ADHD Family Fun

God, Guns, and... Glasses

2011-01-07T15:18:00.001-08:00

This morning, I lost my glasses. I'm an old guy and once I hit 40 I had the pleasure of playing trombone with every piece of paper I picked up, including books I read/write.

A visit to the eye doctor apprised me that I needed bifocals. I opted for a pair of reading glasses. A year or so later I splurged on some very expensive progressive lens glasses (no lines).

We normally have family bible time before I head to work. This morning I was tired and after doing my own devotional and fixing my wife's glasses (which had lost a lens) I made sure the kids were up, and prepared to do bible with them. Rebecca was still finishing up her personal devotion, so I decided to shower before family bible.

She wasn't happy I decided to delay, and was worried I'd nix the whole family bible time, a decision that would start the day wrong and end up with everyone in the ditch.

But I showered anyway. And then couldn't find my glasses. I found my 5yo's Nerf guns, though, and shot a few darts at the closet walls. The darts fell through the wire shelves and onto the closet floor.

Then I bumbled around trying to find my glasses. I had them in the closet, so they HAD to be there. I searched the shelves, the floor, in the boxes under the shelves, in the pockets of a jacket (finding my wife's lost cellphone, an answer to prayer). No glasses.

I searched the place I worked on her glasses. Turned the couch upside down. Searched the cushions. Searched in my easy chair. On the counters. In the trash. In the sink. At the coffee station. On the nightstand.

No glasses.

I prayed for my glasses, and yelled for them. Sent the kids to find them. No luck. Rebecca said to do bible, and after that God would answer my prayer. Finally I acquiesced, and did bible with the kids. Leviticus 8. Has nothing to do with glasses or guns. But a lot to do with God and the seriousness of sin, atonement, and holiness.

So, after bible, I prayed and then looked for my glasses again, deciding that if God didn't let me have my glasses I'd have to fall back on the previous 2 pair.

Went into the closet one last time. I remembered the darts that had fallen and bent down to retrieve them. There were my glasses, in plain sight. No, I'm not kidding. In a place I'd already looked. Granted, my vision's not perfect, but they weren't there before. Then they were. Freaky.

Or maybe God just wanted me to do Bible first. Regardless, R was right, and I walked out of the closet with my glasses on my face. She didn't even blink. "See? I told you you'd find them after you obeyed."

ACTS Praying, out of the mouths of babes...

2010-10-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

So last night our scout troop had a Court of Honor, and also an Eagle Scout Board of Review. I was in charge of doing both so life was hectic; I was sort of in two places at once. (The scout passed his BOR, congrats, Harris!)

At the COH there was a lot of food, much of which our youngest son couldn't have, since we're still trying to do the Feingold Diet with him since he's not on any medication (since he's only 5). But Rebecca made some lasagna he could eat, and I enjoyed some of that at 9pm when we got home.

Someone in our SmallGroup mentioned that they were beginning the ACTS Prayer Method with their family, so we thought we'd try that as well.

Follow the link for a breakdown on each point, but I'll give a 1-liner on each point:
A - Adoration
Each of us give some statement of love and adoration to God.

C - Confession
Each of us give some confession to God. Dad had quite a bit to confess. We did this out loud, so there were a few interesting revelations, but nothing earth-shattering.

T - Thanksgiving
We all had a chance to thank God for something He'd done. Our little man thanked God for his Webkins. :-)

S - Supplication
We each had a chance to ask God for something. First, for someone else, then for himself/herself.

When it came to little John's turn, He said 'Gimme a sammich'.

I told him you didn't ask God like that. You didn't demand things from Him, and it was usually for, like, strength to do right, to fill our needs, etc.

He said, 'Gimme a sammich, PLEASE.'

Hmmm. Give us this day our daily bread.

...out of the mouths of babes...

:-)

Where's The Cat?

2010-10-13T11:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we had an interesting and bizarre set of ADHD circumstances that I thought I'd share.

I came home from work, and on the way, picked up dinner for the family - PapaJohn's pizza and some 2-liter drinks. I was tired, and I have a laptop and case to carry in, usually stuffed with papers, camera, and various projects.

So I decided not to carry all the food in, but instead send the kids out to get it. After all, they were hungry, right?

Right.

So I stumbled in the dark into the house and told the kids to go get the food in the van. Kissed my lovely wife, and set my heavy laptop case in the corner. I could hear my teen son playing the piano in the other room, another videogame sonata.

Teen daughter was yabbering on the cordless phone to one of her many friends. My 5yo son seemed more interested in his Webkins Hamster. Yes, the Webkins now have taken over Habitrail, it's all digital.

So, I hollered a little louder to go get the food from the van, and collapsed in an easy chair, the king's throne (every home has one of these, I'm sure.) Closed my eyes and relaxed. After several minutes, I noticed I still heard yabbering, story-telling, hamster-playing, and Final Fantasy 27.5 Notoki No Papaya, or Don't Touch My Fruit.

So, I hollered a great deal louder, scaring cats, dog, and children with the bellowing bull voice. Or the Voice of Doom. Whatever you want to call it. Finally got the kids rousted to run out and grab the food. We all ate at the dinner table, then the wife and I ran out to get our 21yo daughter from college.

I noticed the ADD kids had left the sliding van door ajar, so I slammed it closed and we went and got the dear daughter.

This morning, I went through my usual routine, stumble downstairs, start coffee, let cat in, let dog out. Only, no cat. Cat didn't come in. But cat ALWAYS comes in. And he's a loudmouth.

Side note, don't ever, ever, EVER get a siamese cat. Or one that looks like one. Or one that had Siamese up to six generations back. Or move next to me if you have one. Because they are loud. Insistent. Obnoxious. Persistent.

Only, today, no cat.

Normally, I wouldn't care. He's a happy cat, if loud, takes care of himself, and sometimes dear daughter locks him in her room so that he'll be forced to spend the night with her. He's her pet, but he doesn't seem to know it.

Anyway, I called the kids to come down for bible. No cat. I opened the front door again, no cat.

