Lyrics

These words don’t write themselves anymore
Not at the speed of sound
Writing days are dusty old
And I’m rusty anyhow

And I need my heart beating with a constant song
I need my voice but it’s been too long

You stay awake to hear ‘em call to you
Those lyrics from the night
Only the ticking of the clock
Hangs heavy on my eyes

And I need my heart beating with a constant song
I need my voice but it’s been too long

Too many things pull me left, pull me right
It sure passes the time
The only thing now to show
A couple words, a couple lines

But here’s to hoping for the big shot, the big one
Bright lights and some kinda name
Pray for a roller-coaster life
But them tracks just ain’t the same

And I need my heart beating with a constant song
I need my voice but it’s been too long

The return of bare feet

Gone is the frosted ground. Now is the time for dirt between our toes and sand in the bathtub.

Plugged in

One of the best things to happen so far in 2012 is that my friend C and I were able to perform a 35 minute set at a coffeehouse. He and I don't often get to sing or perform together (time and distance being the limiting factors), but we managed to put in more time rehearsing and preparing for the coffeehouse event over the past four weeks than we probably have in 5 years. It was really great and re-ignited the fire of music writing and recording. We made a goal for ourselves to get together once a month to continue collaborating on new ideas. I almost forgot what a rush it is to prepare and finally perform for an audience...it's really the culmination of a lot of hard work for a musician. And it went really well.

While no one is watching

Happy Birthday, Miles. Keep on playing and singing as if no one is watching you. You're doing great! ~Dad

The wait is over

Santa has made the rounds. The surprises have been revealed. The gift wrap and bows and ribbon cover the floor. Family has come and gone. And the story has been told again, of a baby born long ago to nothing, but who would become something to so many. Here's to remembering that each of us matters.

December

The month has nearly disappeared leaving only memories of many events and just three full days of 2011. My sprained wrist turned out to be a broken hand. I played and sang for a candlelight memorial service. I played and sang for a wedding. I helped photograph that same wedding. I played for another candlelight service. We ordered 8 pizzas and had many guests over to celebrate Margo's 2nd Birthday. We traveled to my parents house for Christmas Eve. Back home for Christmas Day. We are now hosting Emily's sister and family to celebrate Miles' Birthday as well as a belated Christmas for her side of the family.

My stay-at-home-dad days are over, at least for the foreseeable future, as I return to the grind of human resources on January 3. We shall see what the year 2012 brings...

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Damn that snow!

Addendum to previous post.

What was that I just wrote about pulling the kids around in the sled on our snow covered lawn? Not one hour after I wrote that piece I'm out pulling the kids on a sled through said "deep snow." As I grab the rope, I start to run, backwards now so I can watch Margo's delight as I pull her thirty pounds effortlessly across the snow. Perhaps too effortlessly. My backwards plod in new Sorel boots were no match for the cold iron ring of the fire pit, hidden by a layer of freshly fallen snow. Aside from dumbfounded kids getting their first lesson in fallibility, what was I left with? A torn glove, a few lacerations, a badly sprained hand and wrist, and a good reminder to check one's blind spot.

Let it snow

After two seasons wearing tennis shoes and Gore-Tex lined hiking boots, I finally re-established myself as a Minnesotan and purchased a pair of classic Sorel snow boots. After enduring the pounding snowstorm and well-below-zero temperatures of last winter, I am now as prepared as I should have been. Additionally, I anticipate logging more hours trudging through deep snow while pulling a sled carrying Miles and Margo. No more frozen ankles!

Same as it ever was

Tradition is a curious thing yet not surprising if you believe we are creatures of habit. Holidays overflow with tradition from the set-up (tree up, then lights) to execution (dad turns on Christmas music, everyone sits down around the tree) to tear-down (wrap the lights, fold the tree, promise yourself next year you'll start shopping sooner).

It's always fascinated me how many traditions appear to be practiced and repeated just because that's how they've always been done. The danger there is that the rituals that make up traditions can lose meaning, and in some cases, be more of a burden than an enjoyment (when everyone knows it and no one says anything!). On the other hand, I sure have fond memories of traditions that I so anticipated each year at Christmastime. The childhood anticipation of Christmas was truly a magical time, and I hope some of the traditions Emily and I enjoyed growing up can be shared with our kids to make the time of waiting magical for them, too.

As with anything, it's important to strike a balance. Tradition is good when it brings about a true source of joy in bringing family and friends together, but you shouldn't be afraid to break it. Just as your mind--not a memento or keepsake or photograph--holds a memory, kindred spirits--not a ritual or time or place--make a family.

Timing

Don't blame the boy. This one was my idea. :)

Tradition

Somewhere in my brain a screw is loose. For the past few years on the day of winter's first snowfall my mind pulls me outside to go for a run, partly out of guilt that I haven't run all summer (I prefer cycling) but mostly out of the need to assure myself I can survive it. This year it wasn't terribly cold, but cold enough to create an icy path. The wind was also blowing hard, driving the falling ice into my eyeballs while I ran north.

