Letting Go

It was dark when I came in the house from working in the yard.  I was dirty and went immediately to the shower.  We have an old tub with an afterthought shower setup.  It includes a long chrome pipe, sticking out of the top of the tub faucet.  Normally, on newer houses, this runs inside the wall.  Ours is outside the wall, inside the shower.  Near the bottom is a second shower head on a hose.  To use one or the other, you turn a little valve.

Ever since we moved here, I have typically been the only one that uses the upper shower head.  Most everyone else uses the tub faucet or the shower head on the hose.  Lately though, one of my children has gotten into the habit of using the upper shower head.  This wouldn’t be a big deal except for he always changes the setting to massage, only the massage setting doesn’t really work.  Mineral deposits inside the shower head have locked the moving parts in place.  So instead of an alternating spray out of six holes, three at a time, the water shoots out in three laser beam streams. 

Okay, not a big deal.  I know this.  But I’m still bugged.  Maybe I’m bugged because I have asked him to change it back when he’s done, and still he doesn’t.  Or maybe it’s because he has to stand on the sides of the tub to reach the shower head and could easily slip or fall.  Or it could be that I get sprayed all over, trying to figure out which way to spin the little dial, returning it to the setting I like.  Lame as it sounds, the most likely answer is that the upper shower head is just mine, it’s always been mine, and I don’t like people touching it.  Like I said, I realize its lame.  

Tonight, as I reached up to change the head back to my setting, I thought about how it really isn’t a big deal, and maybe I could just let it go.  Suddenly, memory took me instantly to my high school days, when my old truck was in the shop, and my mom let me take her car once in a while.  She hated it when I adjusted the mirror in her car, and let me know about it whenever I forgot to change it back.  Eventually, it was easier to just stop adjusting it and use the other mirrors instead.  The mirror adjusting issue is so ingrained in my psyche that I still think about it almost every time I adjust the mirror in Nancy’s car. 

It was so strange for me to suddenly make this connection between these two seemingly unrelated events.  It’s also interesting that I didn’t make the correlation until I was actually reaching up, the way you would reach up to adjust a mirror, and at the same moment, I told myself to just let it go, the same way I wished my mother would have done for me.

Sometimes this boy and I don’t see things quite the same way.  He makes a lot of noise and has a hard time staying on task.  These two things are sometimes hard for me to deal with, especially when he should be clearing the table or going to bed.  I try so hard to be nice and to listen and to understand.  I constantly remind myself that his actions and behavior are all age appropriate, but, all too often I am just complaining about how he does this or that wrong, or how he could have done this or that differently or better. 

My own mother didn’t like a few things about me and tried to correct what she could.  But it was very rare for her to find fault or get on me about every petty thing.  She loved me, and I knew she loved me.  No matter what, I never questioned that about her.

She never let her frustrations with me get in the way of the relationship.  Or if she did, I never knew about it.  I honestly don’t know if my son can say the same thing about me.   

Today, when I got home, he ran up the stairs yelling, “Daddy’s home!”  He said it the same way all the kids did when they were younger, and grew out of saying when they reached the age of six or so.  I gave him a hug and rubbed his back for a minute.  “That feels good,” he cooed. 

I thought about how he doesn’t get much attention like this anymore, at least not from me.  I believe it’s time for that to change.  It’s time for me to change.  He is what he is.  He doesn’t know any other way.  I’m the one who’s wrong.  I’m the one who needs to let it go. 

“Daddy’s home.”  The words keep echoing in my mind.  Maybe I’m not completely there, but I’m working on it.  And I will keep working on it until the relationship is right, until I have let it all go, and until I can fully accept him for the person he is. 

I’m coming home.  And yes, that does feel good. 

The Tooth Fairy

 

Twice last month, the tooth fairy forgot about my kids.  Twice!  Once is bad enough, but twice?  That’s ridiculous.  Once is an oversight.  The second time was unforgiveable. 

The first time happened about two weeks ago.  I got the terrible news when my six year old came in, crying about how the tooth fairy had not come.  I was livid.  How cold!  How uncaring can this individual be?  I explained to my daughter that perhaps the tooth fairy was extra busy last night and was still on her way.  “It’s still pretty early,” I suggested.  “Maybe she had to pick up so many teeth last night that she is running behind.”  (Note: I use ‘she’ herein as a general reference term.  Because I have never met the tooth fairy face to face, I cannot be sure what gender he, or she is.  I did almost see her once, when I was a boy, but it was from behind and kind of dark in the room, so I wasn’t able to come to any decisive conclusion.  But, that thought assumes my children have the same tooth fairy as I did, which, I suspect is probably unlikely.  In any case, please substitute ‘he’ for ‘she’ if you feel so inclined.)

Of course telling my daughter the tooth fairy was busy was a lie (something I very much dislike about being a parent and avoid whenever possible).  Obviously, the tooth fairy just fell down on the job and misplaced the information about coming to our house that night.  But that was way too crushing for my sweet daughter to hear, and way too complicated for me to explain when I had just woken up. 