I remembered that we have some big neighborhood dogs that sometimes get loose. The kind of big dogs that eat little loudmouth cats. So, I prepped myself to give dear daughter THE SPEECH. But I decided to wait 24 hours before filing a missing cat APB. After all, that's what the police do too, right?

Right.

So after bible, I head to my van to drive to work. And this is what I see:

The combination of the ADD kids, the neighborhood dogs, and the ADD dad, conspired to trap the poor loudmouth in my van. All night.

And without a litterbox, too!

Poor baby. Him just couldn't help himself, and now the ADD Dad is driving with the windows down, and not just because his A/C in the Van went south again.

Sigh.

I know you're wondering, if you even read this far, how I can possibly pull this around to a spiritual lesson.

Well, never fear. Looking at the cat in my van, I was reminded of a verse:

No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it. - 1Cor 10:13

And I'll try to remember that everytime I get in my van, from now on, at least until the... memory... of the cat's night in the van fades.

Life in HyperSpace

2010-07-02T12:51:00.000-07:00

Well, now it's official.

I've started work on a bold new concept - I'm going to include these stories of my family in a new non-fiction ADHD book to help and entertain others with similar issues.

With all the fun and experience we've had with diet remediation and medication, coping and structure, some of this information will be beneficial to others with similar ADD/ADHD parenting issues.

Dr. Louise Seals has graciously agreed to lend her assistance in the medical side of this work, so I'll be leaning heavily on her as a resource. I hope to have a proposal and a significant portion of the work written by the time the ACFW Conference comes around, as it may be of interest to the agents and editors I'll meet there.

Wish me luck! I'll post a widget here once the words start cranking, so you guys can hop in and see where I'm at on this non-fic journey!

Identity Crisis

2010-05-27T15:29:00.000-07:00

Ever lost your Identity? Not, as in, having your Identity stolen by theives, but just, well, 'lost' it?

This has been a recurring comedy for me. About two weeks ago I couldn't find my company ID badge. Looked all over the house for it. Finally went to to work and parked in the Temporary parking area and had to be let in. (Our badges have a swipe entry on them).

The next day I looked again and couldn't find the badge, and mentioned at breakfast that I was going to have to order another one. Which meant parking in Visitors again. And paying for the badge. And a new number. Headaches for me, and headaches for HR.

It wouldn't have been so bad except it's about the 5th time it's happened. My 14yo son was listening and said, "Oh, Dad, I forgot. I found your badge and clipped it on the vine."

"What vine?"

"The vine in the back yard. The one at the back fence at the extreme back of the back yard. Out back."

I went out there to get it. Here's a picture. WHY wouldn't a person think to bring it in?

Well, I can understand it; he was cutting the lawn and found it there on the grass from when I was cutting the lawn, right? And then forgot to bring it in because he had an ADD moment.

But I guarantee I never would have found it out there. Not until I'd bought yet another ID badge.

Well, so Monday I couldn't find my ID again. Looked through the whole house, everywhere I would normally put it and many places I wouldn't. I even checked in the fridge.

Couldn't find it. Went to work, determined to try again that night to find it.

When I got to work, I called home and asked my 14yo son whether he might know where it was. Clipped on the roof, perhaps? On the swingset? On the cat's collar?

No. He checked all my usual places for the crazy thing for me while I was on the phone. Long story short, he couldn't find it, and I had to buy another one. For another charge, get another number. Another hassle for me and HR.

When I got home, I found my ID badge (the old one) sitting on my nightstand. Momma had found it clipped to a laundry basket. I took the old one and cut it up (not good anymore) and clipped the new one on the basket and took this picture to post on this blog.

Right after that, I had to rush to eat breakfast and head on to work. Where I discovered, lo and behold, that my ID badge was... You guessed it... still clipped to the basket for the photo.

Sigh.

I wonder if anybody else out there has days like that?

But if you've lost your own Identity, let me lay a few verses on you:

Therefore if any man [be] in Christ, [he is] a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.2Cor 5:17

The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God:
And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with [him], that we may be also glorified together. Rom 8:16-17

What a glorious identity we have in Christ! Children and heirs of the kingdom, Adopted children of God Himself.

And that is reason enough to rejoice in this day God has made. :-)

Giving the Cat a 'Shiny Coat' and a Visit to the ER...

2010-05-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

Today is a 'Two-Fer', because I haven't posted in a while. This may lead some to think that life in the Solaas house has been pretty normal, but that is most definitely NOT the case.

Several weeks ago, NBC put on a Family Friendly show called 'Secrets of the Mountain'. The American Family Association sent me a personal email letting me know that this was a good show to watch.

I watched the trailer and was quite excited about this movie. So I called home as I was getting ready to leave, and talked to my 11 year-old daughter. I told her I wanted to watch this movie, and I wanted to DV-R it in case I missed some of it due to traffic etc.

She told me the DVD Remote was missing, not unusual in our household (or any other I should imagine). So I sent her searching for the DVD Remote, and informed the family I was on my way home.

Now, before you start asking what watching a movie has to do with a cat's shiny coat, or a visit to the ER, bear with me. Watching a movie isn't hazardous to your health, some experts say.

About the Cat. You should be careful what you say. We mentioned in our 5yo son's hearing that the cat's coat was no longer shiny. Tribble, our 11yo longhair Himalayan Tabby mix was about to shed his winter coat.

So I get a call on my drive home that they are going to have to give Tribble a bath. In a hurry. Seems that our 5yo wandered into the garage and found a can of clear-coat our 14yo son had left lying on the floor of the garage, and SPRAYPAINTED the CAT. Yes, you heard right. Only in the Solaas home.

Gave him a nice shiny coat. A coat of clear-coat. Poor Tribble. If that wasn't enough, he then proceeded to turn Tribble into a leopard by using a dry-erase marker to give him spots.

All of this washed off with no problem. Good thing - cats give themselves baths too, and clearcoat is very poisonous.

So, WHY was the clear-coat lying on the floor of the garage? Well, our 14yo son was working on a car. Here's a picture of him working on it. Very focused. Covered in sawdust, making his Awana Grand Prix car. (Like Pinewood Derby in Cubscouts).