I generally run at night--or in this case, snowfall--so that my slow pace and poor form are hidden from public view. For some reason I find it easier to run in the winter, despite having to wear hat, gloves, gator and many layers of clothing. My real problem with running is that I'm not consistent yet feel like I should be able to go farther and faster. And each year on the first run I end up running farther than I probably should for a first run. My wife, a fantastic runner, rightfully rolls her eyes.

But...what really "brings me back" each winter is how good it feels when I'm done. Coming in from outside, warming up, stretching and waiting for the satisfying muscle ache of a surviving yet another first winter run.

Parallels

Busy week

This photograph breaks a number of rules of "good" photography (exposing for the main subject, shooting faces instead of backs-of-heads, leaving room for your subject to go), but it gives a pretty accurate representation of our typical morning walk. We walk together on the neighborhood streets where cars and school buses and garbage trucks rumble by, and when we arrive at the trail head all is fair game. It's time to run ahead, free from the bonds of hand-holding and strollers.

It has been another busy week. We visited a new library on Monday. Papa Harry rode his bike to our house Tuesday and stayed the night. Nannie Lynn came Wednesday to play and help. Wednesday night we brought our car to Uncle Scot's shop for repair. We brought Emily to the bus station this morning to catch a ride to downtown Minneapolis for some work training. Miles has preschool tonight. Papa Mike will join us Friday for some adventure. Saturday on the calendar is an empty square. Thank goodness.

Minority

I brought Miles and Margo to our second ECFE event at the library and once again found myself in the minority. Although the three of us (one other dad and a grandpa) likely cramped the style of the "mob of moms" style, I'd like to think our masculine minds helped balance the energy of the room! Good stories and good projects..and good price: free.

Versions

"Do you ever feel you've become the worst version of yourself?" ~Joe Fox in You've Got Mail

I'm struck by the relevance of this question and often ask this of myself after a moment of weakness or failure. Whether you're maintaining a relationship with a significant other or developing a relationship with your kids, being self-aware of your best and worst is humbling, but also empowering. When you look at your versions--the combination of your attitude, decisions and behaviors in a given day--and ask yourself which version your wife/husband, boyfriend/girlfriend, dad/mom, son/daughter sees most, it can give you a good indication of whether you're giving enough of the best of yourself. If the answer is "usually the crabby version," it's really no wonder that spouses develop resentment and kids take on bad habits.

"Know thyself," said Socrates. These two words are timelessly significant for anyone trying to make a go of just about anything. Who are you today?

Day thirty-eight

I'm well into my second month away from work and just starting week 5 with the kids. I can hardly tell you where October went, but I can tell you that it was wonderful.

The kids made a candy-killing at Halloween, zig-zagging the streets of our neighborhood, running door to door to Trick-or-Treat their way to sugared chocolate bliss. Miles and Margo proudly donned their costumes several times before October 31, showing them off to visitors and grandparents whenever they could. On the evening of Halloween, Miles knew the drill well, having rehearsed his lines many times. Margo trailed along slowly and prospered just fine on cuteness, without having to say a word. I'm curious to know how many seasons our home-made candy bags will last. I'm sure they'll hold up just fine to time, but will be forgotten and passed over once the allure of fake plastic pumpkin buckets draws them in. And should plastic pumpkins fail to attract them, surely adolescence will render grocery bag trick-or-treat containers grossly out of style.

Autumn in Minnesota has been very kind to us this year, and I am thankful to have gotten to enjoy much of it. The wind blew hard and cool yesterday, reminding us that Old Man Winter is packing his bags for his five month visit to our part of the world. Em and I will be outside in the yard again soon, cutting down and trimming back much of what flourished over the spring and summer months. Most of them will lie dormant over the winter months, frozen to the earth, hidden beneath a sheets of ice and blankets of snow...but very much alive and ready to thrive again next year. We will be together inside, ever thankful for a warm home, loving family and faithful friends.

Talking

One of the unexpected side-effects of watching the kids all day, every day is the strain on my voice. I talk far more than I ever did while I was working full-time. Miles is a constant question machine and, not wanting to ignore him, I spend a lot of time explaining why something is. It's a good refresher of mathematics when he asks me what "half of something" is...and of chemistry when he asks why steam comes from ice (can YOU explain that?). Margo is more of a noise machine than a question machine, and while her utterences don't require as many responses, I include her in our conversations. Add to those conversations many storybooks, commands and my own questions of them and I feel like I am talking non-stop.

Last call for fall

Children are great at noticing the things that matter. Our morning walk usually produces souvenirs of pretty leaves or strange sticks that end up on the kitchen counter or bedroom dressers. Today there was a worm, brought to the surface by an early morning rain, squirming along the asphalt path towards the grass. Worms are as brown and unattractive as you can get, but both kids noticed it and just had to watch it and ask why it was doing what it was doing.

