Don't Eat Us!

This is the question I posed last night to my daughter, Lucy. A reasonable question. Most people don’t realize this, but aging is 100% preventable (at least up to age 16).

Lucy’s third birthday.

“Because,” I continued, “if you turn 4 tomorrow, I cannot promise I’ll love you as much as today. I just love three-year-old Lucy so much.”

She log-rolled into my lap and looked up. “Dad! I’m turning 4 tomorrow. No. Matter. What!” She held her four fingers up to my face. The quintessential companion, my 3-year-old Lucy, with the gappy grin of Peter Pan and a laugh that will wrench your heart out of your chest…

and then I got it. The plan to freeze my daughter in time.

I’ll cut off two fingers on each of her hands.

A bit extreme, to be certain. But if a preschooler doesn’t have the digits to indicate their age, then they can’t age. Period.

I couldn’t follow through for two reasons. #1: Lucy has not stolen anything other than my heart and, since my family isn’t bound by Sharia Law, I cannot cut off any part of her hands and #2: A girl Lucy’s age is always in desperate need of her fingers. For nose picking.

Last night I gave my three-year-old daughter her last hug. I lamented. We’re talking tear-soaked pillow, snotty blanket, eyes so puffy-red I could barely see the alarm clock as I set it.

Lucy’s four year birthday box.

At some point last night I must have fallen asleep, because the early morning giggling I heard downstairs stirred me awake. I tiptoed, worried about who I might find. Will it be my same Lucy, the one who cries, “Daddy, Daddy, Daaadddy!” every evening when I arrive home from work? Will she still be the girl who envelopes me in suffocating hugs and then says, “Tickle me, Dad!”?

She was eating peanut butter and jelly toast. Lucy couldn’t see me yet, as I was peeking around the corner. She took a bite and the jelly smeared a little on her cheek. That’s a good sign, I thought.

I cleared my throat. “Ahem. Uh, Happy Birthday, Lucy.”

Eyes. Sparkling warmth like deep autumn leaves. They looked up at me.

“Daddy!” She said. “It’s my birthday today!”

Then we hugged. And you know what?

It still felt a lot like yesterday, if you add in the love of one more day.

Welcoming a new member to our family always deserves a celebration. But with Frank, well, I think he deserves something extra special. Like a blog post.

You see, we adopted Frank at the age of 56. It’s a little bit like adopting a grandfather for my children. Before everyone applauds us (though I hope you all do) for our unselfishness, our unyielding desire to help those less fortunate, and before people bring us meals to help with the transition, let me first address Frank’s pre-adoption situation.

Frank only has half a brain. I’m not trying to be derogatory by putting him on the same intellectual level as most teenagers. This is a clinical diagnosis. A fact.

Also, Frank is only 3 ft. tall, a creator oversight that left Frank without legs. His entire life he’s been a victim, a man of perpetual persecution. I know what you’re all thinking: what sort of sordid, dysfunctional, enmity-saturated devils would torture a guy like our beneficent Frank?

I’ll tell you.

Zombies.

That’s right. Until ObamaCare, Frank’s never had access to medical doctors because of his preexisting half-brain condition. But recently I took him to a specialist and we learned Frank’s flesh contains a protein that literally causes the dead to want to feast. The doctor, and I quote, said, “When Frank’s around, corpses think it’s Thanksgiving. And Frank’s the turkey.”

Like all of you, I was heartbroken. But don’t despair, friends! Rather, rejoice with our family that this elderly saint is safe now and in a home where he can be loved.

Just look at how he’s assimilated to life with us:

Here’s Frank at a a family meal…

one he prepared.

He’s also become my accountability partner, sharing his heart with me when I’m discouraged.

He homeschools our children in anatomy.

And on movie night he’s just one of the guys (This is a few minutes before watching the zombie thriller, 28 days later). Can you believe how Frank’s overcome his fear of zombies?

Love you, Frank. This blog’s for you.

What do you get when you cross Facebook, homemaking blogs and Pinterest with a woman who only knows how to say, “Yeah, I can totally do that!”?

You get Alicia and a bold vision to spiritually and academically challenge our children at home.

And that vision must include a furnished homeschooling room, right?

