Category: Family

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Family

Less Than Stellar Moments in Parenting

A couple of nights ago, we had turkey burgers for dinner. If you’ve never had turkey burgers, first of all- shame one you. Second of all, make sure you add a little seasoning to the meat. The Grill Mates stuff is pretty good- Molasses and Bacon, Molasses and Hickory, Montreal Chicken, Steakhouse OnionBurger. Any of them will do. I also like to throw an egg in there because it helps to hold the patties together. Plus- extra protein! Win! Win! Finally, when forming the patties, put a little oil on your hands because the turkey meat tends to stick to hands.

Alright, now you have no more excuses.

I like to grill the patties. I find that meat in general comes out better when an open flame is involved. The problem with cooking turkey burgers on a grill, though, is that the meat tends to sag between the grates until it firms up from cooking. Between the sagging and the sticking, bunch of meat gets lost to the grill. This makes me sad.

So I do something about it by putting a sheet of aluminum foil down on the grill and then placing the turkey burgers on that. I also spray the foil with a non-stick spray, for what should be the obvious reasons.

Unfortunately, this night, the non-stick spray was… let us say “less than effective.”

So now, I’m trying to flip the burgers and I’m tearing the foil and it’s sticking to the burgers and it’s generally making a big mess. Worst of all, I’m losing gobs of meat to the foil because apparently the stupid “non-stick” spray was actually heat-activated glue, or something.

In a final moment of desperation brought on by the panic of ruining a meal-full of turkey burgers, I opted for Plan Z– flip the burgers by flipping the foil. In my head, this worked out beautifully- like pulling the table cloth out from under a table full of plates, silverware and glasses. I would simply grab the corners of the foil and leverage the fact that the patties were stuck and I’d flip everything in one fell swoop. Then, I could set to slowly peeling the foil off the patties. Sure, my fingers would get burned a bit; but, I wouldn’t lose nearly as much meat to the grill. It was a perfect plan, hatched on a moments notice.

So naturally, it failed spectacularly.

The foil tore as I lifted it. Some of the burgers fell off the foil (of course!) The foil didn’t entirely flip and I ended up with a mess of folded foil, entombed patties and other patties that were now more like blobs of meat on the grill. It was like a turkey slasher flick, right there on my grill. All my careful planning, and I might as well have had the kids engage in a food fight flinging the meat at the grill.

Off to my right, there was the boy, standing, watching Dad do battle with his dinner and the forces of chaos. Instinct told him to remain silent, I’m sure.

I stood there, with the grill spatula in my right hand, taking in the devastation before me. My last fleeting thought before the insanity took over was “He’s watching, don’t…”

Then I slammed the spatula on the grill.

I was rewarded with a satisfying “DOINK” noise as the spatula bounced off the grill. The force of the blow had folded the flat part into a ‘L’ shape.

Great. Now, I’d ruined the spatula.

Oh well, nothing to lose now…

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

On the second WHAM, I knocked out the fire in the grill.

On the third WHAM, a chunk of the wood from the grill came up.

On the fourth WHAM, the spatula broke.

I stood there staring at the now broken handle in my hand. Stupidly. The other half of the spatula had sailed over my head and landed behind me on the deck.

There was a moment of silence. My insanity had passed.

The boy broke the silence with a simple question: “How are you going to flip the burgers now, Dad?”

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Working on Writing

When I was the boy’s age and came home with writing assignments, my Mom would look over my work. I always handed it to her thinking what I had written made total sense. I was sure they were nothing short of a masterpiece.

The problem was, most of the time they only made sense to me. In addition to the grammar and spelling errors, Mom would hammer home the point that writing is meant to be read; thus, the writer needs to draw the reader into the writer’s world. This point seems obvious now, but when there are adventures to be had, games to be played, and mischief to be made, it’s not the sort of lesson that takes.

With that, I present the boy’s latest creative writing product:

Frank is a very interesting creature. He was not born with a nose but he has special gills. So he can breathe in any condition. He had one big, huge, raging eye. The other was lost in a fight. The creature had a blue body. He was thin like a human. He had a red head and green arms and legs. His wavy arms and a pair of stick figured arms. His arms would fly everywhere when the wind blew. He would also swing on branches that held his weight. Frank’s wobbly green legs had spiky points to help him stand. Frank smelled like hamburgers. The creature sounded like a T-rex when he roared. He moved faster than lightening. When Robbie saw him, he screamed “AHHHHHHHHHHH” all the way home.

