Santa Claus found us!

Christmas went off without a hitch this year. No one got sick, no one cried about what they didn’t get, and the Utes won their bowl game. Again.

On Christmas Eve we trooped over to Kate’s mother’s house, and my sister Kat tagged along. It was an eye-opening experience for her. Though Kat has been exposed to Kate’s family before, she hadn’t met the Browns. Drew’s family was over, and they add a certain element of strangeness that Kate’s family lacks. Not that Kate’s family is not strange. They are just strange in other ways.

When we got to the Browns for the festivities, those of us who wished to view the end of the Broncos/Bengals game were relegated to the bedroom upstairs. Toward the end of the game the Bengals scored, threatening to tie the game with a PAT. After the touchdown the Bengal gave the mile-hi salute, which upset my brother-in-law, Jim. I had to briefly cover Samantha’s ears, and I am thankful Patrick wasn’t in the room: he remembers everything. Just before the snap on the PAT Beth said, “They never miss these.” The snap was bad, and the Bengals did not tie up the game. It was a great finish.

Kate’s family came over for breakfast on Christmas morning, and we decided on 9:00. That way the kids would have time to open their presents before breakfast. Everyone arrived at or shortly after 9, and my kids were still asleep. We made breakfast and ate, and yet the Shirley kids were still sacked. At that time I figured that they were the only children in America who were still asleep. Mike pointed out that kids in Hawaii were probably still asleep, but I beg to differ. Normal kids are up before dawn, chomping at the bit to see if Santa Claus came. Finally at 10:00 Samantha woke up and roused the other children.

Whitney’s big present was a bike, though she took a few minutes to notice it. However, my mother is in hot water over the presents she gave Whit. She gave her a jewelry kit, complete with a million tiny beads. My mother should also note that it is a bad idea to give a child who has OCD an origami kit! It is torture for the kid and twice the torture for the parent. Patrick, of course, got trucks, cars, helicopters and other ‘boy’ stuff, including a set of Spongebob underpants. Pat asked if they were extra absorbent. Samantha was most excited about a box full of dress-up shoes. ‘Mantha also got a toy shopping cart, which was Bean’s favorite toy. She is finally learning how to walk, and likes to push the cart around. Lauren also really enjoyed the wrapping paper more than the gifts inside. Santa brought the kids a huge tin of varying colors of Play Doh and Grandpa Stretch gave the kids a Play Doh table for activities. These were a huge hit. It’s pretty amazing that with all of the technology and advances in toys, something as old as Play Doh still holds its own. I spent a good part of the day trying to clean up Play Doh crumbs and finally gave up. When it comes to Play Doh, it is best to just let it dry, because you can’t sweep or vacuum it until it dries.

Grandma Poopy (which is what my kids call my Mother, don’t ask) made dinner and brought it over on Christmas Day. I was really happy that we didn’t have to go anywhere on Christmas Day. I didn’t even change out of the pajamas that Kate made for me. When I was a kid my Father’s family lived in Idaho, so we didn’t see them on Christmas. My Mother only had her parents, so they came to stay with us. So on Christmas Day we stayed home, and we all got to spend the day relaxing and playing with our toys. I have always wanted that for my kids, instead of racing around all day, and finally we have it. I think we’ll do it again next year.

Kate and I generally don’t get each other anything big for Christmas. It started when we were dirt poor and couldn’t afford presents for each other. Now we still act like we’re dirt poor and don’t get anything for each other, except for stocking stuffers. Each year she buys me the ‘Dad’ Christmas ornament, and each year she gives me a rough time for not buying her the ‘Mom’ ornament. So this year I went and bought the ‘Mom’ ornament from Hallmark. We were both amused on Christmas morning when the ornaments we got for each other were the same, ‘mom’ on hers, ‘dad’ on mine. Each year I fill her stocking with candy, and each year she doesn’t eat it. This year I replaced the candy with fresh fruit. She ate it and was grateful. She’s too healthy. It kills me.

We had a great time at Christmas this year. This morning as I came back to work to see the hallways empty and some of the clinics closed, I thought I should have taken the day, or even the week off. Maybe I will so that I can stay home and get schooled in Connect 4 by Whitney…

A Pretty Wild Week

I have been a mess all week. We finished finals last week, and I have been anxiously waiting for grades to post. It's funny how things change. When my grades were mediocre I did not care about the Dean's list. But last Spring I made the Dean's list, and repeated over the summer. Suddenly making the Dean's list was a big deal. This was to be the last semester where I would be able to accomplish this, because you need to enroll in 12 or more credit hours, and next Spring I will only carry 8. I was worried that my Communication class was going to sink me, but when grades were posted I found that on 14 credit hours this Fall I posted a 3.85. Not too shabby. Imagine what would happen if I actually studied! Of course Kate is not impressed. She wouldn't be. She was a 4.0 student when she was in school. But for me it's a big deal. 114 credit hours down, 8 to go. There are 133 days until graduation ceremonies. But who's counting?

I am also in the process of training my replacement as I transition out of the admitting job and into my new position. While there are (many) things that I will not miss, there are still quite a few that I will. I was in a leadership development meeting this week with all of the supervisors and managers from the department, and looking around the room I realized that most of them at one time or another worked for me. I either hired them or stole them from other units in the department.

During my five years as a supervisor in this department I hired 11 people who were promoted within the department, and several who were promoted in other areas of the hospital. Of the 12 supervisors currently in our department, seven worked for me, plus one of the managers (don't ask why she was promoted over me, it still stings a little). The newest of my hires to get promoted, Jenni, is my replacement, and will do a fine job.

I realize that the promotions of these individuals has nothing to do with me. All of them are high performers, and reached their stations of their own making. But as I look at the impact I've made, I think that I've done a pretty good job at selecting the right people when hiring. There are still some staff-level employees that I've hired that I would like to see get promoted, and I am sure that it is just a matter of time. Many of those who have worked for me and are now my peers, (Ryan and Coby) I feel are friends above just work relations.

As I take a break from leadership, I reflect on something that I read in Jim Collins' book Good to Great. He talked a lot about good leaders and poor leaders. A good leader will leave a corporation with the hope that the policies and procedures he or she put in place will endure, and that the company will continue to prosper. A poor leader will hope for the failure of the company, so that he or she can point back and ask, "See how much they needed me? See how important I am?" I agree with this. Hopefully I have been a decent leader, and hopefully I have left the Admitting department a little better than I found it. Time will tell, I guess...



I found this on another blog and decided to try it. At first I thought that it was cool that so many things fit so well. But then I thought: Of course they would. The subject of this is a movie about me. It’s fitting that the kinds of songs I choose to listen to would match. But it was still fun. Give it a try and let me know how it goes.
If your life was a movie, what would the soundtrack be?