It doesn't look much like a car though - more like an upright piano. Here's a picture of it in the competition. Nice and Shiny. But the paint and clear-coat never got put away. Always put away your tools when you're done. BIG ADHD rule. Otherwise, someone might come along and spraypaint the cat.

On to the E.R...
I'm almost home, about 5 minutes away, when I get another call - they're about to pack our 11yo daughter up and rush her to the ER. Seems she was searching for the remote in the van. Yes, the HOUSE DVD remote. In the van. Don't ask me why. In fact, don't ask her why. She didn't know. It was just someplace else to look.

She got in a hurry and jumped out of the van, slamming the sliding door on her finger. Cut it on both sides. Our 14yo dear son, always helpful, provided the information that they could see the bone in the wound.

I faint at the sight of blood. I'm driving on the highway. Don't tell me you see bone while I'm driving on the highway.

I ask if it's spurting blood, while trying to keep from fainting while driving on the highway. It's not, so I tell them to wait and stop any bleeding like a good boy scout, and I'd be home in just a few minutes to do the driving to the hospital.

The time was 7pm, right when the movie was starting.

I got home and we drove our precious daughter to the LeBonheur Hospital downtown, where they are always nice to kids. It's a kids' hospital. Even their logo has kids on it. Here they all are on a license plate.

Anyway, we get to LeBonheur at 7:30pm and check into the ER. The nurses mention they've seen us there before. Oh, really? We're the Solaases. You should recognize us, we've been here too many times.

Unfortunately, when you've brought your kids to the hospital too many times, they get just a trifle suspicious that perhaps you've been hurting your kids, rather than them hurting themselves.

This is expected, especially when they recognize you but they don't 'know' you yet. Usually (isn't that a scary word when talking about hospitals?) they take us to the left to the Disney rooms over in the 'lacerations' area of E.R., where you are treated to a TV playing the Disney channel, and a sweet lady comes in bringing toys and stuffed animals, and the rooms are painted nice kid-friendly colors, with Disney characters painted on the walls.

This time, a Drill Instructor with a Major Payne haircut came out with a clipboard, and said, in his best Drill Instructor bark, "You will follow me, please."

He led us to the right, through a huge blast door that banged behind us, into the Trauma Center.

There's a reason they call it the Trauma Center. You go through trauma when they take you there.

The room was completely white, with a rollaround gurney pretending to be a hospital bed. No TV, no Disney characters. Just a row of 'Bob the Builder' heads stickered on the window. Nothing to look at or entertain us except the screams.

Next door to us was some poor child someone had beaten in the head. I only know this because I heard the nurses discussing it just outside our room.

They went in to examine the poor child, and she began screaming like she was dying.

No, I'm serious. Like she was dying.

Shortly thereafter, four police officers came running around the corner, holding their nightsticks. I presume they wanted to survey the damage to the child and then go arrest Dad or Mom or whatever monster was responsible for the horrible act.

My poor daughter began laughing nervously, saying "That's comforting."

There was little comforting about the trauma unit. It was all business. The business of saving lives, and my jokes here are not intended to disparage their efficiency in helping kids survive trauma.

We were there for several hours. During which time they dressed our daughter in one of those hospital gowns intended to cover the least amount of body. To stitch up her finger. And, I expect, to check her for bruises and such.

But, we're actually a pretty good family. No bruises, no abuse. Just ADHD kids who get in a hurry.

Then they said they were going to have to look at the wound again, and stitch it up. At which point, Dad had to leave the room and stagger back to the waiting room. As I said, I faint.

We got out of there at 12:30am. Needless to say, we missed the movie. Good thing we got it on DVR so I could watch it the next day. Oh, and the funny thing is, we didn't need the remote to record.

The lesson here in both of these stories, I guess, is two-fold. First, Think before you speak. If I'd known what our son would do if we mentioned the cat's coat wasn't shiny, I'd be cleaning the garage. And if I had just thought about the fact that we didn't have to have the remote, maybe the visit to the ER wouldn't have happened.

Second, and more importantly, God is watching over us. He sent our 20yo into the garage to find out what our 5yo was up to. He preserved our daughter's finger, which is now fully functional, no nerve damage or broken bones or severed muscle. And He's watching over the rest of us too, with eyes of compassion.

Late Night Snack??

2010-04-09T11:55:00.000-07:00

This morning, when I came down to fix coffee, There was an empty jar of Peter Pan peanut butter (creamy) on the counter, and this mess in front of it...

My first thought was, which of my four kids got up in the middle of the night, to make themselves a sandwich? And why a fork? a Spoon? A bowl??

So, I hollered up at my oldest dear son, asking him what was up with the PB sandwich late at night?

He really had no clue what it was about, and blamed the 4yo.

Hmmm. I couldn't see the 4yo doing this, and the finger smears through the middle of the bowl didn't look like toddler fingers...

Then I went into the bathroom.

It appears that the peanut-butter culprit also wanted some hand lotion. But why in the world? And with peanut butter all over their hands, too! What in the world?

So, then I looked next to the Lubriderm, and there was peanut butter smeared on the gargantuan Sams bottle of hand sanitizer. Looked like whoever the culprit was, they desperately wanted 'clean hands and a pure heart'.

Next to the hand sanitizer, it appeared the water faucet had been turned on by Peter Pan also, and there was also peanut butter under the tap, dripping down into the sink. Yuch. Peter was desperate to get those hands clean.

So, I started asking questions of the kids. Finally, R, the 11yo daughter, admitted it was her. Apparently, she'd gotten some of this stuff called 'Zing' gum. Here's the packet of it, pulled out of the trash.

She decided that if one stick of gum was yummy, then all 15 sticks of gum would be even more yummy. So, she crammed them all in her mouth, and sat up reading a 'Charlie Bone' novel until 2am, when she started to fall asleep in her gum and in her book too.

She knew it wasn't good to go to sleep with gum in your mouth (A baseball-sized wad is such a choking hazard, you know...) so she pulled it out of her mouth. But gum that's been chewed all day and all night tends to gain in stickiness, or at least, that's some of the 'Zing' in 'Zing'. It turned into a goo on the level of taffy, with an adhesive coefficient of tackiness equal to that of Gorilla Glue.

