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

Photo fo the Day - Tree in a Snowy Field and a Pair of Eagles

I've been driving a lot for work lately.  Today I had to stop for a minute and take a few photos of this tree.  

Today I'm also going to do a bonus photo.  Not a great shot but definitely a great subject.

 
A few minutes before I took the photo of the tree in the snowy field, I saw a Bald Eagle, with what I assumed was a juvenile Bald Eagle.  Before this, I took a few photos of the adult as it flew around.  After I got home and downloaded the photos, I found a third Eagle on a fence post that I hadn't even noticed before. 

Clark

Feel the Fear

First I have to say this photo doesn't even remotely do this waterfall justice.  My daughter is about 40 feet above the pool at the bottom of the fall and about 50 feet away.  She's roughly at the same height as the big, red rock on the other side of the gorge. 

So the election thing didn’t work out quite like we had expected.  To avoid sounding bitter or discouraged, that’s all I’m going to say about that part of it.

But, I will mention a bit about the great kids who ran in this election.  There were six girls and six boys that made it through the primary election.  On Friday, this was narrowed down to three girls and three boys.  The kids found out right at the end of the school day.  After the announcement was made to the school, the six girls – the three that won and the three that lost - all went out together for a Hawaiian Ice and a movie.  I think this showed some good character and sportsmanship on the part of the girls that lost the election, as well as the girls that won.

Before our daughter came home from the movie, we wrote her a quick letter, telling her how proud we were of her for going after this lofty goal.  Earlier in the week, while she was preparing for her speech, we had talked with her about some of the great speakers of the past.  In the letter after the election, we quoted Winston Churchill, who said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

This has led me to consider the changes in our family over the past couple of years.  For a while now, we have been trying to do more things outside our current comfort zones.  It’s the old idea of feeling afraid and still doing it anyway.  These opportunities can be as small as making a phone call we are uncomfortable with or diving into a swimming pool.  Or they can be big things, like starting a business or writing a book (or a blog).

One of the more recent and dramatic of these was last summer in Yellowstone National Park.  Before we left for our vacation, we heard about a waterfall that you can swim through and hang out behind.  We easily found the place and decided to give it a try.  Everyone put on their life jackets and we trudged down to the water’s edge.

For some reason, I had pictured an easy swim under a thin, clear sheet of smooth water.  This waterfall was anything but; at the bottom of the trail we found a thick wall of turbulent white water, thirty feet tall and twenty feet wide, crashing into a deep, dark pool of swirling, green water.  In addition to that, it started raining and hailing just as we got there.

After the storm passed on, we decided to go for it.  I went first, to see what it was like.  In a few words, the journey through the pounding wall was horrible, amazing, terrifying, thundering, disorienting, and hugely satisfying.  Once on the other side, I swam to the back of the shallow cave and stood on a rock for a minute.  I could not see out of the wall of water and couldn’t hear anything but the roar of falling water on stone and more water.  The spray coming off the back of the waterfall was so intense, I couldn’t face into it for more than a few seconds.  After catching my breath, and regrouping my courage, I headed back out.

On the other side, I found my children, excited and terrified by what was in store.  One at a time, I took them into the deep pool, explained how it would feel, what they would see, and what we should do once we got inside.  No one was forced to go, thought I encouraged each with the understanding that they would either regret not going or feel good about it if they did go.

Two more times I went through the crashing wall into the cave, first with the oldest, then the next oldest, and two more times I came back out.  Finally, it was time for the last run.  My six year old daughter cried as she told me she did want to go.  I could see the noise and the cold water were starting to break her down.  We stood, our eyes at about the same level, her on a rock in knee deep water beside me.  I explained again what she should expect and do as we swam.  Finally, exasperated, she cried out above the thundering noise, “But I’m afraid!”

I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.  “I’m afraid too,” I confided, “but I just do it anyway.”  She looked me in the eye, amazed by what her dad had just said.  Then, as if something had just clicked into place, I watched her face change suddenly from fear to determination.  She immediately gripped my hand and stepped off into the deep water.

That was a win for her, and for every one of us.  On the other hand, the election this past Friday was not.  One experience makes it easier to try next time, while the more recent example could have just the opposite effect.  Each of us, and especially our jobless politician, will have to dig a little deeper the next time we decide to step again out onto a limb.  But, I’m pretty sure she’ll be just fine.  Besides, she’s already told me she’s running again next year.

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

Rock Rock Chair

Sleep-eating a carrot in the rock rock chair

This was first posted May 30, 2009 on my other, now dearly departed blog.

I slept most of the night in the baby's room, sitting awkwardly in the big rocking chair.  The baby wasn’t feeling well, though we never did find out what was going on.  He would cry every time we set him down in bed so it was just easier to hold him.  We did try letting him cry for a little while to see if he was just messing with us, but it was hard to listen to his crying.  Because he’s such a good baby, and normally so great about just plopping down in bed and going to sleep, we figured it must the real deal.

Normally the chair rips my back or neck apart and after one night of sitting there, I pay for about four days.  But this morning I actually don’t feel too bad.  As I sat there, I thought about when we first bought that chair, just over nine years ago.  Our oldest was a bad sleeper and needed to be rocked to sleep every night.  This is a luxury reserved only for the oldest child.  I’m not sure if that’s because you don’t have as much time with the second child, or if you just learn your lesson and get better at saying, no.  Probably a bit of both.

