Too Pooped to Party
Back when Marm and I were in college and were “just being friends” we discussed things from A to Z. It never mattered how important or frivolous the topic. We loved to be together and spent hours talking to each other. She was the best friend I ever had and I simply couldn’t wait to see her each day.
One day while we were talking she asked me, “How many kids do you want to have when you get married?” I told her, ” I want a large family. Six is about right. How many kids do you want to have when you get married?”
“I want a large family too,” was her reply.
This didn’t surprize me since I already knew how much she loved children. I remember another box being checked off in my head in regard this wonderful woman. I was beginning to think she might be the one, but wasn’t willing to admit it to myself yet. I was already falling in love with her at this point.
Obviously we did get married and we did have that large family. Five wonderful children: Annie, Aaron, Abbey, Amber, and Amy. They are our filled quiver, our “handful”. Our house was full. Full of love. Full of memories being made. Full of surprises. Full of noise. Full of bedtime routines. Full of sleepless nights. Full of sick kids at times. Plainly put, it was packed full of life.
I remember how Marm and I would collapse onto our bed after an unusually hectic day and look at each other with that dazed “deer in the headlights” look. I asked her once at such a time, “Back when you asked me how many kids I wanted to have, did you ever envision all of this?”
“Nope, never did!” was all she said as she just sat there and stared. This was that rare quiet moment of the day that was filled with absolutely nothing, and we were too exhausted to actually enjoy it.
Here we were alone together. No kids clambering for something. No one yelling. No one doing something sneaky. No cries for water, another story, or another prayer over them. It was our time and whoop-tie-do.
Exhaustion warps reality. I remember how we would interact through the day. Short comments, my huffing and puffing at requests for needed help, her frustration in not wanting to have to deal with one more thing. It was so easy to be irritable. Impatience was always around the next corner. Miscommunication was inevitable and caused its own mess. Where were the days of ease when all I wanted was to see her as soon as possible; when being with her was enough and talking with her was the highlight of my day?
It was so easy to lose sight of her, of us, and the dream we had back then. Here we sat, a crumpled couple on the bed of our life. A heap of folk beaten down by the routine, whooped up on by the fulness we created. Then I would stop and see her again and see something at that moment I never told anyone, maybe not even her. Here was the lady I chose, the love of my life, and she said, “Yes”. She was more beautiful to me than ever as she sat there with her hair a bit ruffled, her clothes showing signs of the day’s activities, looking tired and worn out. I fell in love with her all over again and silently vowed to be less irritable and impatient. I told myself I wouldn’t huff and puff anymore when she needed help. I would listen better and communicate clearly.
As the years passed and our adventure unfolded I would break all of these vows numerous times, but I’ve never stopped trying to keep them no matter how impossible it seemed.
Marm is and always will be my dream come true. And our family? They are now and always have been our dream come true. We aren’t as exhausted as in the past and it’s easier now to remember who we are together. Exhaustion brings an altered sense of reality about life while one is in the midst of it. I remember our times of being “too pooped to party” and the woman I shared it with, both then and now. We are living our dream together, and I am still head-over-heels in love with her.
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Embarrassment is Inevitable
I have to laugh when I hear the language of parents unexpectedly streaming out of the mouths of their children. If you want to know how parents react to life, just wait for the toddlers to start talking; they’ll tell ya. Embarrassment goes hand in hand with the parenting of our children. It’s unavoidable. Sometimes we get away with just a smidgen of it, but other times…there’s no place to hide. Nothing is sacred!
We were having dinner at our friends’ house one evening. We had met Gary and Linda at church. They were older than we were and had no kids at home. We had three at home and were fully engulfed in our adventure. Gary had the most unbelievably infectious laugh. It was a deep, rumbling from the gut, house shaking, conversation stopping belly laugh. Anyone who heard it, loved it. It didn’t matter where he was or what was happening at the time. If it was funny to him, he laughed, and then everyone else laughed.
Gary and I were relaxing in their livingroom. The ladies were prepping in the kitchen, and the kids were playing here and there. Gary was sitting in his easy chair and I was sprawled on my belly on the carpeted floor. I remember being tired and the soft carpet felt delicious. It was a great opportunity to doze a little before dinner and relax from my hectic schedule.
As I lay there I remember feeling a bit bloated. That “gassy” feeling that we all get from time to time. I knew that once dinner was announced I would excuse myself and briefly step outside. The carpet was so alluring I simply didn’t want to get up until I absolutely had to. Hindsight would say differently.
I can only imagine how inviting it must have been for Abbey as she saw me there on the floor. Abbey is our third child and second daughter, and she was as cute as they come. There has never been a mean bone in her body. Seeing me spread out on the floor looked like a normal part of our wrestling ritual and was too good to pass up. So without so much as a, “How do you do?” Abbey came up from behind and jumped squarely on my lower back. There was an immediate and explosive response.
Yep. You guessed it. I farted. This was no light duty sissy fart either. This was the kind that was supposed to happen to other people so you could laugh at them, and never…ever… while visiting at someone elses home. Sorry folks, but it was a cannon-shot, and I was suddenly flushed and bright red in the face.