In this season we trample over thousands of leaves that have fallen from the mothertree, and I have to wonder what makes one stand out from another. You ask a grown-up to go outside and get a red leaf. He'll probably grab one of the first ones he sees. You as the same of a child, he'll walk and walk and walk and walk until...this one!

May you notice the differences in the sames.

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Written in stone

 

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Library day

Monday is library day. Today we returned books and read for a while in the children's area. Miles chose several books about trains, and Margo, a colorful book about a runaway wok. Seems like a good read. I hope it's a better choice than our previous choice by Aldous Huxley, The Crows of Pear Blossom. It may have been in the children's section, but we had to rephrase some of the storytelling, particularly the suggested killing of the main character's neighbor who was acting rather devious.

Magic convergence

If I had to make a top 10 list of favorites, driving alone at dusk listening to a great ballad on the radio would definitely be in that list. Not that there is a wrong time to listen to music, but I especially love the magic that happens when all things come together at once: my mood, the light in the sky, the passion in music and lyrics. So many of my favorite songs were heard for the first time on the radio, late at night, in my '89 Pontiac Sunbird (with the cassette tape deck) or '91 Dodge Dynasty (with the one bad speaker) as I drove around Faribault and to and from Decorah. Music defined me then and it sure defines me now.

May you hear your song tonight.

Day eighteen

This parenting thing is feeling more natural with each day I spend with the kids. I am more easily able to predict what will happen next and use that knowledge to know when to change tasks or change the subject to avert conflict. The improved rhythm tells me they, too, are settling into a comfortable routine with me.

Today was fun. We brought three letters to the post office to stamp and mail. We were then lucky to see a train chug through town, which thrilled Miles. Our car was no more than 20 feet from it, so we felt the earth vibrate and we heard the whistle sound. On our way home we stopped by a corn maze to burn some energy. We took some wrong turns and hit some dead ends, but eventually made it through. A fitting analogy to our time together.

I've learned to enjoy a slower pace at times. In times where we interacted with our kids only before and after work, agendas pretty much drove everything and for me it always seemed to be a system of rushing to get to the next thing. With wide-open days, we can take time finding our shoes, zipping our zippers, meandering down the sidewalk at a snail's pace without worrying when we'll return home or what we'll do next. So while I do have regular activities I plan to do, I'm learning to do them when it makes sense, not when the schedule dictates.

The boys

Their visions are grand. Engineer a modern parking lot to accommodate race cars, planes, trains, and helicopters. Their plans are limited only by the number of vehicles and hours until lunchtime. It's great to be a boy!

Day thirteen

It's only my fourth day at home with the kids full-time, but I've been away from work since the end of September. We're slowly starting to get into a routine. I pull them in a Burley on a six or seven-mile bike ride in the morning. We stop at the baseball diamond to stretch and run the bases and stretch some more. Then we make our way to a playground for a while and come back home around ten o'clock.

Then I think, Now what do I have them do?

Crayons and coloring books usually do the trick for a while and bring us to lunch time and [usually] naptime. In the great October weather we had up until yesterday, we were back outside for a walk or bike ride. With colder weather approaching, I'll need to get a bit more clever with my list of activities. We're sure to visit the library for storytime and the indoor trails at the zoo to explore the animals.

I'm surprisingly disconnected from any thoughts of work. I thought I might be tempted to check in by email to make sure things were running smoothly, but I can't tell you how nice it has been to remove myself from the constant back-and-forth of often-ambiguous electronic communication. My days are now very raw and transparent. No hidden emotion or motives...my kids give it to me straight up. We are learning.

Facing ahead, looking back

I recently heard an interesting take on defining multitasking: Screwing up multiple things at once. The ability to multitask gets a lot of weight in the corporate world. I'm not particularly good at it unless, of course, it involves multiple things that I just happen to really enjoy. Even still, I've often wondered if constant multi-tasking often leads to a lot of work done half-a**ed.

Our family is less than two weeks away from undergoing a major transition. I'll be taking a much-needed and anticipated leave of absence for three months. Following some pretty significant reorganization and job-shifting at work, I've experienced a lot of stress and burnout that has started to negatively impact my 'job performance' as a parent. Before my parental annual review gets chiseled in stone I've decided to take some time off to focus on my kids and pay them some quality attention. While teaching them some life lessons (i.e. socks before shoes, manners, why the sky is blue), I hope to keep my own behaviors and attitude in check so that when I return to work in 2012 I'll know what works as far as my interaction with them.

I'm a human fueled and energized by my personal time, spent doing creative projects. Talking and public events tire me out. So while I fully expect to be exhausted after spending an entire day with the kids, at least I will have given them my good energy for more than just a couple of hours in a day.

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