Here's how it works:
1. open your library (iTunes)
2. put it on shuffle
3. press play
4. for every question, type the song that's playing
5. when you go to a new question, press the next button
6. don't lie
Opening Credits: Pardon Me-Incubus
Waking Up: It’s the end of the World as we know it (and I feel fine)-REM
First Day of High School : Comin’ Down-Meat Puppets
Falling in Love: I Will Buy You a New Life- Everclear
Fight Song: Name is Jonas- Weezer
Breaking Up: 3 Libras- A Perfect Circle
Prom: Nutshell-Alice in Chains
Life: Policy of Truth-Depeche Mode
Mental Breakdown: Fall to Pieces-Velvet Revolver
Driving: Whiskey in the Jar- Metallica
Flashback: Weird Science-Oingo Boingo
Getting Back Together: Runaway Train-Soul Asylum
Wedding: Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul- They Might be Giants
Birth of a Child: All the Small Things- Blink 182
Final Battle: Harvester of Sorrow- Metallica
Death Scene: Ghostrider-Rollins Band
Funeral: I Stay Away-Alice in Chains
End Credits: Hell’s Bells-AC/DC

The Staples of the Christmas Season

Christmas just is not complete unless certain things are seen and experienced: Chestnuts roasting, snow, kids screaming on Santa’s lap, and of course Christmas decorations. I was feeling bad because I didn’t get the Christmas lights up outside this year. With all of the changes at work (I’ve assumed two full-time roles over the last month) and a heavy school load, I didn’t get to untangle and sort through my icicle lights. But

I promised Whitney that I would get some outside lights up, so this past Saturday I managed to put lights on two small trees in our yard. I shouldn’t have bothered. It looks worse than if I hadn’t done anything. The two trees I managed to wrap were small Charlie Brown-type trees, and look pathetic.

I was going to put up more lights outside, but I couldn’t get them to work. Christmas lights remind me how stupid I am. I can’t get the same strand to work from year to year. For as cheap as lights are the day after Christmas it is worth it for me to buy new strands each year and junk the others.

I need to take a tutorial from my father when it comes to outside decorating. Anyone who drives past Lyndy drive, just South of Hillcrest High School will see my Dad’s trees. It’s quite a spectacle. Grandpa Stretch (as my kids call him) is legendary for his lights. The man has a pair of 50-foot-tall Scotch pines in his front yard. Every year shortly after Thanksgiving he scales the trunks of those trees in order to decorate them with lights.

In one of the trees he places the icicle lights and spirals them down from the top. Near the top he can push them out at arm’s length to start the spiral. As he gets lower, he has to use a special stick that he has fashioned with a hook so that he can reach out to the ends of the branches. In years past he has decorated one of the trees with motion lights, and somehow always managed to get the motion lights to go the same direction.

He has two smaller blue spruce trees in the yard that are “only” about twenty feet tall. One of these he decorates with red and the other blue, appeasing both his Ute fan son (me) and his wayward BYU fan (Chas).

He also decorates his plum tree with all white, but didn’t this year because the plum tree died and has to be pulled. In years past he has also decorated his umbrella tree in all green, and his rose bush in yellow. It is quite a sight, and if I can get a good picture I will post it. The man is impressive.

I also mentioned pictures of kids screaming on Santa’s lap. I don’t know what mall Santas get paid, but it is not enough. Kate and I have pictures of all of our girls crying on Claus’ lap except for Bean (see below). We thought that would change this year because Lauren is old enough that she only likes Mom and Dad (and sometimes G-Pa Mike). But no, once again this year Samantha was the one who melted down. The whole time we were in line I tried to pep talk her and ask her what she was going to ask for. She was fine until I actually placed her. If she gets a lump of coal for Christmas we’ll know it was because she peed on Santa’s lap in a tantrum…

Carmelo Anthony: Pathetic.

Little over a week ago the Denver Nuggets were defeated by the Atlanta Hawks when Marcus Camby in bounded the ball to Andre Miller instead of Carmelo Anthony on the last play of the game. The Nuggets had a chance the win the game on Miller’s drive, but Andre missed, and Camby, after in bounding the ball ran underneath to tip the ball twice, but missed and Denver lost. While all of this was going on Carmelo stood atop the key with his thumb wedged in a dark, warm place. After the game Anthony ripped off his jersey and threw it in the stands in a fit of rage. He was upset that the ball didn’t come to him for the last shot. Apparently Camby hadn’t seen Carmelo’s commercial where the ball hog says, “Why wouldn’t I want to take the last shot? I’ve already made it.” Otherwise Marcus would have passed to the hero. Of course the Hawks were expecting the ball to go to Anthony and had him covered. But it wouldn’t matter to Carmelo. He would shoot into a quintuple team if he had the chance.
I have not liked Carmelo Anthony from day one, and this temper tantrum further irritated me. I think he is a whiner and a jerk. I read an article last summer about how much he’s matured and how he’s ready to take on a leadership role. I had to stand on my chair to finish the article because the horse poop was getting so deep. When I think of maturity I don’t think of Anthony.
The axe I grind against Carmelo got a little bit sharper tonight when the Nuggets and Knickerbockers brawled in MSG. Rumor has it that Knicks coach Isaiah Thomas ordered a hard foul on Denver because he was upset that George Karl still had his starters in the game when Denver already had the game wrapped up. I don’t agree with Thomas’ tactic in sending a message to Denver, but I do think it’s pretty low to leave starters in to run the score up and pad their numbers at the expense of a struggling team. But then again, no one will ever accuse George Karl of having too much class. And don't mistake me for being sympathetic to Thomas' Knicks.
After a hard foul push came to shove and the ruckus escalated until some brawling players spilled into the crowd right in front of the owner of Madison Square Garden. The fracas was starting to wind down when Carmelo ran in and took a swing at Mardy Collins, who was looking the other way. It was a real cheap shot. After taking the swing (a haymaker, but a sissy one at that), Anthony backpedaled from under the basket all the way to mid-court because he knew that if he stayed in there that he’d get his clock cleaned. It was cheap and cowardly, and for me it defines who Carmelo is. Maturity? I scoff at the very notion.
I don’t like the Denver Nuggets in general. I detest them more than I hate the Lakers, which says a lot if you know me. Kenyon Martin, Nene, Carmelo, Camby, Eduardo Najera, George Karl: throw them all in the garbage can. Except for Andre Miller, who I watched play his college ball at Utah, I can’t think of one Nugget I do like. Oh, one other: that little kid that plays for them, Earl Boykins. You can’t help but have some respect for that guy. I revel in the fact that Carmelo will get a long early Christmas break.


I have heard the debates about Carmelo vs. LeBron vs. Dwayne Wade over and over. The draft that year produced some great talent, and I don’t argue against Anthony’s talent. The kid can score and score in the clutch. But for me the debate doesn’t involve Carmelo. I would take LeBron in a second, with D-Wade in a close second. I wouldn’t want Anthony. King James and Wade play selfless ball, and make other players better. At the end of the day that is more beneficial than a one-trick-pony who can just put the ball in the hole. There is no shortage of guys who can score a lot. There is an abundance of shooters. But when the game is on the line and the defense is focused on my superstar, I don’t want someone who is going to act like a crybaby when he doesn’t get to take the last shot.
There was one great thing about the whole melee. During the fight, the officials were trying to restore order, and right in the middle of it all was Dick Bavetta (I can feel Jazz fans squirming at the mention of his name), the one-hundred-twenty-year-old official who was being pushed around like a rag doll. It was great to see the Dick get shoved around. It should happen more often….