Alicia intentionally took this apple bowl picture to artistically illustrate how in this room she is like a bowl of apples, a harvest of sustenance for our children to be strengthened and fed from.

Okay, probably not. Personification isn’t really her style. But the apples are a nice touch.

“Expect great things from God, attempt great things for God.” -W. Carey

Current lessons include sight words, history, geography, spelling, art and science.

Alicia, this homeschool room compliments in a lovely way my vision for our family.

Thank you. 

Alicia possesses within herself a myriad of persuasive qualities. Some are merely physical: flirtatious eye-batting and hair flipping, for instance. Some are emotional: “What’s the worst that can happen?” she says. And some are even spiritual: she prays for me all day, knowing that my selfish inclinations and lack of adventurous flair are no match for the Almighty.

I suppose, in retrospect, I shouldn’t be all that surprised Alicia talked me into sleeping in a tent for a 3 day, 2 night Lanesboro, MN camping extravaganza.

Why was this an utterly crazy idea? Please see figure 1 below:

Figure 1

No, we were not evicted. No, these aren’t items we’re taking to Goodwill. Above is our attempt at packing a trailer for a weekend camping trip. Seems like quite a lot to haul for a single weekend, right? Seems like one would have to be insane to consider treking several hours with such an unpredictable load, huh? Well, this is not all that we brought.

Please see Figure 2 below:

Figure 2

Yes. We took the children as well. Don’t be fooled. Smiles this broad expend significant amounts of energy and quickly spiral into frowns and whines of discontentment when not frequently fueled with fresh, fruity produce or ice cream.

See figure 3 below. One hour later… We haven’t left town yet, but at least Alicia and I have our caffeine fixes!

Figure 3

The day blossomed into a lovely one, and so we decided to hike in Redwing, MN before journeying to our final destination:

Here is Lucy, giving Dad a lesson in bouldering:

Though toasty, the heat of mid-August was no match for abundant forest shade, allowing my Canon point-and-shoot and me a moment of solitude to capture this heartwarming moment:

Friday afternoon we arrive at the campsite. Thank goodness they have a pool! Ruthann and I get ready for a dip:

Because no one is interested in the fact that Saturday from 2AM-2PM birthed a thunderstorm with gale force winds, I’ll fast forward through the wet suitcases, soggy offspring and deep musings about whether we may have made an epic mistake and should cut our losses and drive home immediately. I’ll continue instead with this photo of Lanesboro and our family.

Now, if you haven’t been to Lanesboro before, it might be hard to appreciate this quaint town filled with locally-owned cafe’s, antique shops, ice cream parlors, miles of bike trails, the inner-tubable Root River, the hospitable townfolk and even Amish coming in their horse-drawn wagons to sell their goods. And that’s why you should all go!

The 4 mile bike ride along the Root River from our campsite to Lanesboro was no match for my eager children.

Math homework with Dad as we wait for our gluten-free Mac and Cheese and hotdog banquet:

S’mores without flossing afterword is like a college wrestler who doesn’t shower when practice is over. Camping is no excuse to let personal hygiene take a downturn:

The Root River in all its glory:

This picture is only missing Alicia pulling Ruthann behind her bike:

And our weekend camping trip is finally over. See the joy on all our faces below:

I learned a lot by submitting to Alicia’s adventurous spirit and just plunging into what most would consider a hopeless endeavor:

1) Trust my wife and embrace her optimistic and joy-filled spirit, 2) trust my children and their ability to behave, 3) trust myself to step up during the hard moments of a journey and know the rain will indeed be short-lived and the sunshine that follows is how we will define the day.

I’m taking Dollface swing dancing for our 8yr. anniversary tonight.

If anyone else can swallow enough of their pride, we’ll be at the Wabasha Street Caves Thursday, July 26th from 7-10 PM.

I’m starting year 9 out on the right foot…or at least hers.

Let’s boogie, baby.

A few months ago, I was asked to write an article for Autism/Asperger’s Digest.  I was nervous about the task because the editor approached me this time, wondering if I’d be interested in writing for a section of All-Star Dads. As for the subject matter, it was left to my discretion.

I began to brainstorm. What did I want to say in the 500 words I was alloted?