First it stuck to one hand, then the other, as she attempted to get it off the other hand. One finger after another was imprisoned in the wad of goo, until she had a cats cradle between her hands, like a pink spiderweb.

Eventually she managed to get downstairs, open a jar of peanutbutter, and sacrifice all its contents to remove the glue from her hands, her arms, and her face.

The peanut butter worked, but removing slimy peanutbutter from your body at 2am apparently requires liberal application of Lubriderm, Hand Sanitizer, and Cold Water.

Lucky for the rest of us, chemical reactions involving lanolin, alcohol, and peanut oil do not in fact cause fires or spontaneous explosions.

Or so their packages seem to imply. But I think I'm going to write the manufacturers of 'Zing' and 'Peter Pan', requesting that they please add to their verbage on the package, 'Keep out of reach of Children'.

On a side note, R's late-night foray into cleaning up this sticky situation should have turned into a teaching opportunity, because, just as King David found out, trying to cover up your sin, and deal with it yourself, leaves a much bigger mess than getting help and forgiveness.

R should think about this as she attempts to clean the downstairs bathroom before homeschool starts...

Snowing in September

2009-09-03T14:28:00.000-07:00

So I looked out the window yesterday morning, and there's snow on the ground. No. Really. In Memphis, in the summer.

Here's a picture of it. It's all white and stuff.

Ok, so it wasn't all OVER the ground. And it wasn't snow. But it was white.

So, the next think I think is, "Who fed the Webkins to the dog!?" Not that I'm very unhappy about losing one of the ever-present, pesky underfoot stuffed animals coupled with their Crack-addictive website.

Except for the fact that the happy little cuddy creatures are not cheap, and if one is killed, it somehow always gets replaced by at least two more.

And this, of course, is why we have almost a hundred of the crazy little stuffed animals underfoot. No, that's not an exaggeration. Ok, well, maybe it is, but not much of one.

Just, my youngest daughter has enough that when she was forced to sleep downstairs overnight when my oldest daughter had one of her college buddies over to spend the night, she surrounded the couch with THREE half-circles of webkin guards to protect her through the night.

Not that they do much good as guards. Even the Ninja Webkins are polite. The extent of their protective methods would be to launch a mexican jumping bean at you and say "With my bean and my sombrero, my candy is never far away!"

Or possibly, just sit idly by and watch as your house gets robbed, and say, "Atomicolicious!"

Can you tell we have a heavy dose of Webkins addicts in the house? If you are just confused by those statements above, then good. You've managed to avoid the addiction. But if a webkin makes it into your home, don't say I didn't warn you.

Anyway, back to the snow. So, it wasn't really snow, and it wasn't really the guts and entrails of a dismembered Webkin suffering a tragic but not undeserved end.

So what was it? Well, to answer that question, you'd have to take a look at the culprit...

Her name is Maya. She's a bi-eyed half husky, half sneaky little neighbor dog. We're guessing Golden Lab.

If you're wondering what bi-eyed means, check out this picture of her...
Isn't she beautiful? One blue eye, one brown eye; This is her serious look. No, really. She's being quite serious right now... Huskies are serious dogs. Especially when you ask them if they want to go outside and run.

And like all Huskies, she decided that September had started (has something to do with that internal doggy clock. So she picked that day to 'BLOW COAT'.

Now for those of you NOT in the know about this particular habit, let's just say that on two given days out of the year (and you never know when it will be, because the dog always waits until you forget about it) the dog sticks its paw in its mouth, and explodes. Literally.

Pieces everywhere. Don't believe me? Just look at this. No, LOOK AT THIS!

This is a piece of my dog on the lawn. No, I'm sure it's not just hair. There's too much of it. It's a chunk of dog.

Now, after the initial explosion, there are tremors and aftershocks, and the family always takes a hand in assisting in pulling off chunks of dog. See my family. They have all come outside to help. See them helping?

Ok, so they aren't helping. Not much. But momma is about to come outside and assist Maya in her explosion.

Here's a picture of Momma carefully combing chunks of dog off our dog...

Here's a piece of dog on the comb...

And here's the piece slowly floating away... It has it's own shadow. It also has its own gravity well, but that's beside the point. Look at the shadow!! That's a substantial shadow for a chunk of hair.

So, after the ritual disintegration of the dog is over, she has this great big grin on her face. You tell me why, when she's lost half her hair just as Fall is getting started...

Seriously, though, Maya is a snow dog. She's designed to grow a winter coat about now, and the summer coat (which apparently is a bit thick for Memphis summers) has to 'blow away'.

All I've got to say is, 'Better out than in.' We sweep up enough hair to make our OWN dog on the inside of the house, and you just saw how much hair was on the OUTSIDE of the house.

So, what do you do with all that hair in the back yard? Use it to stuff a few Webkins, make some use out of all that stuffing??

Well, my youngest daughter said we should leave it out there so the birds can have something to line their nests.

That's all well and good, but it's fall, and the birds aren't going to be making anymore nests around here.

Have your Cake and Eat it Too!

2009-06-22T08:08:00.000-07:00

Hey Sports Fans, I think today's lesson is on Gluttony, Family, and... Birthdays!

Well, so yesterday, June 21st, was my Birthday. As well as Fathers Day. It was a little strange, because I spent 12 hours Saturday driving 2 of my 4 kids to Awana Scholarship Camp (you can call it Honors Camp, but it will ALWAYS be Awana Scholarship Camp to me. :P )

Anyway, after 12 hours of driving I was pretty wiped. Spent Sunday Morning at church working with the Cafe56 5th and 6th grade kids, then stopped by McD's on the way home.

I was wiped from the drive still, and the full meal, so I crashed for several hours.

The family got me up to go out to dinner and shopping for a present for me, since it was Fathers Day and my Birthday.

I was still full from lunch, but we stopped in at Steak and Shake, one of my favorite places to eat. After a meal and a shake, I was just about too stuffed to leave.

Then my wife Becca asked if I wanted to stop by Baskin Robins for a birthday cake, one of those IceCream cakes.