Scattered

This week’s blog may seem a bit scattered, but it is a good reflection of how I feel right now. Scattered. Lately I haven’t been as committed to updating my blog regularly because I thought that my posts were more of a self reflection, and that very few people, if any read them. But after my post about Disneyland I received so many comments and e-mails that I realized a lot of people actually read them. So I will try to do a better job of keeping current.

I have finals this upcoming week, so I have a lot of studying to do. And here I sit blogging. I went to the 7-11 and got my Mountain Dew and a bag of fried pork skins (mmmm…heart attack in a bag!) to keep me company while studying. And somewhere between the convenience store and home I lost all motivation. It just goes that way sometimes.

Last week our little Geo Prizm gave up the ghost. Well, kind of. The alternator gave out. An alternator is not too expensive to replace, but the tags on the car are expiring soon, and before we can register, we have to fix a seat belt, a headlight, and a handful of other things. The car is 12 years old and has served us well, but it is time to move on. So we gave the Geo away to a young man who is willing to put the work into it, and we bought a new car. It is a 2007 Toyota Yaris. I had never heard of a Yaris, but the ratings on them are high, and it gets about 40 miles to the gallon. And since I will be the primary driver, the gas mileage is a big deal. I’ve never had a new car in my life. I’ve had newer cars, but never owned a brand-spankin’ new car.
It is sad to give up on the old Geo, though. We’ve had fond memories with that car. It’s the little things that add sentimental value to a car. Like when I had to wash it inside and out on our wedding night because my sister-in-law gave the keys to my cousin, who trashed it. Like the time I was driving Kate to the hospital to deliver Whitney, when Kate barfed in the passenger side door handle. Like when my former mother-in-law backed into it and claimed that it was our fault because of where we parked it, only to discover that she let her own kids park in the same spot behind her without ever having any problems. There’s not doubt about it: Cars gain a personality through us.

All thumbs and two left feet

Sometimes I think it’s a good thing that our kids don’t get most of the jokes we make at their expense. Bean has a pair of black baby doll -shoes, and recently the right shoe went missing after a trip to the store. Kate bought her a new pair of shoes, and I suggested that we keep the spare left shoe since the new pair matched the old. That way we’d have a backup. So we’ve guarded against losing the right shoe. Tonight we had our ward Christmas party, and since Kate was working and I had to get all four kids ready (Kate’s good at it, I am not) I asked Whitney to get Lauren’s shoes on. Whit chose the baby-dolls, and without noticing put both left shoes on the baby. I noticed the error and told Whit that Bean doesn’t have two left feet. She didn’t get the joke.
Last week while in the car Patrick hailed Kate from the back seat and asked what would happen if he didn’t have fingers and only had thumbs. She replied that he would be ‘all-thumbs’. Kate and I were amused. He didn’t get it. But as clumsy as he can be at times, he very well may be all thumbs.

Having four kids I have become lax about illnesses. When the kids get the sniffles, I hardly notice. When they get the flu I don’t lose too much sleep over it. Kids pick up everything. They go to school and come home with whatever their friends have. It’s just part of growing up. But when my fifteen month-old had a seizure, it scared me. Bad. I don’t want to say too much more about it until we know something. More to come…

Down with the Browns in Old Disney Town

Over the Thanksgiving break we decided to take the kids to Disneyland. None of my kids had ever been, and I myself had not been since I was 18 years old, over twelve years. The trip was Kate’s mother’s (Pat’s) idea. She and her husband Drew invited us, Drew’s sister Nancy, Drew’s son and family, and Kate’s brothers Mac and Jim and their families. The day we were to leave, we received a call from Nancy, asking what size T-shirts we all wore. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a problem with everyone wearing the same T-shirts. Each year on the 4th of July we all wear our Old Navy T-shirts for a picture, and I’m okay with that. Shirts that are bought at a store and not customized are fine. Custom T-shirts are not. Mac put it best when he said “I refuse to wear a T-shirt that says ‘Down with the Browns in old Disney Town’.” Their last name is Brown. I agree. I saw people in the park with red shirts and white lettering that said “I’m with Bob”. Then one time I saw a man with a matching shirt that said “I’m Bob”. I also saw a family with matching shirts that said “2006: The year of John”. One young man (presumably John) had a shirt that said “2006: The year of me”. Fortunately for us nothing ever came of the matching T-shirt idea.
This isn’t to say that we didn’t all look like dorks in matching apparel in the park. On the first day in the park (Thanksgiving) Pat had the idea that we would all get a pair of mouse ears to wear in the park. I agreed to this because mouse ears are acceptable, if not mandatory. The majority of the ears the adults picked had flashing lights in the ears. These lights came in handy at night when we wanted to find each other.
There is one downside to the mouse ears. The merchants refuse to embroider a nickname on a hat. I can understand the policy, but my kids don’t know who Lauren is. To them she’s Bean. On the other hand, I can see why Bean is not an acceptable thing to embroider on the ears. We found out that ‘Bean’ is a derogatory term used for Mexican migrant workers, and in Southern California there are many. But the policy of nick names is not consistent. My brother-in-law’s wife Carolina goes by Pilu. The merchant agreed to embroider Pilu on the hat, no questions asked. But hey, what are you going to do?

Lost in California


I experienced one of the worst feelings I’d ever known while in the California Adventure part of the park. I took Whitney and Patrick on the Ferris wheel while Kate attended to the younger children. After we exited the ride, I followed Whitney toward the Maliboomer. We were in a thick crowd of people, and I was holding P’s hand, when suddenly I lost grip. I had brushed past a guy, and Patrick pulled out of my palm. I turned to find P only to discover that I couldn’t see him. I walked in the direction where I thought he’d been, but as the crowd thinned, I knew he was gone. Whit and I searched around the immediate area for about five minutes until I conceded that we needed help. I approached a ride operator and explained what had happened. He called three more park employees over to fan out and expand the search.
The feeling of knowing that your four year old son is lost seven hundred miles from home is hard to describe. It starts with a ten pound weight that drops to the bottom of your stomach, followed by a wave of nausea. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking. I could barely dial Kate’s cell phone number to tell her what had happened. And trust me that is a hard call to make. Kate was on the other side of the park and sent Mac to come help with the search.
Security showed up and asked what he looks like. I showed them a picture from my cell phone, and described his clothes. I was told to stay put, so that I could be found by security. That was when I felt the most helpless. The security guard soon returned to inform me that he had been found by a Good Samaritan who had taken him to a security desk. The whole ordeal lasted about 20 minutes that felt like an eternity.
While waiting for him to be found, I kept thinking about how quickly he had disappeared, and wondered if someone hadn’t picked him up and hauled him off. This was foolish of course. Anyone who kidnapped P would be begging me to take him back in five minutes…
We lost Patrick again later that night. We had gone into a store to find some souvenirs when he disappeared. Again it was just as quick. The second time my first move was to place Drew at the door to make sure he didn’t get outside. P was quickly found, and I then took a ball point pen and wrote Kate’s cell phone number up his arm with the instruction to show it to a Disney worker if he should get lost. But of course he didn’t stray at all after that.
Patrick wasn’t the only child to get lost. Whit became separated from Kate in Toon Town, but only momentarily. Whitney is old enough to know that if she gets lost the best thing to do is stop moving. The first time we lost P he just kept walking. Samantha tried to wander away once, but we were able to spot her before she got too far. Pat also lost Mac’s oldest son Logan, but only for a few minutes. But don’t lecture me about placing a leash on my kids. I’ll never do that.