Raise your hand if you laughed at the “hamburger” line. The boy is always thinking with his stomach, even when he isn’t.

The assignment was to write a description of an alien. I think there’s lots of good stuff in there. It’s also exactly the sort of thing Mom would have had me hammer away at for awhile. Obviously, there’s some sentence problems. Overall, it doesn’t flow well and it’s a little unbalanced- there’s a lot of stuff about Frank’s arms, but only a brief mentions of his eyes and the gills- arguably much more interesting features.

Given all that, here’s the rub. If I have him work on all that, is it still 3rd grade writing? If I don’t have him work on that, does he still learn to write better? Where’s the happy medium between the two?

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Family

The Shotgun Wars: The Well

When last we wrote about The Shotgun Wars, the lass and the boy were locked in strategic gamesmanship, trying new tactics and countermeasures. Sadly, there have been no new tactics deployed of late and we’ve settled into some uneasy steady-state conditions.

I say “uneasy steady-state” because even though nothing new has developed, the prized passenger seat in the car is still hotly contested. Take this morning as an example. The boy was easily the first out the door. The lass was already in a bad mood and, realizing she’d be relegated to 3rd-world status sitting in the back, she tried to get me to referee. She wanted to know what car we were taking to school.

I simply replied it didn’t matter. I’m judging by the sound of her footsteps and the way the door opened and closed, my answer didn’t suit her. I called after her to just get in whichever car her brother was in, but I’m fairly certain she never heard me. It’s also quite probable she was just ignoring me.

Yes folks, even at the tender age of 7 she’s doing it. She’ll be a master by sometime this Summer, I predict.

So when I came outside, there was the boy in one car and the lass in the other. Nothing new there. I trudged around to the driver’s side of the car the boy was in. One more thing to irritate the lass this morning. Clearly, if she had me on her s**t-list, I wasn’t going to be off it anytime soon. (Even though she doesn’t know what it’s called, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. Her brother’s name is written in permanent ink.)

Once in the car, we had barely begun to move when the lass declared to her brother “This means I get to sit in the passenger’s seat on the way home.”

The boy voiced his opinion succinctly: “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m not listening to you.”

In a nasally, squeaky voice the lass snapped back “Nyeah nyeah nyeah ny-om not listening blah blah blah”. I can picture her head tilting back and forth which each syllable.

And so it goes.

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Family

A Cold First Game

I didn’t get to stay for the entire game, but today was the lass’ first. They played against a neighboring town’s coach-pitch softball team. The game time temp was a balmy 42 degrees Fahrenheit. The lass and all her teammates were wearing multiple layers. The Wife and other parents were wearing winter coats and hats and shivering in the stands.

I was there for the top of the 1st inning. I hadn’t intended to stay that long, but found it wasn’t the sort of thing I could step away from in the middle, so I finished it off. Luckily, there are other parents willing to step up and contribute.

I had an insight today of sorts, while warming up with the girls. We were doing some throwing drills to warm up and, naturally, there are some that throw better than others. Having coached boys as well at a similar age, I saw the same phenomena. Then it occurred to me, there really is no such thing as “throwing like a girl.”

Rather, it’s like the old saying “There are 2 kinds of people in this world…” In this case, we get “Those that can throw a ball properly and those that can’t.”

Not that it matters much at this age.

Today’s game was called after 2 innings. I’m not sure if the parents revolted because of the cold, or if it was the prudent choice because interest was waning. According to the Wife it was a bit of both. Still, the girls out shined some of their male counterparts. A number of boys’ games were cancelled today because of the cold and damp.

Perhaps we’ll finally start getting warmer in May.

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Family

What Are They Thinking?

The Wife made a purchase this weekend. She bought some new deck furniture. Nothing super fancy, mind you: a few Adirondack chairs (plastic) and a couple of little deck tables for setting drinks on. The Adirondacks are nice because they have a built-in lumbar support, so they are more comfortable than their straight-backed counterparts.

They weren’t on the deck 24-hours before the kids got together and graffiti’d them.

The only saving grace here is… well… there is no saving grace. I mean, the boy wrote names on the chairs in an attempt at assigning seating so it’s not like we have gang-banger Adirondack chairs on the deck, or even something with a nice landscape. Rather, we have chairs with names on them because, apparently in the boy’s Universe, it made sense.