Oh no. I couldn't possibly eat even a wafer-thin mint. I said, "Honey, I don't want a cake. I couldn't eat anything right now. Half the kids are at camp. Can't we do without a cake this year?"

"Fine by me, I guess, but Johnny's not going to let you get away without a cake."

"What's the little man gonna do about it is what I wanna know..." I mean, it wasn't like he could bake a cake.

So, anyway, I brought the family home, and staggered up to the recording studio to work on a song I'd just written, while the family watched some Scooby Doo downstairs.

They called me down about an hour later. It appeared that Johnny had made me a cake, mostly by himself. Here's a picture of it...

Well, ok, after we'd blown the candles out, and started slicing it up. Seems Johnny asked for 2 slices of white bread and a can of frosting, and made a cake all by himself. Mom got out some food coloring and decorated the thing. :-)

And here's a picture of the little guy by his piece. He was quite proud of his work. As well he should be. For a 4yo, he did smashingly.

Guess what, he wrapped me a present too. Here is my 19yo daughter Elizabeth handing it to me.

It was, surprise! A can of Sprite!

All in all, a wonderful day, just wish I hadn't URP eaten quite so much. I'm already fighting the Battle of the Bulge, and not doing so well this skirmish.

But, I gotta say, Johnny's cake was JUST enough, and wasn't bad tasting. We all got a taste, and then it was all gone!

It's got MINERALS on it!!

2009-04-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

My little toddler just turned 4, and Grandma was up for his birthday. We had cake and icecream and presents and he had just a wonderful time.

Before the party, I had 'damp-mopped' our Pergo floor, so it shined like the 'Top of the Chrysler Building!'

The day after, we were busy watching one of his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movies he'd gotten, along with the action figures (We HAD to get all 4, or there was going to be a war...)

Well, being breakfast time, we were eating in the living room, when he got excited and his biscuit fell on the floor.

I picked it up and tried to give it to him, but he freaked and shreiked and ran in a circle, yelling that it was dirty.

Well, I looked at it.

Anybody with 3+ kids understands about the '30 second' rule - If it doesn't stay on the ground for 30 seconds it's ok to eat.

But I brushed it off, and handed it over to him saying, it's ok, I brushed it off.

He was just about to take a bite when Grandma said 'Oh, it's fine, birthday boy. It's good for you, it's got minerals on it.'

Aaaaaahhhhh!! He hurled the biscuit from him screaming, It's got Minerals on it! It's got minerals on it!

Good pronunciation, son, for a 4yo!

Now, if you could just understand that minerals aren't 'ants'...

Morning Coffee

2009-04-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm definitely a person who has to have my morning coffee to get my day started right. Here's a picture of me with a standard cup of coffee...
Needless to say, I'm not fully functional early in the morning without some of this wonderful drink to wake the gray matter up and start the engines.

I've been doing some research on coffee, actually, for a story I'm writing, and discovered that it's not impossible to grow your own coffee, in your own home, for the purpose of starting your day.

Someday, if the price of coffee becomes ridiculous, I may actually try that, just to see how it's done, and if it's a possibility for those of us with a BLACK thumb. But coffee is a priority, and I have to have it each morning or I start having shakes and the world is just NOT a happy place.

So each morning, in order to greet the day, I have a routine, which includes letting the dog out, starting coffee, feeding the cats, and making a cup of coffee (with plenty of milk and sugar) for my wife and I, and maybe my oldest daughter.

This morning, though, I ran into a bit of a hiccup. As I was scooping sugar out, I noticed there was a small orange triangle sitting on the top of the sugar in the canister. Looked like a playing piece for Trivial Pursuit, so I wondered what the kids had been doing with the game, and why they'd stuck the 'Sports' pie in the sugar bowl.

So, I scooped under it, to pull it out and dump it in the sink. But here's what I found...

Needless to say, My little Toddler had been experimenting with hiding things...

You know, I've heard of orange pekoe tea, but I've never heard of orange crayola coffee.

The Vending Machine

2009-02-03T18:38:00.000-08:00

Yet another couch story.

After we got our sectional couch, with heat and massage and a queen sleeper and twin recliners, life was all good. It was nice to sit back in the reliner, relax, and stare at the TV each evening with a nice cup holder on the armrest.

The new sectional had a center section that was a flip-down with cup holders, and controls for the heat and massage, or a center seat. The kids loved to sit on the center seat, since they were mostly too weak to yank the recliners out and pop them open.

If the kids weren't sitting in the center section, one of our two cats (the ones that had shredded the previous two couches) would lay in this center seat, all snug and happy and purring like a buzz saw.

And Daddy NEVER sat in the center seat, because the Daddy belonged in a nice recliner, taking his accustomed throne with his many-buttoned scepter in hand, his goblet-o-tea, and his loving attendants (yeah right).

One day, not many days after the purchase of our wondrous throne of many functions, I came home and saw a strange, thick, squiggly 3-foot length of metal laying on the fireplace.

This metal squiggly item was THICK. It had SUBSTANCE. It was SUBSTANTIAL. It had PURPOSE. But, as most clueless Dads, I had no immediate idea what great PURPOSE the squiggle served.

So I summoned my loyal subjects and polled them one by one.

Daddy: "Have you ever seen this?"

Child#1: "Why no, what is it, Daddy?"

Daddy: "What is this used for?"

Child#2: "I have no idea, Daddy!"

Daddy: "Any idea where this came from?"

Child#3: "No, Daddy. I've never seen it before."

Daddy: "Wife, have you ever seen this before?"

Mommy: "No, honey, but it looks like it must have some PURPOSE."

Yes, it had purpose and function. But it took almost a week to find out what.

One day, I came home, and the CAT was in my SPOT. Yes, my throne. The sacred seat with the remote.

Not wanting a fight with the clawless furball, I decided to be a minister of peace, and I got my goblet-o-tea and took the coveted center seat. And sank to the floor.

After much struggling and quite a few invented words, I managed to get my prodigious self up and out of the hole, and inverted the couch, earning me a hiss and an ugly offended look from the furball, who had not yet forgiven me for the loss of his fingernails.