In the end, everything turned out okay because the tooth fairy came through while everyone was gone from the house.  In addition to the traditional one dollar bill, she even threw in an extra ten cents for having messed up so bad. 

You would think she would have learned her lesson.  And you would think she would want to try harder to hang onto her extra ten cents.  But no, like a week or ten days later, it’s the same old, same old around here.  This time it was my son who was ripped off.  But he’s a little older, and tougher, and I think also a little more forgiving.  He seemed to be okay with it and nonchalantly mentioned the incident at breakfast that morning. 

“Again?” I shouted.  Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to him, but I was infuriated.  “This is an outrage!  Who does one complain to about these things?”  I gave him the same old, worn out speech about the tooth fairy being busy.  He seemed to be okay with that.  Besides, I think he was excited about the possibility of an extra dime. 

Later that night, as he went to bed, he casually asked, “Is the tooth fairy a man or a woman?”  Without giving us time to answer, he mentioned that if we saw the tooth fairy tonight, maybe we could remind him or her that he had lost a tooth.

“I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman,” I said.  “And we probably we won’t see him or her before we go to bed.  But, if we do, we will let him or her know.” 

Fortunately, without any prompting from us, the tooth fairy did make it to our house that night.   And again, he or she left a little something extra for my son’s troubles. 

Last month, all totaled, the tooth fairy came to our house four times.  Twice she caused a stir and twice she did her job flawlessly.  I’ve had a thought that makes me reconsider my position on the whole thing.  In baseball, a 50% average gets you instantly inducted into the hall of fame.  So maybe it’s not as bad as it could have been.

Come to think of it, it’s probably a tough job keeping track of all those kids and teeth and dollar bills.  And it’s got to be hard trying to never get caught, and then never getting any credit for all that sneaking around and stuff.  I suggest, everyone just forgive the tooth fairy for a little mistake here and there.  Maybe she’s new to the job or maybe it’s just a second job to help make ends meet.  Whatever her problem is, please forgive if you can.  But, if that’s too much to ask, maybe we should all just cut her a little slack. 

Clark

Election Day

I don't have a ton of these reposts left, but I want to get them back on the internet.  So thanks for your patience.  This was first posted on May 29, 2009.

Today is the big day at the elementary school.  Who will be on the next Student Council?  More specifically, will our daughter be among them?  She has her speech all ready and she has practiced it plenty.  She seems confident and has been filled with enough tips and positive mental attitude stuff to last her a lifetime.

Last night, after she went to bed, I was thinking a little about what she has to do today.  For the first time in my life, I got butterflies for someone other than myself.  It was kind of an interesting experience, and reminded me immediately of the first time I remember getting them for myself.  I have had the butterflies many times since then and don’t think about it much anymore.  But that first time, I had no idea what was going on and had to ask my mom what was happening to me.  Now, all these years later, I wonder the same thing.

I know I just wrote the other day about how she is so wonderful and special and means so much to me.  And, of course, she is all of these things and more.  But it amazes me that someone can be such a part of me, of who I am, and of what I feel and think, that I actually get butterflies when she is taking the stage.  Wow.  That’s incredible to me.

I actually don’t like the butterflies.  I don’t hate them or anything, but it’s definitely a feeling I don’t love.  At the same time, it’s a feeling I wouldn’t ever avoid.  For me the butterflies are a way of knowing I’m alive and that I’m doing something that will help me grow and learn more about myself or the world.

Today it won’t be me standing in front of the audience, but the butterflies are still letting me know I’m alive.  I’m growing as a parent, and as a person.  And it’s nice to also recognize that my capacity to love and feel for another human being is also growing.

So this morning I think I’ll sneak into the school during the assembly.  I’ll stand in the back doorway of the auditorium and watch her speak.  I’ll feel some of what she feels and experience for myself some of what she is experiencing.  My first baby is growing up and I want to be there to feel it.

Clark

Photo of the Day - Profile

Tonight my oldest daughter had a big chunk of enamel break off one of her remaining baby teeth.  I hadn't even pulled my camera out for a couple days but thought I would try and get a shot of it.  Nancy has been sick in bed for the last 24 hours so I took the camera in to show her the pictures.  She, along with two of the younger boys, and a few days earlier, two of the older children, have had a nasty stomach flu.  Only two of us have been spared so far.  Hopefully things stay that way.   

I found her surrounded by children, all trying to get a little time with their mother today before they head off to bed for the night.  My younger daughter was sitting by the lamp, which gave her this soft, golden glow.  Her hair is a little wilder than usual.  That tends to be the way a lot of things go when I'm in charge around here.

Clark

Flying Solo

First Posted May 22, 2009 on el Bed.com

A friend pointed out to me once that it’s impossible to babysit your own children.  “Good point,” I agreed, after giving the idea some thought.  I guess it really bugs her how dads say they are babysitting when Mom isn’t around. 