A Real Show-Stopper

Among the rides that Patrick really disliked was Space Mountain. I was disappointed to hear of his displeasure after riding, because it is by far my favorite. Whitney, on the other hand really liked it. So on our last night in the Park, she and I rode together. We were able to get seats on the front of the car. After settling into the seats, we placed our loose items in the little bag at the front of the car. As Whit was folding her glasses, the car jerked forward, and she dropped her specs out of the car and under the track. Since we were already loaded we rode the ride, and then told the ride operator of what had happened. The girl didn’t want to do too much about it until I explained that the glasses were prescription and Whit can’t see without them.
The girl had a gripper on the end of a stick that she used to try and fish out the glasses between passenger loading. There was an hour wait for the ride, and they didn’t want to stop the ride. She couldn’t reach, so finally another employee with longer arms too a stab at it. He finally got the glasses, but as he lifted them out to hand them to the girl he dropped them further into the track. At this point, there was no way around it: They had to shut down the ride. Eventually the glasses were retrieved undamaged.
Whitney was a little embarrassed about the episode on Space Mountain, and I can understand. While the ride employees were gracious about the inconvenience, Whit could tell that she had caused a problem, even though I kept telling her it was just an accident. Later we attended Phantasmic. We got there pretty close to show time, so we didn’t have a great spot. I could see because of my longshanks, but no one else could. Whitney soon lost interest because she couldn’t see, so she sat down and entertained herself. A crowd control usher noticed her and invited her to a better seat. Nancy went with her so she wouldn’t be alone, and the usher took them right up front. I pulled the usher aside and thanked her, explaining what had happened earlier at Space Mountain. I could tell that the good seats for the show really made Whitney’s day.
Whitney is a good kid. She is well intentioned and a sweetheart. But she is the most unlucky child I’ve ever known. In addition to the Space Mountain incident, she also got the belt loop of her Levis caught on a part of a fence outside the Haunted Mansion. It took a little bit of doing to get her free, and I contemplated cutting her loose. But seriously, who else do you know who has had that happen?

Wonder woman

My wife Kate wears me out. At times I can only stand back in wonder and amusement as I watch her go. My intentions for Disneyland were somewhat selfish. I didn’t want to be relegated solely to kiddie rides. I wanted to ride some fun rides too. Kate’s whole focus for the Disney trip was to make sure that the kids did everything that they wanted. As a result she spent a good deal of time standing in lines for the kids’ rides, and making sure Whitney met all of the Disney princesses.
Kate bought Whitney an autograph book on the first day, and from there Whit became obsessed with getting as many autographs as possible. Kate hiked her butt all over the park chasing down John Hancocks. The one autograph that was missing that Whit really wanted was Minnie Mouse. Kate figured out when and where she would be, and got there on our last day in the park. When the bell rang Goofy came out, and Kate nearly burst into tears. Fortunately Minnie was close by, and Whitney completed her book. Had we not been able to track Minnie down, I was ready to steal the book and forge the signature. She would have never known the difference. But thanks to Kate’s determination I didn’t have to resort to any trickery.
Each night when the little kids would get tired Kate would take them back to the hotel and bed them down, allowing me to stay in the park with the older kids and keep riding rides. That was a lot of work for her and I appreciate it dearly. Friday night she even endured watching a Jazz/Lakers game just so that she could tell me what happened. The Jazz won, for which I am grateful. I detest Kobe Bryant. On the last day of the park Kate got the kids ready by herself and got them to the park because I went with Mac, since we had early admission tickets. She said it was no big deal, since she gets them ready every day while I am at work, but it is a big deal, because we were on vacation. She insists that she doesn’t mind.
Kate said that she wanted to take care of the little kids because she gets motion sick on the rides. While there is some truth to that, I know better. She is completely selfless. Speaking of motion sickness, Kate did break down and ride the tea cups because the kids insisted. Now, I love the tea cups. I took Patrick and Samantha twice, and both times knocked them both over because I got the cup spinning so fast. Kate went first thing in the day and got really sick. But she made the sacrifice for the kids.
Like I said, Kate is Wonder woman. We left early Sunday morning to drive home. Pat said we would get moving about 5AM, which translated to 9AM by Pat Brown time, but Kate insisted that we’d be gone by 7AM come hell or high water. At 6:55AM we rolled out of the parking lot, because Kate got our lazy arses out of bed and moving.

A Big Splash

Kate came up with the idea of getting pictures of all the girls in one picture from the final drop of Splash Mountain, and one of the boys (I prefer ‘men’). The ladies went first, and we got a great picture. When it was the gents’ turn to go, Mac and I, discussing how wet we got when we rode before the park opened, decided that Patrick needed to get really wet. I don’t know what Mac weighs, but he is easily the heaviest of all of us. So we placed Patrick on the front of the log ride with Mac in the second seat and me third. We knew that we were in for a big splash when the log initially failed to hook onto the ramp leading to the last big drop off. There was a grinding noise for a few seconds before we began to ascend. After dropping off the peak, we smiled for the camera, and then Mac and I leaned forward. When the log splashed down the nose dropped under, and a tidal wave roared above us. Our mission was accomplished: P was soaked. Mac and I were also drenched. The best part of it was that P never even knew that we were purposely trying to soak him.
Thursday night I attempted to take Whit, P and Samanth on Splash Mountain. I say ‘attempted’ because even though I knew Samantha was too short to ride it slipped my mind. We had fast passes, so we walked right in, only to be stopped in the loading area by the ride operator. He made Samantha stand under the measuring stick and summarily dismissed us from the line unapologetically. She was two inches short. Because I wasn’t able to take Samantha, P and Whitney couldn’t go alone, since they both weren’t over 9 years old. What bothers me isn’t that we weren’t able to ride. Rules are rules, and I should have paid attention. What makes me mad is how much of a jerk the guy was about it. He could have been nice to my kids, who started to cry after being rejected. I guess he just forgot that he was working in the happiest place on earth. But what really made me mad was after I took Samanth back to Kate and returned with Whit and P I saw not once, but twice where the same guy allowed children who weren’t tall enough ride. Why was I singled out? If you’re going to enforce a rule, enforce the rule. Don’t be inconsistent.
My fondest memory of Splash Mountain came from a previous trip. When I was 18 I went to Disneyland with my friend Rob and his family. Rob, his brother and I decided that it would be funny to get a picture of all three of us giving the ‘finger’ to the camera. We were young and full of beans and all thought we were oh-so original. We followed through, only to find out that not only will they not display the picture, not only will they not sell you the picture, but they will gently invite you to leave the park if you try it again. We still thought it was funny…

Bugged

The California Adventure Park has a Bug’s Life show that is 3D and interactive. I really liked the film and wanted to check it out. We all went. But before we went we should have remembered that Samantha is deathly afraid of all shapes and sizes. She survived the show, but didn’t appreciate it. I still thought it was a cool show and highly recommend it.
Speaking of rides that the kids didn’t like, Patrick and Whitney detested the Hollywood Tower Hotel. I am a big fan of the original Rod Serling Twilight Zone TV shows, and thought the ride was well done. Once was enough for my kids.