And then, AHA! There was the PURPOSE for which I'd been searching - under each seat but the center one, was a 3-foot black thick metal rod, clamped and bent into place as a spring to support my prodigious rump.

So I retrieved the rod from its place of honor on the fireplace, and with much grunting, bending, flexing of muscle, sweat, and a few more invented words, I managed to bend this heavy metal rod and place it back where it belonged. With a pair of strong pliers I managed to clamp it back in place.

Leaning over the inverted couch, breathing heavily from the strain and exertion, I assembled my loyal subjects for another gathering in the throne room.

"I found the purpose for the black squiggle. It appears that one of my loyal subjects has been jumping up and down on the couch. Now WHO has been jumping up and down on the couch!?"

It was apparent that NO ONE had been jumping up and down on the couch.

So I told them that SOMEONE was lying, and that no one should jump up and down on the couch.

Everyone assured me that they NEVER would jump up and down on the couch, and then we dismissed.

Two weeks later, I came home and there was the black squiggle on the fireplace, in its place of honor. And not under the center seat.

So I inverted the couch, and with much struggling, sweat, and a few invented words, I replaced the black squiggle, and called another staff meeting.

"Let me tell you something, I thought I made myself clear. NO ONE is to jump up and down on this couch. If I catch you doing it again, I will paddle your bottom. Is that clear?"

"Yes Daddy!" All of them gave me their brightest smiles. Nobody was jumping up and down on the couch. No one was guilty. No fear, no guilt.

Ok, so somebody was good at lying. I shrugged my shoulders, and went to pour myself a glass of tea.

Something made me stop in mid pour. I stepped backwards to look in the living room. Halfway up the steps, I saw my 3 year old son, doing a hand-stand on the balcony rail. He held the position for a moment, flipped over the rail and came flying down onto the center seat.

He sank right to the floor and the black squiggle came flying out from the bottom of the couch, flew across the room and struck the baseboard on the other side, like a vending machine dispensing a coke.

He had the most ecstatic look on his face. Just full of joy.

I stood there with tea in hand, apoplectic. I had just promised to paddle them if they did this, and it wasn't more than 5 minutes later.

It just kept playing through my mind. WHAT was he THINKING?!

I hauled him to his mother, and made her spank him. I was too angry.

All that evening, I just kept replaying it in my mind. The hand-stand, right out of the olympics. the squiggle dispensing from the bottom. His joyous look.

What could have been going through his head?? And what could I do to stop him?

I went to bed thinking about it. And somewhere in the middle of the night, a lightbulb came on over my head.

I got out of bed, grabbed a length of 3/4" plywood, and a drill and some screws. I put the board under the seat, to give support for that seat. (It's still there today)

I put my tools away and went to bed. It really didn't even occur to me to tell anyone what I'd done. I just figured I'd solved the problem and promptly forgot about it.

The very next day, I came home from work, and my 3yo son had an ace bandage around his ankle. And he never jumped on the couch again.

But later I talked to my wife, asking, what could he have been thinking?

She just said, in her matter-of-fact way, "Oh, you told him he couldn't jump up and down on the couch. He wasn't jumping UP, just DOWN."

Go figure...

Mary, Queen of Sleepers

2009-01-27T12:23:00.000-08:00

The things you never thought you'd say to your kids, and wish forever that you hadn't...

This is a relatively old story, and it begins and ends with a couch. Actually, three different couches.

The first couch was a loveseat sleeper I inherited from my Mom when she moved in with my Bro Joe. We needed a couch, and it also worked as a guest bed, since it was a 'double sleeper'. Though, if you've ever tried sleeping on one you know why they rarely function as one.

It survived a litter or two of kittens, but the arms got ratty as the cats tended to use them as scratching posts. So eventually we decided to get a new couch, as we were having our sunday school class over and the couch was an embarrassment. (We'd tried slipcovers, they just didn't work.)

We weren't thinking rationally. Buying a couch to impress the Sunday School Class? That's a pretty big purchase. I figured it must run about $300 - $400! But we were panicked.

Besides, we had the money, so we bought a Tartan Queen Sleeper. I dubbed it 'Mary, Queen of Scots', because it was a red and green plaid pattern that I'd seen on kilts. (Shades of Bagpipes playing Amazing Grace...)

Here's a Pic of what it looked like...

Anyway, the Sunday School party went off well. Nobody commented on the couch, but I would imagine they might have refused to sit on the old one.

One month after the purchase, our two mixed breed teenage cats decided to use THIS brand new couch as a scratching post. I came home and noticed that the arms were shredded.

So the next day, the cats and I paid a visit to the local Animal Hospital, and I told them to trim their nails back behind their elbows.

I knew that declawing cats was a normal function, but didn't realize that it was to be done normally when a cat was a kitten, or a yearling.

Also, I didn't know that in those days, you declawed cats by cutting off the fingers. OUCH!!! I felt guilt for, oh I don't know, maybe a whole day.

Seriously, I did feel bad.

Anyway, we tried slip covers on this couch too, but eventually we had a windfall and decided to replace the couch. So Mary Queen of Scots went into the expandable, which I had floored in prep to make it a bedroom.

It was replaced by a huge thousand-dollar sectional that was not worth what we paid. That's another interesting story for another day.

One Day, I was sitting on our new couch and watching TV, when my two middle children (Dear Son aged 9, Dear Daughter aged 7, came wandering in and proceeded to block my view with a card table, chairs, and several blankets.

"What do you think you're doing!?" I said. "We're watching TV!"

"We're making a tunnel to crawl through."

"Well, we're watching TV. Go make a tunnel somewhere else."

So they dutifully dismantled the table and chairs and put them in the other room, and went to play upstairs.

Days later, I climbed the stairs to do some more work on the expandable, (I was putting in roll-insulation) When I noticed that Mary had been pulled out from the wall, and that the bed had been extended.

There was something dark on the floor behind the couch, So I went back there to find out what it was.

About half the back of the couch had been cut away with scissors. Apparently, the kids took me literally, and 'made a tunnel'.