Every night I would settle into the chair and she would lie across my lap.  She would use one armrest as a pillow and the other for her feet.  Most nights I would get up within 30 minutes or an hour and drop her in her bed.  But some nights I would fall so deeply to sleep that I would end up spending the entire night there, sitting in the chair.

We bought this chair a few months after Kris died.  My mom got some money in an insurance settlement and gave some to each of her boys to buy something to remind us of Kris.  With part of the money, I bought a nice watch at a pawn shop.  Kris spent a lot of time in pawn shops, so I thought it would be a good way to connect with him.  I found a store near his home, one I assumed he had been in from time to time, and there found just the right watch for me.

With most of the rest of the money, we bought a big, blue, rocking recliner chair.  I remember standing years ago at his grave, crying and telling him how we would rock our children to sleep in the chair and tell them stories about the uncle they never met.  If not perfectly, this is a promise I have tried hard to keep.

In many ways, this chair has come to represent, or even take the place of my brother.  It has become literally, his contribution toward raising some of his nieces and nephews.  Bought with the most precious money I have ever held, this chair has served our family well.  And all these years later, it’s still fairly nice, though a little dated, and showing signs of those many, long hours service to our family.

It won’t be long until our baby doesn’t need to be rocked each day for a few minutes at bedtime.  And eventually the long nights of rocking a sick child in the chair will only be a memory.  But, even when the old chair’s productive years of service have passed, we will still keep it around for a long, long time.

Clark

Snowy Parking Lot

He left his wife in the crowded doorway and stepped into the snowy night.  On the slushy, slippery path, a long-time friend from work walked a step or two behind him.  He pointed his elbow back toward her and offered that she take it. 

“No,” she said, more out of habit than pride. 

He slowed his pace and allowed his elbow to linger there, where she could easily take it when she changed her mind.

"Maybe I will,” she said, and grabbed, more onto his coat than his arm. 

At that very moment her footing slipped, and he felt a firm tug at his coat.  AI guess, at times, I do need a man to lean on," she joked as she quickly regained her balance.

An awkward silence lingered a moment in the wind and snow and cold. 

“Where are you parked,” he asked, slowing his pace again. 

“I’m parked way out there,” she said, gesturing with her free hand toward the back of the parking lot.

“Good,” he answered, “I’m parked way out there too.”

They walked and chatted with each other like the old friends they’ve always been. 

“It was a nice party, don't you think?”

“Yes,” he responded.  “But I was thinking just today that no one throws a company party quite as well as you do.”  He meant it too.  It had been three years since she was responsible for this annual party, but he thought often, especially at this time of year, about when the company was smaller, and things were somehow easier.  Of course things weren’t easier back then.  But, he sometimes imagined they were.  The recent parties were always nice, but not like in years past.

She thanked him and quickly moved the conversation away from the subject.  “I apologize for the way my staff acted tonight.  They’ve obviously had too much to drink.”

“You aren’t their mother,” he said.  “I think they’re funny to watch.”   

“Since they’re too drunk to drive home, they’re all going to crash here tonight at the hotel.”  She paused a second and then continued, "Three of them have to be at work in the morning."

“That should be fun for them,” he said, thinking of a long, snow-packed drive in the early morning, followed by a long day at work with a well-deserved hangover. 

“Yes,” she agreed.  "And, it doesn’t look like things will be letting up anytime soon."
He smiled, not sure if she had meant the snow, or the party, or both.

She slipped a few more times before they reached the row of cars she was parked on.  She didn’t say anything more about it and he did the same.  Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen, but, maybe she would have.  Either way, he was glad he had offered to help. 

“Here we are at my car,” she said, again gesturing.  “Thanks for your help.”

They were still not close enough to the car that he thought he could just let her go.  He wondered if the comment was her way of letting him off easy. 

But, he also sensed that in the comment there seemed to be a hint of test:  Would he let her go now, or would he follow through to the end?  It was as if she was trying to find out if he really wanted to help, or if he was only performing some act of chivalrous service just long enough to say he had. 

Just as easily, it could be her finely tuned sense of self reliance, coming again to the surface, and forcing her to shake off any sign of weakness or dependence. 

He decided the correct response to all three was to continue on, and turned decidedly toward her car, her hand still gripping tightly to his coat. 

When they reached her car, she loosened her grip and slipped away.  He thought about offering to clear the heavy covering of snow from the windows, but quickly decided he had already done more than she was comfortable with. 

“Well, have a good weekend,” he said, moving back the way they had come. 

"You too,” she said, already brushing snow from the car.  “Thanks for walking me.  I appreciate your help.” 

“No problem,” he said.  “See you soon.”  And turning away, he walked slowly back to his own car.

Clark

Photo of the Day - Pierce's

This old place is in the town next to where I live.  We drive past it on our way to Costco.  It sits on a corner, so while I'm waiting for the light to change, I like to try to figure out all the history related to this place and the building that used to be next door.  There's a great story to be read on the side of this building. 

It was unusually foggy and blah out there today.  The fog seems to have a way of dulling colors and minds and senses down a bit.  But, sometimes the dullness makes other things stand out like they didn't before.  

Clark