineapples under the sea.  Laundry was done once a week and 10 o'clock was not considered staying up late.  And so it continued for several years until once upon a Valentine's Day we accidentally drank out of the same cup.

It was the beginning of a journey so fantastic, so incredible that small dogs and children would hide and mere mortals would tremble at it's very mention.  And now here we are nearly eleven years later.  Three boys that are the center of an amazing family.  None of this is fabricated...I could never hope to be that clever.  Laugh, cry, sing, dance...whatever inclination strikes you but above all, enjoy.  This is my life.  This is how to speak boy.