They told me how much fun they had going from the back of the couch, through the body, and under the extended mattress.

I told the kids in no uncertain terms, MODIFYING FURNITURE WITH SCISSORS is WRONG.

Well, we discussed options that night. Reupholster, slipcover, or put on the curb. We eventually Free-Cycled it to someone. It was usable, It just had to be against a wall.

Sigh. It wasn't until years later that my wife told me the couch was about double the cost I thought...

Family Feud

2009-01-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

Well, it was bound to happen. Guess I can only blame myself.

My sister and I have had an ongoing rivalry about who can give their nephew/niece the most obnoxious gift.

It all started years ago when I gave her son a phaser for Christmas. It was one of those cool guns that is clear, lights up, and makes all those cool noises. WhooooooooBang!!! WeeOWeeeOWeeeeOWeeeOh! Dadadadadadowwww!!!!

You know the sounds. They range from something out of 'Missile Command' to the machine gun sound from Dick Tracy.

Anyway, she was NOT pleased.

Expressively NOT pleased, with a glint in her eye that said 'Just you wait.'

Next Christmas, she loaded up my daughters on beads and artwork and such. We had beads and fake earrings and necklaces everywhere, and watercolor pages left everywhere in the house, wallpapering the fridge and the table and even the walls.

So, the following year, her kids got squirtguns. They all had a blast. It was great fun, I'm sure, squirting Mom with those little pistols.

So the year after that, my son got a car that plays one tune over and over.

Anyway, this has just been building and building. It's an all-out war.

last year, we loaded her kids down with the super-soaker 9000s, the pump-action ones with the tanks that strap on your back, and can shoot the paint off your car.

For some reason, my dear Sis was less than enthusiastic about bringing them home.

So this year, she found the perfect, perfect, PERFECT gift for my 13 year old son.

Here it is.

Oh my. A couple of double-A batteries, and away we go.

This nerf machinegun fires 20 rounds in the space of 10 seconds, and my son wanted to unpack it right away. Well, since we didn't have any batteries, we made him wait till we got it home from my Bro's house, where we had Christmas.

But at home, we had an ample supply of AA batteries. Too many, in fact.

Enough to keep him shooting the back of my head, the cats, the 3yo toddler, and the mirrors from the other side of the house.

This gun can stick 20 little yellow and purple suction-cup darts on a wall 30 feet away and 20 feet up in the space of 10 seconds.

If they hit you, they leave a little red circle, just the same size as the suction cup. We discovered that the darts don't stick to foreheads well.

Now, shhhhhhh. I think I've got a good answer for next year's Christmas present for her big son...

According to Amazon, Customers who bought this also bought extra rounds...

Hey, Sis, see ya next Christmas...

:-D

No Deposit, No Return

2009-01-08T18:36:00.000-08:00

So, my Mom called, and said that they had been burglarized while they were away at work.

I really love our city. Ok, not really. Some of the people in the Memphis area are good and wholesome people, but there's a lot of crime and it's one of the most violent cities in the nation.

Anyway, I talked with her at length, and gave her info on how to post a fraud alert on her accounts, to prevent the thieves from setting up new credit cards, buying cars, etc, with their credit info.

So after I hung up, I was quite rattled. We had to go pick up our daughter from cheerleading, and on the way back I remembered I had some checks to deposit, so we drove through the teller.

I'm a programmer, so I understand that sometimes programmers don't live in the 'real world'. But the way tellers used to be, there would be a stack of envelopes at the teller, and you could pull one out, drive off, fill out your envelope at your leisure, and endorse your checks, seal your envelope and be all prepared to drive BACK through the drive-through teller, and deposit your checks quickly.

Nuff said?

Well, now, there are no envelopes out anymore, because some people thought it fun to take them all.

So, the routine is, drive up, pull out your checks, zip your atm card, enter the total amount, and it asks if you want an envelope. When you get the envelope, you have approximately 15 seconds to put your endorsed checks in the envelope, write your name, address, and account number on the front, and insert the envelope in the slot.

All while the machine is beeping loudly enough for any criminals in the nearest mile to figure out that you are depositing money.

So, like a good scout, I had us endorse all our checks first (Yes, when you are ADD, you often forget to deposit them, some of them were months old.) and total up what they all added up to.

Then we drove up to the teller. My Drivers License is in the same pocket of my wallet as my ATM card, and my hands were shaking, as I saw thugs in every other car, and sneaking up through the dark.

Yeah, I know. God has not given us the spirit of fear... Well, He wasn't the one talking to me tonight but oh well.

So, the drivers license and atm card fell out in the car, and I stuck the drivers license in my breast pocket and zipped the ATM. After entering the amount, it asked if I wanted an envelope.

Duh.

So, I grab the envelope, and an errant gust of wind blows it out of my shaking hands and under the car.

So, I had to pull forward from the ATM, and my wife got the envelope, which she proceeded to attempt to feed into the machine.

Uh, honey, the checks are in my pocket.

So, I stop her, get out of the car, (yes, it's running, but at least it's in park) and run back there to stop her. I grab the checks and stuff them into the envelope, while it's screaming to beat the band, asking if I jolly well need more time.

Grrr... so I tell it YES, and then proceed to stand there in the drive thru writing my name and account number on the envelope, seal it up and feed it through.

Not until the envelope has disappeared down the throat of the evil beast did I realize that my drivers license had gone with the checks into the machine.

And the punch line?

My wife commented "I didn't think they required ID at the ATM."

While You Were Frosting

2009-01-03T08:07:00.000-08:00

Every New Years, we watch certain movies in our family that remind us of the Christmas and New Years Seasons.

So, last night our 19yo daughter broke out our VHS copy of 'While You Were Sleeping', a romantic comedy starring Sandra Bullock.

All of us started out watching the movie, but it couldn't hold the interest of our 13yo son or our 3yo son.

The 13yo went into the other room to play some Star Fox Adventures, and the 3yo started playing quietly with his toys.

And then not so quietly.

After a bit, the movie got to the good part, where Lucy (Sandra Bullock) is revealing the big secret that pervades the whole movie. It's a scene filled with angst and emotion, and we were all sucked into the movie.