The Wife was none too pleased with the gesture. Nor was I, though I wasn’t as upset as the Wife. When I heard, my first question was “Where did you write the names?” hoping he’d labeled the underside.

No such luck- he put it prominently on the front of the backrest.

My next question was “With what did you write it?” hoping it could be washed off.

No such luck- he wrote it with a Sharpie.

They tried to scrub it off, but their efforts were in vain.

I never really got a satisfactory explanation for why he did it. He claims it was because there was one for each of us- a very literal translation. It didn’t occur to him that “one for each of us” might just mean there was the same number of chairs as family members and we could use whichever one we sat our derriere’s into.

The boy too, seemed perplexed. To him, it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was doing us a favor. That we were a bit upset with his lack of judgment was his own mystery to contemplate. Assigned seating! No fighting over chairs! What’s not to like?

But why those chairs? He hasn’t done that with other chairs in the house. He hasn’t even mentioned it. There’s no assigned seating anywhere else in the house, though we all have our go-to spots. Was this part of a larger plan? If it had gone over well, would he be Sharpie-ing up the house? Who gets what toilet? Would we have assigned walking paths?

Perhaps it’s best to not think about it. He did it. It was a mistake. Won’t happen again. Maybe we can laugh about it later.

Maybe.

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Family

Booby Traps

The house looks like we have a mysterious, insanely large spider crawling about starting to spin a web and then abandoning it, only to retry again in some other spot. This “spider” seems to have a preference for doorways and other portals for passing from one room into another. Typically, the web is attached to a piece of furniture on one side of the opening and then runs across the opening. Where possible, the web is wrapped around something as a form of attachment. Otherwise, a piece of tape is used to attach it.

The boy and the lass have been fascinated with the notion of “booby traps.” I think it’s because of all the Scooby Doo episodes they’ve taken in recently. It’s a newer version and the Fred character is obsessed with setting traps to an extreme.

Unfortunately, most of the boy’s traps are, well, anything but. Since they’re usually strung across the middle of the doorways, they aren’t even trip lines. Which, actually, is a good thing for him. How long would he survive if I and the Wife were tripping our way through the house?

The best one they’ve set so far is what I’ll call an “ankle trap” they set outside. It’s a shallow hole that the boy dug and then covered over with leaves to hide. It’s perfect for breaking some poor sap’s ankle. Fortunately, he dug it in an out-of-the-way area of the yard; otherwise, someone likely would have broken their ankle. I told the boy to fill it in before that actually happened.

Innocent as it all is, this whole episode isn’t without its casualties. The Wife’s supply of cooking twine has taken a pretty severe hit. So too has my supply of duct tape.

I have gained some insight from this whole thing. Originally, I assumed the “booby” in “booby trap” referred to the people the trap was sprung on. Now, I know differently.

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Family

Grandparents

Good at making Rice Krispie treats, good at making quilts
Really fun to be with
Awesome at building chairs, awesome at electronics
Neat at making the bed
Doesn’t ever lose love
Playing a lot with me
And entertaining at football playing catch
Really good at playing chess
Excellent at knitting
Never mad at us
Talented at turning children into pretzels
Super Awesome grandparents

By: the boy

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Family

Cartoon Blasts From the Past

The kids watched one of the newer Scooby Doo variants this morning before school. I deem this particular episode noteworthy because it was chocked full of all the old mystery cartoon characters. Jabberjaw, Speed Buggy, Josey and the Pussycats and Captain Caveman all figure into the plot line. There’s also a ghost character that I don’t remember too well, although the voice is familiar.

The gist of the story is there’s a “mystery solver” reunion. At the reunion, all the principal characters are kidnapped leaving only the sidekicks (i.e.- Scooby, Jabberjaw, Speed Buggy, etc.) to solve the mystery. Since it’s a Scooby Doo cartoon, Scooby takes the lead for solving the mystery. Of course, the unfamiliar ghost sidekick ends up being the baddy. The kids figured it out halfway through.

The cartoon did the old characters right, working in every little quirk and distinct mannerism from the originals, including the trademark “CAPTAIN CAVEMAN!” bellow, Speed Buggy’s sputtering-style speech pattern and Jabberjaw’s “NYUCK NYUCK NYCUK”‘s.