Main Street Mayhem

You can’t go to Disneyland without experiencing the Main Street Parade. Our first day there was Thanksgiving, and starting on that day the parade was a Christmas theme, as was most of the park. I saw the parade twice while there, and some of our party saw it three times. The time I missed it was when Whit and I were losing glassed on Space Mountain. But during that parade Cinderella’s evil step-sisters singled Patrick out and fought over him, each claiming that he was her Prince. What can I say? He’s a little ladies’ man.
The second time we saw the parade ended on a down note. It was Saturday afternoon, and the Utes of Utah were playing a football game against their arch rivals, Brigham Young. It is the game of the year. During the day we were getting text messages from Mike in Salt Lake, and we heard that the Utes were up by 4 with 1:26 left in the game. Utah was a major underdog in this game, so we were stoked that we might win. But no, BYU pulled out a last play win to take the wind out of our sails. But that’s okay. We have to let BYU beat us every now and again, just to keep the rivalry fun.

Baby Bean

I was worried about how Lauren would handle the trip. She was too little to ride many of the rides and spent a lot of time in the stroller, as she can’t walk yet. But she didn’t seem to mind. There were plenty of new and exciting things for her to watch, and she thought that cotton candy was manna from heaven…

The BRT

In Barry Sonnenfeld’s 2006 film ‘RV’, Robin Williams’ children name their motor home “The Big Rolling Turd”. After watching that film (in Pat’s motor home) we have likewise named her RV the Big Rolling Turd, or BRT for short. Nevertheless, we rode from Salt Lake to L.A. in the BRT, all 12 of us. We didn’t leave until 11PM on Tuesday night because someone (me) had a night class, and that was the earliest we could get gone. The intention was that we would drive all night, and everyone would sleep except for the driver and a co-pilot to keep the driver alert. It was a nice plan, but it didn’t work. All of the older kids slept the night, but the babies and the adults were up the whole time. I couldn’t sleep because I was paranoid that Pat (who drove from Salt Lake to Vegas) would fall asleep.
We stopped in Vegas to have breakfast with Jordan and Nikki, Drew’s son and daughter-in-law who were to join us in L.A. later that night. In Vegas I was moved to the driver’s seat. I haven’t driven anything that big in many years, and certainly I hadn’t driven anything that big through the streets of L.A. In Salt Lake people give a wide berth to a vehicle that unwieldy. In Southern California it is a different story. By the time I got us there I offered a prayer of gratitude that I hadn’t injured anyone. We had a tow car, which prevented us from going any faster than 65 MPH. It made for a long drive, but probably a safer one.
The trip home was a bit more white-knuckle. We were all so tired by the time we left, that everyone fell right asleep except for Drew, who was driving, and me, his co-pilot. I could tell that Drew was getting drowsy as we approached Las Vegas. His driving was getting sloppy, and he nearly hit several orange barrels and jersey barricades in the construction zone. He didn’t fight when I offered to take the wheel.
After leaving Vegas everyone fell asleep again, including Drew, who was supposed to be my co-pilot. I started mainlining the caffeine and praying that I wouldn’t doze off.
After 13 hours in the BRT, we finally made it home. The Big Rolling Turd did its job.

Thanksgiving

We had Thanksgiving dinner in the park at a pizza joint. It was the most unusual Thanksgiving dinner I’d ever had. No turkey, no sweet spuds. Pepperoni and sausage. I did take a moment to give thanks for everything that I have, and not just because I was on vacation. I am married to an amazing woman who has given me four wonderful children. I have a good job with great prospects. I have a home. I am on the verge of graduating from college. I have a lot of things that I too often take for granted.
I wasn’t excited about this trip at all. When I first heard about it I was upset because I knew there was no way to get out of it. Not that I don’t like Disneyland, and certainly not because I didn’t want to spend some time with my family. Thanksgiving has always been a Shirley holiday to me. This holiday is the one time of the year that all of my extended family gets together and sees each other. I didn’t want to miss that, and I still feel that that I missed the annual Christmas tree hunt in Island Park Idaho. But I am thankful that I was able to go on this trip. Between work and school I have precious little time to spend with my wife and kids, and more often than not I am not there to see them to bed at night. I needed some uninterrupted time together with them. I also needed a time to be away from school and work and to let my hair down (metaphorically of course, as I have none). It was a good trip. A good time was had by all.

We're Gonna Party, Like It's Your Birthday!

This past Friday was Samantha’s third birthday. Her birthday means that she survived past the age of two, which at times was not assured. Not that she’s a bad kid. She was just a two-year-old. That in and of itself explains the danger. She is now my third consecutive child to reach three years of age. Only Bean is left.

Samantha’s birthday party was a big hit. My Dad gave her a Dora the Explorer carriage and pony. As soon as Samanth opened it everything stopped until I could get it out of the package. I had about six children crowded around me and actually had to push kids back more than once. Fist fights even broke out over Dora.

My nephew gave Samanth a makeup kit. We had to immediately confiscate the finger nail polish that came with it. Kate and I decided that we need to give my nephew something equally messy for Christmas.

While I was happy to see that Samanth enjoyed all of her presents and enjoyed the company of a family party, the highlight of the night for me was the cake and ice cream. My father-in-law, Mike, makes a Texas sheet cake that is a little piece o’ heaven.

Getting to Work

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I had interviewed for a new job and promised details at a later date. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now, so I can talk about it. I got the job. I knew that I was going to get the job. I don’t say that to be arrogant, but based on a lot of things that have happened to me recently, and things that have been said to me indicate that it was a done deal.

My new job title is not very clear. It has changed several times. Essentially I will be a technical specialist. We are in the process of building a new registration and billing system to replace our current piece of garbage system that is well past its prime. We will be installing a system that is brand new, and we are a beta site for the new software. As such, we have to do a lot of the work ourselves. The biggest component of this process is thinking about what we will need. That is why I knew I was a top candidate for the job.

When the job was posted we were told that my director was looking for someone with a broad knowledge of all Patient Access procedures. Because of my tenure with the department and the fact that I have had my fingers in the pies of all units in the department, I knew I had a leg up on the others who applied. When my boss saw all of the applications she decided that she wouldn’t be able to interview everyone, so she gave a pre-interview test. Those who passed were granted an interview. The test was two parts. She gave us exercises to test our technical skills, and one to assess our writing skills. I knew that the two aspects of the screening played to my strengths, and it proved to be the case, kind of. During the interview my boss admitted to me that she never even looked at my test, having faith that I had the skills to do the job.