Then our 3yo got very noisy, chasing cats back and forth across the upstairs screaming and enjoying himself immensely, so we had to put the movie on pause while we tried to reign him in and get him under control.

We couldn't hear the movie anyway.

So our 19yo daughter took over the little man, while our 10yo daughter tried to calm the kitties, and I went up to our bedroom to dress for bed and get ready for our nighttime routine (reading the kids a story).

When I got to our room, though, I was so shocked I hollered out our 3yo's name.

There must have been some note in my voice that led our son to believe he was going to get smooshed, because he ran to hide in the bathroom downstairs, holding his bottom all the way.

Well, I knew I wasn't going to spank him in anger, so when I got to him, I told him that we were going to go see what he had done before he got his spanking.

So we headed up the stairs to see.

In our bedroom, there was white cream squirted all over the dresser, the floor, my coat (flung haphazardly over a chair), and even the top of our ceiling-height curtains.

There was crumbled gingerbread house all over the floor, mixed in with the cream, and there was a bottle of Oil of Olay covered with cream.

I had a talk with the little man, asking him what he thought he was doing squirting that stuff all over the bedroom.

He said he was 'frosting cookies.'

I felt a cold chill run up and down my spine. After a couple more questions, we determined that he had eaten the cookies.

Bet they didn't taste very good.

So while my wife cleaned up the mess, I called the poison control center.

When I told her what the product was, how old the child was, and then mentioned what he said he was doing, the lady laughed so hard she practically fell out of her chair.

She said that he probably didn't enjoy the taste of that, which explains why there was gingerbread all over the floor.

Thankfully, he didn't need to go to the hospital. She said if he ate a LOT of it he would have a belly ache, and that would be the most that would happen.

But the traumatic event reminded us all of Prov 29:15 - The rod and rebuke give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.

The passage, of course, is describing a child who receives no discipline. Our little guy was left to himself for a short time, but he didn't get away with it...

Dis Mantle

2008-12-30T08:00:00.000-08:00

So it all started with the Mantle Clock.

It was (and still is, in some respects) a thing of beauty, the only real thing of value I got from my first 'real' job there at Jostens (other than a good career path!).

The clock was sold in an employee auction because of a slight mar on one foot, a $350 mantle clock that I picked up as the highest bidder for $70.

I was real proud of that clock, and would wind it weekly, to hear its lovely chimes ringing through the house. Letting us know what time it was. Even in the middle of the night.

When we got our second home, because of the ice storm here in the Memphis area, I insisted we get a home with a fireplace, which of course came with a mantle. An excellent place for a mantle clock, wouldn't you agree?

By this time we had two children - a daughter (9) and a son (3) and one on the way.

We already knew that our daughter was ADD, due to a diagnosis when she was in the first grade and struggling a bit. But the jury was out on our son.

Well, life at work had gotten quite hectic, and I was putting in extremely long days and weeks, working weekends and quite worn out, so I forgot to perform my Monday ritual winding of the ever-important mantle clock.

Tuesday came, and my 3yo dear son reminded me to wind the clock. I said I would, but a call from work caused me to rush off without doing so.

A cardinal sin.

Dragging back home at around 7:30pm that night, I went straight to the kitchen and went to the fridge to pour myself a glass of iced tea. Something us southern folks find a necessity down here in the sweltering south.

I stopped in mid pour, with the dawning realization that something was STRUCTURALLY DIFFERENT about the home. No, not just 'I cleaned the Living Room!' or 'I rearranged the furniture, do you like it?' or 'I bought a slipcover for the couch, that's a nice color, don't you think?'

No, this was on the level of a new window, or a new door.

So I put the pitcher down and came back in the living room, looking for the cause of my concern. And suddenly, I saw it. Or rather I didn't see it.

The mantle.

It was GONE. That's right, gone. Not painted, or damaged, just completely and utterly gone. Unpainted drywall was staring me in the face.

I blinked.

It was STILL GONE.

I rubbed my eyes.

The mantle persisted in its gone-ness.

I've heard of people stealing stereos, TVs, even Tickle-Me-Elmos. But a mantle thief??

I said, 'Um, Honey?'

'Yes?' came her bright voice from the other room.

'Where's the MANTLE?' - I tried to sound as sweet as she did, but I was failing miserably.

'Oh, the Mantle?'

'Yes, the MANTLE.' There was a different note in my voice, the 'don't mess with me' voice.

'Oh, it's in the garage.' As if that settled the matter.

'Um, why isn't it on the wall?' Like where it belongs...

'Ask your son...'

Yes. It appears that my sequentially thinking son had decided to wind the clock for poor Daddy, since he forgot. Being athletic (and giftedly so) this little 3yo took a running leap, and caught the mantle. Pulled himself up and got an elbow on top the mantle, and hung there by one hand while he opened the door to the clock and attempted to find the key to wind it.

At this point, physics and gravity took over.

The professional construction crew who built our home probably didn't consider the possibility that we would be hanging toddlers from our mantle. Usually you hang stockings from this piece of furniture, and perhaps put bric-a-brac on it, with nothing much heavier than a mantle clock expected.

So the ten-penny nails began to come out and with a groan and a crash, toddler, clock and mantle came crashing down.

Luckily for our toddler, the clock decided to slide before falling, and went past him, and the rather large, rather disassembled mantle fell in front of him.

When the family came running to find out who had started the war, they all decided to hide the evidence and hope that Daddy wouldn't notice.

Yes, I'm ADHD too. But not so far gone I'd miss a missing mantle. (Well, ok, for more than the time it takes to pour some tea...)

Well, dear son and I had a talk, and he helped me glue the mantle clock back together (yes! It still works and everything!)

And I took a trip to the store to buy a box of heavy duty nails and I rehung the mantle in such a way that I could hang on it myself. (Yes, I tried this).

I'm reminded through all of this, though, that I should not hold too tightly to THINGS. Like Mantle clocks. As beautiful as these things are, everything in this life is passing away. And sometimes God has to use a prybar, or an over-helpful toddler, to open our fingers so he can fill our hands with the good things of lasting value.