I have to admit it put a smile on my face seeing them all again. Even the Wife had to chuckle at all the familiar faces making a reappearance. We both watched the whole episode with the kids for a change, since there was a little something more in it for the both of us.

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Family

The Lass 1, The Boy 0

When I got to the car this morning, the boy was in the back seat antagonizing the lass by flipping some straps on the back of the passenger seat. Mind you, this had little affect on the seat- he wasn’t jerking on the seat or kicking it or in any way directly affecting the lass. Merely flipping the straps on the back of the seat had the desired affect- annoying his sister.

The Boy 1, The Lass 0

About half-way to school this morning, the lass began reaching up to the boy’s window. The window on that side is broken at the moment- the track on the bottom of the window is broken off so the lifting mechanism doesn’t attach to it; thus, the window was sitting down about 3 inches this morning.

The boy couldn’t stop his sister from reaching up through the window since he couldn’t close the window. As with the boy earlier, the lass wasn’t doing anything directly to her brother. The mere act of reaching up through “his” window was enough to drive the boy crazy. He even yelled at her for “playing” with the window.

The Boy 1, The Lass 1

Upon arriving at school, we were the 4th car in line for drop off, set back a ways from the entrance door. There is no formal drop-off procedure for the mornings. Basically, it’s wherever the parents and kids feel comfortable getting out. Typically, being in the 1st or 2nd position is when kids hop out.

While we sat waiting for the line to move up, the lass decided to hop out of the car. It’s not that far a walk and I have no issue with them getting out that far back.

“Bye Dad!”, she chirped. She cast a couple of quick backwards glances at her brother to see if he was in hot pursuit. He was not.

“I’m not getting out,” he declared.

But then the line continued not to move and his sister was halfway to the door. There was no way that waiting for the line to move would allow him to beat her to the door. I remained silent the whole time. Waiting.

Waiting…

Waiting…

“FINE, WHATEVER!!!”

Finding the circumstances untenable, the boy flung the door open and hopped out. He then half-walked, half-ran in pursuit of his sister. His sister, having checked and seen that he was out of the car, picked up her pace a bit. She had a comfortable lead, but she wasn’t about to rest on her laurels.

At that point, the line start flowing and as I drove past, the boy was closing the distance but was clearly going to be second to the door.

Final score: The Lass 1, The Boy 0

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Family

The Cat Discovers the Bird Feeder

Looks like stare down, literally.

Perhaps it’s a cat feeder as well:

Feel free to supply your own caption in the comments.

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Family

Remembering the Bad Times

Yesterday during breakfast, the lass was excited because her dance costume for her upcoming recital was going to be in so she’d get to try it on. She’s actually in 2 different routines for the recital and in one of them, her group of dancers will be dressed up as Disney princesses. She’s going to be Merida from Brave.

In the course of discussing this, the lass made the comment (I’m paraphrasing) “She’s the princess who’s always getting yelled at.”

Cut to the Wife, who was visibly affected by the comment. While I’m a strong believer in not underestimating kids’ intelligence and ingenuity, I have a hard time believing that the lass was implying anything by the comment. At her age, kids tend to say exactly what is on their mind, as opposed to making thinly veiled broadsides. The Wife didn’t share that view, as it was clear she had taken the lass’ comment personally.

So, for the sake of argument, let’s say the lass was that clever. Or, more plausibly, some subconscious part of her mind identifies with Merida for the reason that she thinks she’s getting yelled at all the time. Should I or the Wife take this to mean anything?

I don’t say “No”, I say “HELL NO!”

It’s a known psychological quirk of the human species to remember negative experiences more sharply than positive experiences. Kids are no different. Indeed, add a dollop of immaturity and a pinch of child-tendency-for-drama and there’s a perfect recipe for them concluding Mom and Dad do nothing but yell at them. Heck, they might view Gitmo as a vacation getaway.

But a skewed perception does not a reality make.

Kids screw-up, all the time. Part of being a parent is figuring out which screw-ups require intervention for corrective purposes. Obviously, when a kid touches a hot stove, they don’t need to be yelled at. They’ve received all the corrective information required in the form of a nice, painful burn.