That was all it took for Gary. He let out one of his famously instantaneous belly roars. He laughed and laughed and laughed. The house shook and still he couldn’t stop himself. Now everyone was laughing because it didn’t matter where you were in the house when it happened. Everyone heard it.
Why is it that when something like that happens there are so many things that zip through your mind in a flash?
Maybe I can pretend it didn’t happen. Was it really that loud and obvious? Do I come up with a snappy comeback? I should just play dumb like I don’t know what anyone is talking about.
Nope! This was one of those “no place to hide” moments. I was caught dead-to-rights. So, I did what everyone else was doing at the time. I started laughing at myself and this harshly embarrassing moment. There was nothing else to do. This took the notion of “getting to know people on a personal level” far beyond where it was ever meant to go.
It was a good lesson for me. I have a tendency to take myself too seriously. It’s a great mile post that I can look back on when I’m in that “oh so serious” mode of mine. Note to self: laugh with those who laugh, especially if you are the one caught in the cross-hairs of embarrassment.
There would be other moments to come because embarrassment is inevitable for parents. Ask me how I know? Go ahead…ask me, I double dog dare ya.
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“And it’s a bunch!”
Parents have opportunities in life that are unparalleled. You know as well as I that our kids can catch us flat-footed at any time. My dad has stated more than once over the years, “There’s no manual that comes with kids when they’re born.”
In some ways I agree with that statement, but will certainly offer up that, manual or no manual, there are those moments for which we are dismally unprepared. It’s hard enough at times to know what to do, but when your kid does something so audacious that all you want to do is laugh, it makes disciplining them nearly impossible.
Such was the case in the fall of 1986 . We had just recently moved to the Columbia River Gorge area. We were busy settling into the new home, the new job, and the new church. We had spent the last four years working in a small church on the coast of Washington state. That was the only church experience Annie had known. Our new church was larger in comparison. Regardless, Annie was undaunted.
One fine Sunday morning we went downstairs to the church basement and picked Annie up from Sunday School/Children’s Church like usual. She was her bubbly self and wanted to show us what she had found in her classroom. To our surprise Annie proudly presented us with a pile of money.
“Where did you get that?” Marm asked her.
“I found it in my classroom,” was her honest reply.
“Where in your classroom did you find it?” Marm persisted.
“It was in a little box-shaped like a church,” she piped happily.
Our daughter had just pilfered the Sunday School class offering and was pleased as punch about it.
Marm and I exchanged quick looks and whispers asking ourselves, “What are we supposed to do now?”
We determined that it wasn’t a huge deal since it was done in complete innocence. Yet, it was important enough to be addressed, after all she did rip-off the class offering. Having quickly decided how to handle it we chatted with our pastor and brought him into the loop. He agreed to talk with Annie about what she had done.
There we were standing in his office. Annie was in front of us with her back to us, and couldn’t see our faces. The pastor was facing Annie and we could see his face clearly as he talked with her.
Pastor Greg very gently explained, “You know Annie, it isn’t right to take things just because we see them. The things we see belong to other people and it’s important that we leave those things where we found them.” He further explained ,”God loves us and doesn’t want us to do that to other people because it’s stealing, and stealing is wrong.” I thought it was going quite well, then he asked her, “Annie, did you take the money out of the little church box in your Sunday School classroom?”
Annie was simply beaming as she stated excitedly, “Yes, I did… and it’s a bunch!”
Marm and I sharply caught our breath at this point stifling our cries of surprise. We pursed our lips together so hard it hurt and were visibly shaking as we kept ourselves from laughing out loud. I was starting to sweat from the effort.
Poor Pastor Greg could see us clearly from where he stood and was helpless to do anything since he had to maintain that touch of seriousness so needed to make his point. Seeing him pretending not to be affected by her answer made it all the worse for us as we tried to hold it together. By now, tears were streaming down our faces and our hands covered our mouths.
Once he was done and Annie had handed over the contraband we all hugged each other and laughed hysterically. “Can you believe she said that,” was all we could say to each other.
Where do our kids come up with this stuff? I’m at a complete loss. On the flip side, it does serve as a good reminder for me. Don’t take things so seriously that I forget to laugh at life a little.
“And it’s a bunch!” What a line.
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A Klingon Christmas
It’s true. I’m a recovered TOS Trekkie. The proverbial “old school” Star Trek fan.
My ridiculous love affair with this pop-culture phenomenon finds it roots back in the late 70’s of the previous century. That being said… I shall say no more about it. This is about a little girl. A baby girl. A girl who loves to be close to the ones she loves.
Amber is our fourth child and third daughter. She is the evidence of God’s grace to us. After rocketing into our world at birth, she settled into a nice nuzzling routine of being physically close to us. She loved to be held. She never wanted to be far from either of us. It was obvious from the beginning that her love language was touch. She was always comforted the most when held.
Bedtime was no exception. Actually, bedtime was my domain. Marm had the kids all day long while I was gone. The night belonged to me, and I loved it, for the most part.