And then I closed my eyes and thought back to my emotional state through Caleb’s earliest years. I pictured myself being interviewed by child psychologists, followed by weeping. Surfing the internet for hope, all the while weeping. Discussing Caleb’s unknown future with Alicia, the two of us weeping.

The weeping. It was the one constant in those earliest years of struggles. But why? Why did I weep?

Because of the lies.

So that’s what I decided to write about–the lies. As I began to write I told myself, “If there are any other dads out there reading AAD, struggling with the same lies I struggled with for so long, I want to comfort them. I want them to have the truth that I wish I hadn’t been forced to discover on my own.”

Check out the article:  All-Star Autism Dads Article from www.autismdigest.com.  My article is the second of three, but read them all. The other dads write amazing truths.

If one dad can find hope in my struggles, if the strain on even one marriage can be eased from my words, then my prayer will have been answered.

Now that Baby Ruthann is here, it takes a cosmic event to get away with Alicia for a date.  Unfortunately, I’ve witnessed none lately. We chose the next closest thing: Friday the 13th.

What’s that you say, email? There is a gymnastics gym that will take my children for 3.5 hours for a nominal fee, that my wife and I might get some time to hold hands and play lip-tag in an effort to stoke the dying flames of passion? I’ll take it!

So I planned the date. Drop Lucy and Caleb off. Let them bounce around on dangerous equipment with teenage supervision. Go to Red Lobster for dinner. Simple. Satsifying. Right?

Wrong.

“Please,” Alicia said to the supervisor, “Caleb has a speech disorder. If anything happens, ANYTHING, call us right away. Here’s our number.” And she handed it to the lady.

Then, it was seafood time. For weeks Alicia and I have been in heated discussions over our plans for Caleb in the fall. This was my effort at easing the atmosphere for calm deliberation. In many ways, it worked.

Look at how agreeable Alicia appears here:

Ruthann came along in order to indirectly consume two pounds of crab legs.

As great as our night out was, I continually checked my phone for any missed calls. There weren’t any, but my Dad radar kept going off the entire meal. I felt uneasy. I didn’t know why.

Well, until we picked up the kids at 9:30PM.  I waited in the van with Ruthann while Alicia ran into the gym to get the kids. When they walked out, no one was crying, but Caleb had a look on his face that made me squirm. He was holding his wrist like it was a dead fish.

“Oh, he fell about 6:30 off a springboard. But he didn’t really cry,” the supervisor assured Alicia.

“Why didn’t you call us?” she said.

“He was just kind of quiet the rest of the night. He seemed okay.”

Hmm…why was he so quiet? Caleb broke his right arm. Again. And he was too darn embarrassed to say anything.

Yeah, he was pretty depressed the next day.

Fortunately, one of the best qualities about Caleb is that he’s more resilient than Brett Favre.

Of course I don’t blame anyone for Caleb’s broken arm. Accidents happen. It stinks that we didn’t get a call when he fell, but no one’s worse off because of it. Just think how frustrated Alicia would have been if we’d have had to take our crab legs to-go?

Despite the curve ball, Friday the 13th was a good day for a date. Next time, though, we might just have to stay home and watch a horror flick instead.

After rigorous study of and experimentation with the current precipitation situation using only the most technologically advanced scientific gadgetry–insulated boots, a shovel, and my perspiring armpits–I am now confident in my Leap Year-day doomsday prediction; Minnesota is certain to be victim of a surpise invasion by ten foot snowmen today.

And what do we intend to defend ourselves with?  School children wielding carrots.

Don’t fight it, embrace it.

(No, we did not build this one. But my guess is that in a couple hours, we will create one like it.)

Cub Scouts surprised Caleb and me with a challenge we found nearly insurmountable: build a Pinewood Derby car. They provided us a box I decided not to open until a week before the race, and I discovered its contents included only a block of wood, nails, plastic wheels and a short set of guidelines. Are you kidding me?!?! I thought this would be a ten minute endeavor. Not so.

I’m not considered a handy-man by anyone. My garage tool acumen is only slightly worse than my putting a ponytail in Lucy’s hair acumen. In fact, I had destroyed my stapler only moments before beginning my research on how to make Caleb’s derby car–this was three days before the race–because it was empty of staples and I didn’t find the cartridge eject button before my temper erupted.