But how many times do they have to be asked to pick up their rooms? My limited experience informs me that it is exactly as many times as a parent is will to ask them. I ask once. Politely. If they don’t respond, Hell follows. Most of the time, I only have to ask once. The Wife is cut from similar cloth. I’ve watched the parents who ask. Then ask again. And again. And again. While their patience is impressive, it’s not the way I, or the Wife roll.

So the kids are going to get yelled at. They make different sorts of mistakes all the time, or variations of the same one all the time. Like when they start fighting and disturbing the household with their antics. They get a chance to work it out and if they don’t I, or the Wife, work it out for them. Sooner or later they’ll realize it’s better that they work it out.

My point is that it’s baked into the cake that kid’s are going to get yelled at. It’s also baked into the cake that they’ll remember those times quicker. Probably a result of some evolutionary survival quirk. It’s not good for survival of the species if Grog keeps running into tar pools or eating poison berries.

The fact that they get yelled at doesn’t mean that’s all that happens. Last night I was rolling around on the floor, wrestling with the boy. He was giggling the whole time. The lass shared a tea-party with the Wife earlier this week. There are all the books and stories we’ve read together. Day trips to zoos and museums. Trips for ice cream and to the beach. Tee-ball, soccer, karate, hockey. Time spent helping with homework.

There are, in summary, no end to all the good or positive experiences we’ve all shared. They easily outnumber the negative ones. That is reality. Those aren’t the things that swirl at the leading edges of their memories. Unfortunate, but also reality.

It takes a sober second of consideration and reflection to remember. Kid’s don’t have that ability, it’s part of what defines them as a kid, an inability to see the larger world around them in any sense. Parents are adults, and we are not hampered by the same affliction. Therefore, we shouldn’t fall prey to our kids perception of their little world.

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Family

Bird Feeding

Given yesterday’s bird feeder post, all I can say is that it didn’t take long:

The boy really does need to learn to listen to Mom and Dad. We do know some things.

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Family

The Shotgun Wars- An Addendum

My last entry in the Shotgun Wars was quite well received, with a number of people impressed at the lass’ ability to think outside the box. Her inventiveness is to be expected. She is physically inferior to her older brother and if she wants to compete, she has little choice but to resort to creativity. In general, we all play to our strengths and both of them are doing exactly that.

The boy is not without his own moments, though. For instance, take the lass’ ruse the other day where she attempted to fool him. He was suspicious enough that he came back into the house to check with myself. He knows his sister too well.

There was also a moment a week or so ago where he made a desperate, failed bid to beat his sister out. She was well ahead of him, within a few steps of the car. (I should note that the walk to the car from our front door is short, perhaps 25 feet from the door. When shotgun is on the line, however, 25 feet can be a long way.) I was behind her and the boy, at that freeze-frame moment of time, was still in the house.

What happened next took place in about the space of 3 seconds worth of time. The boy came flying out of the house in a dead-sprint. As I took my next step, the boy pulled even with me and I could see there was a sort of maniacal grimace on his face. In the next second or so, he was at the car and in the car through the rear passenger side door. He had arrived at the car more or less simultaneously with is sister, but he was in before her.

His plan was now clear, he was attempting to end run his sister by getting in the backseat and then climbing into the front seat from inside the car. It might have worked, but the lass recognized what he was doing and she quickly mobilized to get herself into the passenger seat. Even so, it was a close call and I heard the two of them giggling as they jostled a bit over the seat. She was in superior position, as he’d only gotten about half-way into the seat before she’d climbed in and she laid claim to the prize for the ride in to school.

So the boy is capable of some creative moments as well. He just hasn’t been pushed as much because he’s a little more on the ball when it’s time to head to the car. You don’t apologize for not successfully coming from behind when the majority of time you’re winning from in front.

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Family

The Shotgun Wars- The Art of Misdirection

Things have been heating up on both fronts since my last entry. The boy continues to use his superior physical assets to attain the prized position. The lass, in the meanwhile, has resorted to being quicker on the draw- if she’s at the car well ahead of her brother, he won’t try an all out frontal assault. My guess is he innately understands the Pyrrhic nature of such a victory.

Of the two, the boy does a better job of maintaining his composure when he loses. He betrays how deeply he wants it though with his running commentary to the effect that people younger than himself shouldn’t be allowed in the passenger seat. He also likes to poke the back of the seat.

The lass, for her part, wears her emotions on her sleeves. Well, no. Her mouth. She screams or whines or cries or some hideous combination of the three.