So I accepted the position, and on the same day that the offer was made, I was given assignments. Since my current position obviously hasn’t been filled yet I will be working two full-time jobs until the end of the calendar year. There are some upsides and downsides to the new job. I will have to trade in my huge, luxurious office for a door-less cubicle. One upside is that I won’t have any direct reports. Although my current staff are really good and have shown me a lot of loyalty, I am somewhat burned out on supervising staff. I am ready for a more project-oriented path. I am the type of person who derives enjoyment from working toward my goals. For the past 5 ½ years I have been working toward my undergraduate degree. Now that I am set to graduate this spring I have been looking for the next long-term goal. Now I have it. By the time we develop this system, implement it, and train the staff on how to use it, I will have invested at least three years on the project.

About three months ago I applied for a manger’s job in our department, and was passed over in favor of a young lady who used to work for me. At the time I was devastated, feeling that I had done everything right, and wondering what I was going to do. I felt (and still do) that as a supervisor I had reached a plateau and was ready to make the next move. I had worked hard to prepare myself for the opportunity and was furious at not being selected. When I look at the energy I expended being mad, and how things turned out for me eventually, I can only shake my head and laugh. I feel that I have found a better fit, and that things turned out the way they were intended.

All Jazzed

Last night I went with my Dad to the Jazz game. Going into the game the Jazz were 8-1, with the best record in the league. I knew that we were in for a tough game, as we were hosting the Phoenix Suns. The Jazz had already beaten the Suns in Phoenix in the early season and I knew the Suns would be out for revenge. Before the game we found out that Steve Nash was not to play, and people started to celebrate, assuming that the Jazz would walk all over Phoenix without their MVP. But I was worried. I was concerned about a huge letdown. As it turned out I was justified.

During the game I actually hurt myself by pounding my fists into my thighs in frustration, and after the game I had a headache that ibuprofen wouldn’t cure because I was screaming so hard. I am actually losing my voice because of it. The Suns actually played like a team trying to win one for Nash, and gave the Jazz fits. This effort was supported by the referees. I must admit that I generally blame everything on the officials, something that my wife teases me about. But I commented to my Dad that I couldn’t remember the last time that I was that disgusted by the officiating.

The Jazz went down by fifteen late in the third quarter, and it looked as though they were going to get crushed on their own court in front of the first sellout of the season. However, in the fourth quarter the Jazz made a run, and were down by three in the waning seconds of regulation when Mehmet Okur attempted a three point field goal. He missed, but was fouled and made all three free throws.

In the overtime the Suns were without Amare Stoudemire and Raja Bell, who had fouled out in regulation and without those two, the Suns became a one trick pony with just Shawn Marion to score. The Jazz ended up winning in OT, and we the fans were dancing in the aisles. I realize that I care too much, and I realize that the torrid start of the Jazz cannot continue forever, but damn, they are fun to watch this year.

Next up: a home game with the Toronto Raptors. So maybe we can go 11-1…


http://www.utahjazz.com/

An Eventful Week

In a lot of ways I am glad this week is over. I am exhausted. I applied for a new job this week, and the interview was today (more details to come on that next week). But the week of Halloween is always pretty busy when you have kids, and sometimes even when you don’t have kids.

This year Kate made matching witches’ dresses for our girls. They turned out really well, and the girls were excited to wear them. Patrick dressed as a dragon, and commented that I should dress as a knight. Sometimes he’s lucky that I am not a knight, because I may be a dragon slayer. The kids cleaned up on Halloween. They hauled in plenty of candy for me to eat. I felt bad not being able to take them trick-or-treating, but I have a class on Tuesday nights from 6-10, and since it is a once-a-week class, I can’t really afford to miss. The professor was gracious of the pagan holiday, and promised that we’d be out of class early. He let us go a whole 20 minutes early.

Even though I missed the festivities of Halloween, I didn’t miss the part that I enjoy the most: carving the pumpkins. Whitney and Patrick carved their own faces with minimal help from me. A few years ago my dad came over to carve pumpkins with us, and after nearly suffering a heart attack while watching Whit wield her own knife, he decided not to participate with us in this annual tradition. But despite his (justified) concerns, no one has ever drawn blood during the carving.

But the fun of Halloween wasn’t just for the kids. Kate and I attended a costume party at a good friend’s house. The party is an annual event, and with all of the busyness of our lives, it is the one time of the year that we get to catch up with some good people. Usually my costumes leave much to be desired, and this year was no exception. I was going to dress up as a fairy, but couldn’t get my costume together in time. Plus Kate threatened me with my life when I mentioned that while dressed as a fairy I was going to ask people if they wanted to see my magic wand. Anyway, I borrowed a Malevolent costume from my sister. Kate made herself a devil costume. We weren’t able to stay at the party for long, but I am glad we went. It was good to catch up with some of our few friends.

Now that Halloween is over, we can start looking forward to Christmas. We even got the kids' Christmas pictures done already.

Two weeks ago Kate got a call from the school advising us that Whitney failed an eye exam. Last week Kate took Whit to her uncle Bob (an ophthalmologist) and he concurred that Whit needs glasses. This news did not come as a shock to me. Kate and I are both blind as bats without our glasses, and our kids are screwed in this respect. I just didn’t expect Whit to need glasses before she was nine. At first she was apprehensive, worried that the kids at school would make fun of her. This fear was justified. Kids are mean. But she is now excited and loves her purple glasses.
As if all of this excitement wasn’t enough for one week, the basketball season started Tuesday. Football and baseball are all well and good, but I live for November first. My dad offered me his Jazz tickets for opening night, and though I felt bad because it meant I wouldn’t be home for a single night this week, I didn’t feel bad enough to pass up the tickets. Looking at the Jazz this year I am more optimistic than I have been for several years. Not only did the Jazz beat the Rockets on opening night, but they beat the Suns in Phoenix tonight by four points, not an easy feat.
I took Patrick to the Jazz game, and he was just as entertaining as the game. He was proud of the fact that he smuggled his Halloween candy into the Delta Center. After the game I asked him if he had a good time. “No” he replied. Then my uncle Ard said, “Yes you did. I saw you clapping for the Jazz dancers.” Patrick rolled his eyes up at me and smiled. “I did.” He admitted. That’s my boy.

P.S. On my profile I have updated my lists of favorite movies and books. If you would like to debate, discuss or otherwise get more information about why I listed what I did, please let me know.