Tonight Nancy, as well as our oldest daughter and several of her friends are up at Bear Lake for a Vacation Party (also known as a long, sleepless night with 8 giggling girls.).  Ah, the last birthday party for over a month.  You would have thought we were starting a business with all the logoed paper we generated this week.  Branding is the term, and branding is what we did.  What party is complete without a tri-fold flyer, matching thank you cards, luggage tags, even water bottles with the party logo on them?  The most fun for me was the CD with traveling songs on it.   Yes, it had a full size logo sticker on it.

Tonight the younger four children and I watched a movie and ate junk food.  I may not be the best parent they have but they all did eat a decent dinner before the show.  And after the movie they all brushed their teeth, said their prayers, and were snuggly in bed before 8:30. 

I do still occasionally slip and call this babysitting.  The really odd thing about that is, except for the movie and treats, I’m involved in this same bedtime routine every night.  Only this weekend, I’m flying solo.  It really does make a difference though when you’re doing it all on your own.  I definitely see one area where I under-appreciate my sweetie pie. 

This also makes me think of my own mother, who was alone for most of the years she raised children.  I can’t figure out how she did it.  When you are stressed out of your mind, what do you do?  You can’t just leave, you can’t just stop being a parent, you can’t just say to your spouse, “tag, you’re it,” or "I cleaned up the throw up last time," or "you change this nasty diaper while I go investigate that explosion in the boys' room."  Your only option is to just dig deeper and make it happen. 

So to all of you women and men out there who are doing it by yourself, who are making it work without a built in “babysitter”, and who are digging deeper and taking great care of your children on your own, I salute you.

Clark

The Return of an Old Friend

The day after thanksgiving, we always get a visitor to the house. He shows up in the night and sticks around until the day after Christmas. This has happened now for the last 6 or 8 years.

He says his friends call him Engelbert. Engelbert is the Santa’s elf assigned to our house. He has magical powers that will go away if you touch him. He comes to our house each year to make sure we are good. We leave notes for him and he writes us notes on little pieces of white paper with torn edges.

Mostly he just hangs out in high places and watches our coming and goings throughout the day. He likes spots with views of as much of the house as possible but rarely spends more than one day in the same spot. This makes finding him each morning part of the fun.

Engelbert showed up again this morning. I wasn’t sure if he would since he told us last year that he was getting old. He made it sound like he was maybe thinking about retiring. I’m glad he didn’t.

When Engelbert first started coming to the house we didn’t really know what to think about him. It was neat to find him each morning, watching us from some new location in the house, but that was really as far as our relationship went. Over the years we have come to love him, and from his letters, Engelbert seems to have come to love us too.

Last year was especially with the kids writing him little notes several times a week and him responding to them. The kids would ask unusual questions about where he lives, and what kind of work he does when he is not here, and if he gets to ride on Santa’s sleigh. Engelbert would faithfully write back in his little neat handwriting, always on those small sheets of white paper with the torn edges.

Over the years, and I think especially last year, our relationship with Engelbert blossomed into something much more than just a standard Elf/Family sort of thing. Last year he became our friend.

This morning Engelbert is setting in a small handmade bowl that sits from time to time on the mantle in the living room. When our four year old woke up, he walked through the house calling, “Engelbert, where are you? Engelbert.” In time he found him, sitting there, looking down from his perch. The customary first night gifts at his side.

Ah, Engelbert, it’s good to see you. You are welcome in our home. You look well. I’m glad to see you haven’t retired yet. I’m glad to be able to spend another magical Christmas Season with you, watching over our small family as we grow up together. I’m glad you’ve chosen again to spend this time with us. And I’m excited to read more of your notes and watch my children’s faces as they find your new spot each day.

More than all of these, I’m glad you are my friend. Merry Christmas.

Clark

Angels in the Snow

My moms birthday was last week so I finally get to post this.  I didn't want any leaks so I didn't even tell my brothers about this song.

This was written with the help of Marvin Payne.  I thought of him while writing the lyrics because I knew she liked him back in the time period of when this takes place.  When I emailed Marvin, I told him that back in the day when this event happened, she might have given away one of those two boys to have you write a song for her.  

Marvin was amazing to work with.  He gave me some great pointers with the lyrics that mad the song better than it would have been.  When we got around to making the music, I told him the type of music my mom liked to play on the guitar.  I listed a few of the favorite bands of the day and described the type of music that I was looking for.  He said, "like this?" and started to play.  I couldn't believe how well he nailed what I was hoping to hear. 

Mom came over for dinner on her birthday.  While she waited for us to finish cooking things, I told her I wanted to play a song that reminded me of her.

After the first few words, she asked if I wrote it.  I just shrugged and she stared crying.  She does that.


Let me know what you think.

Clark