Heading out for errands today, it was a draw to the car. I had lagged behind because I was gathering a few things in preparation for heading out.

I must have taken longer than I thought, because the lass popped her head in the house.

“Dad, which car are we taking?”

I told her we’d take the big car, since we were going to be grocery shopping, amongst other things. The big car has the most room- otherwise it wouldn’t be the “big” car just the “light blue” car or something else mundane. As I finished up pulling things together, I had a fleeting thought: was the lass clever enough to pull a head fake?

Several seconds later, the boy poked his head in the house.

“Dad, which car are we taking?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Why, didn’t your sister tell you?”

“Yeah, she said we’re taking the little car.”

It was all I could do not to laugh.

When I got outside, they were both struggling at the “big” car. So I walked straight over to the smaller car and got in.

The lass’ screams are still echoing throughout the countryside.

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Family

A Surprise for the Lass

The Wife and I had agreed awhile back on our approach to the Harry Potter movies: the kids would have to read the books before we would let them see the movie. We agreed on this shortly after I had read them the first book, back when the boy was in kindergarten or 1st grade. We’re well aware there are ways our plans could get foiled but we wanted to make the effort.

With the boy having just finished the 2nd book, and now rapidly progressing through the 3rd, he was making no bones about his desire to see the movie. That was fine- he had earned it. The problem was the lass. Generally speaking, she’s going to be around when he is and thus get the opportunity to freeload off of his efforts.

We held the boy off through the past weekend until today because we realized an opportunity would present itself. The lass would be at her dance lessons for a couple of hours, during which time the boy could watch the movie.

The plan went off without a hitch, for a change. But the lass made it known she didn’t like the circumstances. When the Wife started bringing her home, the lass gave me a call to let me know they were on the way. Then, she asked what her brother was doing.

Rather than make up some kind of white lie, I opted to see how she’d handle the news. Her first response was to see if we could start the movie over again when she got home so her and Mom could see it too. When I told her “No, you can’t watch the movie yet” one of two things must have happened. Either she was completely stunned at the turn of events or she was so upset she couldn’t speak, because the phone went silent on the other end. And where the lass is anything but silent.

She finally recovered and proclaimed that the situation was “unfair.” That word again. I explained to her that it was perfectly fair. Her brother had read the book and had earned the right to watch the movie. She hadn’t read it yet, but when she did she would be allowed to watch the movie. I told her it didn’t get any more fair than that.

She… disagreed.

To her credit, she didn’t become hysterical. She just didn’t like that her brother had done something that she wouldn’t let her do as well. She even protested that she didn’t want to read the book, just see the movie. Not sure how she thought that would help her case, to be honest.

So, for now, the situation has been dealt with. But the boy is working his way through the third book and it’s going to come up again. A parent’s work is never done.

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Family

With Power Comes Responsibility

The Spiderman them line is, of course, “with great power comes greater responsibility.” Part of the charm of the Spiderman cannon is the simple truth of that statement. I don’t think you’d find anyone who’d argue that point.

When viewed in the context of a superhero, it seems kind of funny to apply that concept to kids. But I think it’s an pithy phrase for a phase the boy seems to be going through. While he doesn’t have any emerging superpowers, he does have an emerging power that he’s becoming more and more aware of.

His physicality. He’s bigger than the majority of his friends. Not just bigger, but built differently as well. Most people that first meet him typically mistake him for someone 2 to 3 years older than he really is. Basically, he’s bigger, stronger and just as fast as most of his peers.

So he’s been going through a phase lately where getting together with his friends typically results in a friend getting roughed up a bit. In his defense, the boy isn’t doing anything differently from what his friends are doing. It’s just that the results tend to be a bit more extreme. His friend’s are the ones who go flying, get knocked down and, very occasionally, get hurt.

And therein lies the problem. The boy needs to learn that his rough housing with his friends they way they all do will more likely result in someone else getting hurt than the boy. For one, his arms are at his friend’s head level in the majority of cases. And for those cases where he isn’t, he’s just bigger than they are. The laws of physics all favor him, for the time being, in those situations.

Obviously, he doesn’t mean to hurt anyone and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. The couple of times where he has hurt someone else (and those times have both been superficial bumps- no blood or anything major) it’s been because he lost himself in the moment and either used all his strength or his size during play. Probably like any other kid might have done.