Taking one on the chin

Well, Samantha has finally learned how it feels to get stitches. Last night at bath time, she was monkeying around in the tub, slipped, and smacked her chin on the side of the tub. I tell me kids to refrain from leading with their chins, but they just don’t listen. I was sitting about a foot away from her when it happened, undressing the Bean for a bath. I witnessed the whole thing, and it was bad. Children’s heads make a revolting thud whenever they make impact with solid objects. Samantha came up screaming and holding her chin. I didn’t notice the blood streaming through her fingers at first, because she was also bleeding inside her mouth.
Kate took her to the ER, where she ended up with 5 stitches. The poor child was so scared and upset that she wouldn’t even let the triage nurse place the pulse ox. She had to be given a dose of Versed just to calm her down to the point where they could stitch her back together.
The eerie thing about all of this, is that she was horsing around, doing the same thing that Patrick was doing when he fell and cut his chin last year. She landed on the same part of the tub, and received the same amount of stitches. A co-worker of mine said that we need to do something to our tub to make it safe. I agree. The one thing that would make our tub more safe would be to keep my kids out of it…

* * *

I work in a hospital, so I see many strange things. Things that would have bothered me a few years ago don’t anymore. I usually note strange behavior more than anything else now. Last week I stepped into the men’s room only to be forced back by a gentleman who was attempting to leave the restroom with his bicycle. It was the first time I’ve seen someone take a bike into the bathroom with him.
Several times I’ve seen women walk into the men’s room, only to realize the mistake and hurry back out blushing. But one day while I was in the hall waiting for a co-worker, I saw a woman walk in, and spend quite a bit of time in there. When she strolled out, she acted like she owned the place. Either she wasn’t really a woman, or she didn’t care, or she didn’t know. Either way, what do I care?
I had one of my most embarrassing moments in a bathroom here at the hospital. I walked into the bathroom to find an older man with a prosthetic forearm trying to pick a notebook up off of the floor. In an attempt to be useful, I inquired, “Can I give you a hand?” As soon as I said “hand” and looked again at the hook on the end of his arm I realized what an ass I am. He politely declined my help, picked up his notebook and left.
The funniest moment I had in that bathroom was one day when I was standing at the urinal, and I looked over my shoulder to see a man, clad in biking shorts and a biker’s helmet enter. He was holding a clear bottle with some pink powder in the bottom. He turned the sink on, filled the water bottle, shook it up, and set it on the counter. He then proceeded to the stall. Meanwhile, another gentleman stepped away from the urinal, turned the sink on, picked up the biker’s bottle, and poured some of the biker’s “Kool-Aid” on his hands. After rubbing his hands together and rinsing them off, he dried his hands and left the restroom. I wanted to tell him about his mistake, but I figured it didn’t matter. He probably went the rest of the day walking around with fresh-smelling cherry scent on his hands.

I know I haven’t updated my blog in a couple of weeks, and for that I apologize. I have just been lazy. I work full time, go to school full time, and have a wife and four kids. There is no reason I shouldn’t have time to blog as well. Since it has been a while I do have many random things to say, but I will subtitle them, so you can skip the boring stuff.

Just Like the Old Days

Thursday night I got home from school early, about 8:30. As I pulled into the neighborhood I noticed that the streetlight was out. I was struck by how dark it made the street seem before I realized that there were no lights at all in the neighborhood. Pulling into the driveway I saw a flashlight moving through my living room, and I realized on the porch that it was so dark I couldn’t see my door key. I knocked, and after a pause, Kate yelled “Who is it?” She hadn’t been expecting me that early, and I scared her to death.
After she let me in I saw my kids running down the stairs, soaking wet and draped in towels. It seems that the power had just gone off right before I got home. Kate had sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bath time while she went downstairs to move laundry. When the power went out all four of the kids were in the tub, naked and hysterical. It took Kate a while to get upstairs, as it was pitch black. So the children ended up getting a bath by candle light.
We found out that the power company didn’t expect the electricity to be back on until 2 AM, so after the kids were dressed we decided the best course of action was bed time. This was no easy feat. Patrick and Samantha have a duck night light, and Whitney and Lauren have a lava lamp. Without the night lights the kids would not go into their rooms (except Bean, who was so tired that when put in her crib she crashed). So we gathered all of our blankets and made a bed on the floor at the foot of our bed, where Patrick, Samantha and Whitney could have a slumber party.
Before we went to bed I walked around the house, flashlight in hand, getting drinks for the kids and turning off all light switches. Patrick was at my side, my protector. He would say, “I will go with you Papa. I can punch the monsters in half and then break them into four more pieces!” One time, just to test him I said, “There’s a monster! Get it.” He dove headlong onto the floor and yelled, “Pow! I got it!”
Needless to say no one slept well that night. The power was on when we awoke, and order was restored. It reminded me of the first time the power went off when Whitney was still an only child. She slept with us that night, and the next morning, I awoke and left for work before Whitney and Kate. When Whit woke up she ran over and turned on the light, then said, “Papa fixed it!” That’s right. Papa fixed it.

Different Parenting Views

Last week Kate was upset about a conversation she had with one of her co-workers. It seems that the co-worker was putting Kate down because we let our kids leave the house dressed in T-shirts and Levis. This woman felt that children should always be dressed in designer clothes, and if they are not, the parents are at fault for the shoddy dress of the kids. This woman told Kate that she doesn’t buy T-shirt and Levis for her kids, even to wear around the house. This nurse would get upset if she wasn’t able to curl her daughter’s hair, because she knew that her husband couldn’t do it. And the daughter couldn’t leave the house without her hair done up.
This woman said that if kids aren’t dressed to the nines that it is a poor reflection on the parents. In her eyes if children are dressed poorly, the parents look lower class. I feel that this is the height of vanity, and faulty logic.
I have to dress at least in business casual for work, and most days need a tie. While I don’t mind this dress code, I feel most comfortable in Levis and a T-shirt and when I am not at work or church you are most likely to find me dressed this way. It doesn’t make me low class. It makes me comfortable, but not sloppy. My kids are the same way. Kids can dress casually without looking like orphans. I will admit that my children at times look like street urchins, and it is usually because they have played in the dirt or spilled dinner on their clothes, but the clothes themselves aren’t what make the kids look bad.
As far as the argument that how the kids look reflects on the parents that is simply foolish. I know many people whose children do not dress in designer clothes who are still outstanding people. I don’t look at children who are disheveled and think, “What’s wrong with their parents?” And I think that anyone who does is a fool. On the other side I know many people whose children are dressed well all the time, yet the parents are not ideal people.
Saying that you can judge a person by how their children are dressed is, to use an old cliché, judging a book by its cover. It is separating people by appearances, and that, in my opinion is a very bad idea.
So for now, I will continue to dress my kids how I will, in a way that is comfortable to them. And if one of my children’s hair is ratty because he or she fell asleep on it, then so be it. It doesn’t mean that I will neglect how they look, but if Samantha wants to wear sweat pants when we are going to Costco, then so be it. Do I really need to curl her hair before going to buy cat food? As far as the woman who looks down on us because our children aren’t dressed like models all the time, well I feel bad for her. But I really feel worse for her children, because she is raising them to be just like her: Vain and Superficial.

Suzy Homemaker

A few weeks ago Kate bought a pattern for a witch’s dress for a Halloween costume for our girls. At the time I was concerned, because Kate doesn’t sew. Not that she couldn’t sew, she just doesn’t. After working on our old hand-me-down sewing machine for a few days she had three orange and black witches’ dresses for the girls. They turned out really nice.
Before I knew it Kate purchased some Halloween patterned fabric with the intention of making a couple of scrub tops for her. Pretty soon she was making scrub tops for her mother, and then some tops commissioned by some of her co-workers.
I was wondering how far Kate would get into the sewing, when her mother commissioned 24 pairs of matching fleece pants for the whole family for Christmas. I think that the sewing will come to an abrupt end by the time the pants are all made. While pants are a lot easier than dresses or scrub tops, that’s a lot of damn sewing. Kate is very detailed and committed to perfection, so she will take the time to pick out stitches that are not perfect. The end product is high quality, but for her it is a lot of hard work.
The other night I got home from work to find her busy sewing the pants, so I started to make dinner. Kate’s Dad called during this time, and gave her a hard time for how “domestic” we are: Kate sewing and me cooking. It made it worse because we still had some pumpkins and tomatoes from our vegetable garden sitting on our kitchen counter.