Nevertheless, Caleb and I prevailed. And we didn’t spend hundreds of hours on the car, either.

This is the simplest set of directions I can give for any Dad who needs to fabricate their first Pinewood Derby car, and make it competitive.

1) Design your car-From my research, I’ve gathered that the aerodynamics of the car contribute little to its performance. Since Caleb’s only request was a ‘Car’ inspired design, we traced Chick Hicks on the block of wood. A band saw finished our cuts in a matter of minutes; if you only have a hand saw, don’t fret; simple cuts don’t take long. ***See step four to make sure your design allows for the addition of weight to the back of the car, however.

2) Sand your design- Lower to higher grit until you get the smooth feel you desire. Caleb loved sanding his car’s body; he really worked hard at it. This is more of an aesthetic step.

3) Make cuts for axel placement (don’t use the precut ones)–Use a saw to get wheels as far apart lengthwise as the rule restrictions allow. DO THIS CAREFULLY. Next to adding maximum weight to the car in the right proportions, this is the next most important step.  Be certain your cuts are at ninety degrees to the car’s body so the axels will run perpendicular to the body. If you don’t, the wobble will slow the car.

4) Add weight--If you are as lazy and cheap as I am, don’t go to the Boy Scout store and buy weights. Just make a design that allows you do drill out the trunk area. Then, put the car on a scale with the wheels and axels (I went to the grocery store and put it on their deli scale.) Then dump the weights in until you are 0.3 ounces from the max weight (max weight is five ounces), or if they don’t have ounces on the scale, max weight is 0.31 lbs (so fill to 0.29 lbs). The reason for not going to max weight at this point is due to the addition of Play-Doh over the weights at the end. Ideal weight distribution is eighty percent posterior and twenty percent anterior of the car.

5) Paint the Car–You can skip this step entirely if you want. I spent more time than I wanted painting our car because Caleb only cared that it looked like Chick Hicks. Still, he and I only painted a couple hours total (we added stickers also).

6) Buy powdered graphite–This lubrication is essential for your car to be competitive. It will reduce the resistance of the wheel on the axel substantially, allowing it to go much faster. Apply it to the axel and spin wheel on it to lubricate well.

7) Place axels and wheels onto car–Again, tap those axels in perpendicular, giving them a three to five degree tilt so they run on the inside of the wheel slightly. If you can, take one anterior wheel out of contact with the ground completely; it will go faster with reduced resistance.

8) Test run-run car on the floor to make certain it is running straight. Any deviation will slow the car down because it will bump into the guide the car runs on. Adjust axels accordingly until it is perfect. This was our biggest mistake. I believe, had I spent the most time working on this step, our car would have qualified for the district race.

9) Go to race site--Put car onto scale and add weight until you are at exactly five ounces, sealing the weight into the back with Play-Doh. This way you can add weight without worrying about being over the limit when you get to the race.

Optionals: 1)Some people bake their wood block in the oven before car fabrication. This removes water and allows you to add more weight later. 2) Sand axels slightly to remove any imperfections (do this carefully or you may warp or weaken your axel) 3)Sometimes the track is set up the night before; if you want to trial run, go for it. As for us, we had just started the paint at this point.

Total hours we spent on the car (excluding painting and driving to get graphite and weigh car): 2 hours. In fact, typing this blog post and loading the pictures rivals the time we spent manufacturing our Chick Hicks.

Our results? We were only like three cars from qualifying for the district race. I think with more time spent on wheel alignment, we could have easily broke the top 10% of the cars.

Even if you have no desire to participate in this race, do it anyway. Caleb and I bonded so well over the project that I feel sick about  the fact I considered withdrawing from the competition.

Just have fun with the project, even if you have expectations as low as I did.  The Pinewood Derby isn’t about winning; it’s about having fun.

At least, that’s what the losers tell me. Follow these directions, and you’ll have more than fun; you’ll have bragging rights.

If any of you handy men have anything to add, I’d love to hear it. Next year we plan on winning, and your help may make the difference.

“Ka-Chick-a!!!          Ka-Chick-a!!!”