But like I told him when we put him to bed tonight, he needs to start learning to control himself a bit more. If he doesn’t start now, he may end up hurting someone more seriously down the road. I tried to help him understand by him thinking about what might happen if I used all my strength when wrestling around with him. He seemed to respond to that idea.

I don’t expect his physical advantages to diminish either. He seems to be gifted with a fair amount of athleticism to go along with his size. That means he’s going to naturally know how to use his body in ways those less gifted won’t be able to. All of these kinds of things are great, but they come with a burden as well. He won’t be able to use them to there fullest extent while goofing around with his buddies. Right now, he thinks that means he won’t be able to have fun with his friends either. That’s incorrect. He just needs to learn how to do it with restraint.

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Family

PTC’s

We had parent teacher conferences over the past week over with the kids’ teachers. Both of them are doing well and there aren’t any real complaints from either teacher.

But both the Wife and I couldn’t help but notice how much the lass’ teacher loves her. I mean loves her. At one point she said she didn’t need a teacher’s assistant because she had the lass.

Meanwhile, the Wife and I are both thinking “Come over for coffee one morning…”

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Family

A Day at a Tournament

This past Saturday, the boy and I spent the day at a martial arts tournament we both entered. It was the boy’s first real tournament, and my second. I participated in another one about a month ago and enjoyed it, as I suspected I would. Whether the boy was destined to enjoy his experience was, well, completely results oriented. I don’t know if that’s the norm for approaching-nine-year-olds, but it’s definitely the way the boy is wired.

There was a bit of confusion for him leading up to the event. For those of you not in the know, which I presume is a majority, there are 3 different competition formats at a MA tournament: breaking, forms and sparring. For adults, there is also a weapon’s form. I trust I don’t need to explain why there isn’t such a category for the kids.

The boy competed in all three formats for his age and belt level. The confusion arose because he had to decide what form he would perform and the type of break he wanted to perform. For both, he started out with one thing in mind and had to change it in the final week prior to competition. For the form, it was a quirk of the tournament format and for the breaking we were told the break he wanted to do wasn’t appropriate for his belt level.

The tournament itself was quite the affair. It was located in a hotel conference room with 10 different rings setup so multiple levels and ages could compete simultaneously. I can’t even begin to count how many different groups there were over the course of the day, so suffice it to say there were over 400 competitors at the event ages ranging from 6 to 50+ and belt levels ranging from beginner to grandmaster (typically 6th Dan and up). Just for a more specific taste, for men’s black belts alone there were at least 10 different competition levels.

The tournament didn’t get off to the greatest start, if you’re a kid that is. It started with a long memorial for the tournament’s founder who had passed away within the past year. Thankfully, I was separated from the boy since we had to arrange ourselves by belt level and the boy “outranks” me. At least where MA is concerned.

Despite the slow start, the boy’s division, “Red Belts 6-8 years old” was one of the first ones to compete.

Just let me state that, as a parent, an MA tournament is an experience in patience. Not just because of the waiting, but because there are tons of parents all scrambling to get into position to watch their kids compete. Unfortunately for me, the boy was in a center ring, so there was no “good” viewing area, except standing on a chair and watching from 50 feet away over everyone’s head. My attempts at video taping were thwarted on a number of occasions by interlopers wandering in front of my line of site. They seemed particularly well-timed for when the boy was up.

Despite the personal frustrations, the boy left with a 3rd in breaking and a 2nd in sparring. Based on the scores, I think the judges dinged him a bit for his form because they didn’t feel it level-appropriate. That’s not his fault, nor really his instructors. It was more a quirk of the tournament’s timing alongside his instruction schedule. If it were another month out, he’d have been fine on that score.

Even with the nice results, the boy still managed to be disappointed. His 2nd place in sparring particularly irked him. Getting 2nd meant he lost the 1st place match and he didn’t like that. He gets a pained expression on his face that’s unmistakable- all flushed and on the verge of tears, a sobbing-like type of breath pattern. As much as I’d like to help him work it out, it was probably for the best that he was on his own and forced to deal on his own. He maintained what was left of his composure for the awards ceremony, and just like that, he was done for the day.