* I finally broke down and saw “The Passion of the Christ”. While I thought it was well done and moving, I still think the book was better…*

A Near Disaster

Tragedy struck at Patrick’s soccer game today. We got to the game with plenty of time to spare, which I should have taken as a sign. After parking I walked with Samantha, taking care that she didn’t kick her soccer ball out into the traffic of the parking lot. Patrick was a little behind us, and had climbed up a small embankment that runs parallel to the row of parked cars. I have been encouraging Patrick to dribble his soccer ball instead of carrying it so that he can get a little more practice handling the ball, and he was taking my advice.

As he dribbled along the top of the embankment the ball got away from him and rolled down the hill. I turned when I heard him screaming about his runaway ball. I saw the ball just before it rolled underneath a parked SUV. On the other side of the parked vehicle I spotted an old Jeep pickup truck headed down the hill. Just as I was thinking to myself What are the chances he’ll hit it? I heard a loud pop that sounded like a gunshot.


The driver of the Jeep paused momentarily before driving away, and we were left with the sound of Patrick’s screaming. If I hadn’t seen what happened I would have thought he had been run over.

“Papa! Papa!” he screamed. “That freaky truck ran over my ball!” It took a long time and many promises of a new ball to get him calmed down, and we almost had to leave for home before the game started.

Fortunately by the time the game was over he was recovered from the trauma of a smashed soccer ball and he was able to have a good time at the game. And I was able to find a ball exactly like the one that is now in my garbage can.

The Dangers of Being the Youngest

I usually only post once a week, but we had an incident that prompted a second post this weekend. Last night while Whit and Patrick played upstairs Bean and Samanthat were left alone in the playroom in the basement I was in the family room watching college football when I heard Samantha’s raised voice. I didn’t pay much attention because Samantha’s ire is not uncommon. Plus, I was watching separation Saturday, so I was somewhat zoned out after watching BYU choke against BC and Notre Dame suck against Michigan.
Suddenly there was a crash and Lauren started in on an ear-piercing scream. I ran downstairs to find Lauren bleeding from a gash under her right eye. Apparently Samantha had been playing with a toy garbage truck and her big bad one-year-old little sister had the nerve to try and play with it too. Samantha picked up the truck and threw it at Lauren’s face, causing the bloodshed.

I took Lauren upstairs where Kate and I washed the wound. After a short break about whether or not she needed stitches, Kate loaded Bean in the car and drove to her mother’s house for a second opinion. The cut wasn’t long, maybe ¾ of an inch, but right under the eye, we didn’t want scarring.
After Pat examined the wound, Drew was dispatched to the grocery store to buy some superglue. And instead of taking the baby to the hospital for a stitch, Kate and Pat glued the wound closed. This may seem odd, and a bit dangerous, but emergency rooms have been doing this for years, and Kate and Pat are both nurses. So Lauren now has a nice little cut under her eye with a little bit of leftover superglue, which just looks like dried snot. She looked like a prize fighter after a tough boxing match.
The swelling has gone down today, and she looks much better. But this isn’t the first time Lauren has been injured at Samantha’s hand, nor will it be the last. A few months ago I came down to the family room to find Patrick and Samantha rolling balls down the stairs into the playroom. They have a bucket full of basketballs, volleyballs, soccer balls, and the like. I didn’t see any trouble in this so I admonished them to be careful.
A few minutes later I heard a cry from the basement and looked to the playroom to see that Bean was right in the path of the rolling balls and that Samantha had just beaned her with a soccer ball.
“Be careful, guys.” I said to Patrick and Samantha. “You just hit the Bean.”
“But we’re trying to hit Bean.” Patrick explained. “We’re bowling.”
I felt bad putting the bowling game to an end, but Patrick and Samantha had to find a new ten-pin.

Thievery, larceny, shoplifting!

I’ve been caught stealing;
Once when I was five.
I enjoy stealing.
It’s just as simple as that.
Well, it’s just a simple fact.
When I want something I don’t want to pay for it.
I walk right through the door.
Walk right through the door.
Hey, all right! If I get by, it’s mine!
Mine all mine!

-Been Caught Stealing, Jane’s Addiction

Tonight Mike came over and sat with my girls so that I could take Patrick down to Target. The purpose for our outing wasn’t for school supplies or groceries. Patrick had to go to confess his sins. Kate had taken the kids to Target earlier, and while they were there Patrick saw a yo-yo he wanted. He was told no. Instead of putting the toy back he smuggled it out of the store.
It wasn’t until she got home that Kate realized what he had done. The yo-yo was encased in hard plastic, and had he been able to get it open on his own he might have pulled it off. But Kate busted him. She wasn’t so much upset that he had stolen the item as much as the fact that he was somewhat boastful about it. She didn’t have time to take him back, so I was asked to.
Before we left for the mega-store Whitney informed Patrick that he was going to have to go with the policeman because he stole. She also started to cry and asked me not to take him, yelling “I don’t want the policeman to take him away! I still want a brother!” I assured her that I wasn’t coming home alone, then calmed P, who thought he was about to be read his rights.
When we walked into the store we passed a uniformed security guard, who earned a sidelong glance from Patrick. We approached the customer services desk and asked for a store manager or shift lead. Since it was almost 9PM we got the latter. The twenty-something young lady came bouncing to the front of the store and asked how she could help.
“This is Patrick.” I said. “He has something to tell you.” She bent closer to him, but he just turned into my leg.
“It’s okay.” She said, patting his head.
He turned to face her, then turned his right shoulder toward her, resting his chin on the shoulder. He batted his eyes with his long eyelashes and innocently said, “I’m sorry. I stole this.”
The young lady giggled and rubbed his head, his hair still a little wet from his bath. “You’re so cuuuuute!” She said. “You can still come back in the store anytime.” He handed her the contraband. She looked at it and said, “Maybe Santa Claus will get it for you for Christmas.”
What? I thought. No! There’s supposed to be a lecture in here somewhere. There should be something like, “Thank you for being honest and bringing it back. Stealing is bad and thank you for not doing it again. Nothing! The little shit won her over. He pulled ‘The ladies’ man’ and melted her like snow in July.
It’s not that I wanted her to rough him up, make him cry, threaten him with the security guard. I don’t want him to be afraid to come clean when he’s caught doing something that he shouldn’t. But I did want her to say something to him so that he’d know that it isn’t just his mom and dad being dumb and making him follow the rules.
In the car before we came home I did finish the lecture about how it is wrong to steal and he promised that he’d never steal again. But during the whole episode I kept thinking of Perry Farrell of Jane’s Addiction singing, “Hey all right! If I get by, it’s mine! Mine all mine!” and wondering if that is what P was thinking at the time of his first act of larceny.