I don’t remember how it all started and that’s frustrating to me. Looking back I wish I had paid closer attention, but when you’re in the moment you just don’t think like that. What I do recall is the long-standing memory it created. When it was time to put Amber to bed I would take her to our room and walk her. Her crib was beside our bed. I would gently pace with her and then lay her down. She would promptly cry wanting to be held again. I would pick her up and walk her some more. She would fuss a little and I would start to sing to her. She would fuss and I would change the song. She would fuss again and I would change the song again, and you get the point.
It must have been around the beginning of the Christmas season when I stumbled onto the winning combination that would become the tradition. One night I started to sing White Christmas to her. She loved it! No, seriously, she L-O-V-E-D it! Who knew that a “wee babe in arms” would know the difference between song melodies, but she did. I would walk back and forth singing this song over and over and over again to her. If I changed the song, she fussed and refused to fall asleep. It was White Christmas and only White Christmas.
This was our ritual for the next year or so. Every night I would walk her and sing White Christmas. I would spend upwards of an hour each night holding her, singing to her, at times being frustrated with her because I was tired and she wouldn’t fall asleep as fast as I wanted her to. If she wasn’t fully asleep in my arms, I couldn’t lay her down. It was exhausting at times, and it was hard to do every day. It was also one of those magically special times that only comes around once. I would never have an opportunity like this with her again. I was able to hold, cuddle, talk, pray, and sing to my daughter every night for an hour. She was the proverbial captive audience. I don’t regret any of it, except my moments of impatience, and would jump at the opportunity to do it again.
It comes as no shock that to this day White Christmas is Amber’s favorite Christmas song. I don’t know when it was first stated , but its fair to say I was the one to appropriately coin the phrase, “She’s a Klingon.This was a term of endearment of course tossed her way because of the obvious. It was a long time before I would sing White Christmas again. I pretty much had my fill for a while. Now years later when I do hear it I smile and remember our Klingon Christmas bedtime. It was totally worth it!
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Playing Opossum
“Just wait until your father gets home!” was a line Martha never used on our children. Early on in our marriage we had discussed how important it was that the kids look forward to me coming home. We believed that statements like that would create the opposite effect. Looking back I think we were right.
During the early “daycare” years it was very common for there to be “rent-a kids” still on site when I rolled in from my work day. It was also inevitable that as soon as I stepped through the door the kids wanted to wrestle. Most often this would include three to six kids all slobbering over themselves in the hope of literally jumping up and down on me.
Some of my fondest memories are from these times. We’d all roll around on the floor tangled in huge human knots for the better part of half an hour. Giggles, laughter, and the occasional high-pitched scream were the language of the moment. Dickens was right. “These were the best of times.”
I did have an infrequent problem when it came to these wrestling matches however. Some days I was simply exhausted. I don’t mean that end of the day weariness that was the norm. No, this was different. I was literally too tired to play. On top of that, I knew I was grumpy. That’s the worst. I have a mean grumpy.
It was hard to turn them down even on days when I felt like this. It was impossible to say no to those eager little faces. Yet, I knew it was only a matter of time before my grumpy was going to get the best of all of us. I really didn’t want that to happen. Thank the Lord, the answer presented itself rather simply one day.
I gave in to the usual requests and begging to be the target of their assault. I lay down on the living room floor waiting for the ritual sounds of running feet, the short silence that came while they were airborne, and the sudden shock on impact that usually sent them tumbling off the other side of my pummeled body. What usually followed was me slowly rising like a monster from the deep and chasing after them. This day I didn’t move. I lay there still as stone. The sudden silence in the room was proof that this was something new, and uncertain. It was a challenge not to smirk.
The whispers began immediately.
“What’s your dad doing?” asked David
“Don’t know,” answered Aaron.
At this point all the kids began to talk to me, trying to get me to chase them. Nothing happened. I was still and silent with only one eye slit open ever so slightly. I could hear them sneaking closer.
“Touch him. I think he’s dead,” said one of them.
I felt a tentative poke from a foot on my foot. Then I felt a firmer tap from another foot against my side. More pokes came as their confidence rose. Suddenly there were kids all over the top of me punching, pulling, kicking and I even got a bite from one of them. Still I lay motionless and silent.
They were scared now. The pleading began for me to wake up. They began to think I might really be dead. I was surprised that they hadn’t lost interest yet. I guess I figured they would soon, so I did the unexpected at this point. I reached out suddenly and grabbed an ankle tightly in my hand. The shriek from David was heart-felt. I’d totally scared the pants off the little bugger. He squealed and squirmed. wriggled and twisted while hollering for help from his stunned friends. They all grabbed him and started pulling against my hold, or grabbed my hand and tried to unbend my fingers. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing and ruin the effect.
Then, just as suddenly I released my hold and went limp again. Now it was game on for real. The kids loved it. It became a favorite for all of us. What they didn’t know at the time was that all I was doing was getting some much-needed rest while I lay there on the floor. To them I was playing dead. For me I was simply sleeping or close to it anyway.
I had tripped over the answer and it worked brilliantly. The grumpy had been defeated and one of our favorite games invented simply by playing opossum.
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Curls & Capes 