He spent the remainder of the morning sitting in a little nook he fashioned out of all the equipment bags, reading his Harry Potter book, his medals dangling from his neck. A lot of his MA mates wondered what he was reading, and he got a lot of congratulations for his medals. Not a few parents were impressed as well, especially when they found out he wasn’t reading for a book report.

As for me, I won forms in my division, didn’t place in sparring and didn’t compete in breaking. I don’t know if the boy was watching the sparring, but I hope he did so he could see that it doesn’t have to be all doom-and-gloom when losing. (That comes later…)

The rest of the day, we spent watching the other competitors, especially the black belt levels. They were really something, particularly the sparring.

Towards the end of our day, the boy came up to me with a bag of peanut M&M’s he’d found in our lunch bag. The Wife’s doing- a little surprise for him. He wanted to share the bag with me. Who was I to refuse?

So we finished the bag, and by that time it was pretty late and time to get going. He chose Cracker Barrel as our spot to stop for dinner. He had rainbow trout for dinner and a fudge brownie. He enjoyed the fish, but not the brownie. I enjoyed the brownie.

On our ride home, he was mainly concerned with when he could watch the 2nd Harry Potter movie. He’d finished the 2nd book and started reading the 3rd one. He was disappointed he couldn’t watch it when we got home, but it was going to be too late for movies by then.

When we did arrive home, the Wife and the lass had one more surprise- “gourmet” cupcakes. They grabbed a couple of pistachio flavored cupcakes, one of his favorite. As well as mine, funny coincidence that.

The boy has already made mention of his “next” tournament. So it’s safe to assume that, even though he didn’t win, he’d enjoyed the day well enough.

That made two of us.

Categories
Family

Home Improvements

We’ve spent the past couple of weekends painting. It wasn’t my idea, the Wife got her 5 year-itch. Tired of old color schemes, she went to our local hardware dealer with some ideas. The fella there is good with colors and helped her pick out a scheme for the lass’ room.

She was so pleased with the job, she decided it was time to change our downstairs as well. Her buddy at the hardware store does house calls, so he paid us a visit. We returned the favor by paying him for a bunch of paint. We spend the afternoon today painting our family area.

As far as a division of labor goes, she uses the roller and I do all the cutting in with a brush. So she puts on 90% of the paint, but my job takes 90% of the time. I don’t bother taping off because I’ve done enough painting now to develop a pretty steady hand to manage all the cutting in around doors, windows, baseboard, base molding and up at the ceiling. It just takes time, that’s all. Well, in addition to the steady hand.

She’s still happy with how things are turning out, but there’s still more to go. We now have a foyer to paint and then all the way up the stairwell. As well as the stairs, which we’ll be painting the base molding the covers the edge of the steps as well and the risers. Actually, I’ll be painting all that since it’s all cutting-in work.

But the Wife is happy with things so far. And that’s a good thing.

The alternative would be more painting.

Categories
Family

Discovering Harry Potter

A few Summers ago, I read the first Harry Potter book to the boy and the lass. I think it took a couple of weeks to get through it. They both loved it and they both wanted me to read more of the books to them.

But that was never the intention.

The intention was to plan a seed of curiosity that would get them hooked enough so they’d want to read the subsequent books themselves. We’ve allowed them to see the 1st movie, to keep the story fresh. We haven’t let them see any of the subsequent movies. “After you read the books…” we keep telling them.

A couple years ago neither of them was ready to read a Harry Potter book. Now, the boy has been capable of reading the 2nd book for awhile and in fact started it about 4 months ago. But he would only read a few pages at a time. I suppose being “capable” and being “able” are two different things in this case.

Within the last week or so, a few things came together. One, I suspect, is his ability to concentrate has improved to the point where he can sit and pay attention to the story for an extended period of time. Two, his reading has gotten faster. And third, and arguably most important, his bit-by-bit, small chunk-at-a-time has finally yielded enough progress through the book where the story has taken hold of him. He’s past the part where all the questions are being raised and into the section where answers are coming at him fast and furious.

It’s been fun to watch, because he’s now well over half-way through the book and any spare time he has he sits down and reads. He keeps asking me and the Wife questions about what’s going on and keeps telling us “I know who opened the Chamber of Secrets.” Of course, he doesn’t know because he hasn’t finished the book, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking he’s figured it out.

Where once he talked about reading “one more page,” he now talks about reading “one more chapter.” A seed that we planted a long time ago finally seems to have germinated.