What do you get when you cross a candy cane, a pipe cleaner, and a pair of googly eyes?

What do you get when you combine children, 60 candy canes, 60 brown pipe cleaners, and 60 pairs of googly eyes?

I was traveling for almost 2 weeks for work and my first public speaking engagement, and returned home to an opportunity to attend a field trip with my 2nd grade daughter. I've always been extremely grateful and pleased with the opportunities to learn gratitude, humility, and how to connect with others that her school provides regularly, however, I am not sure I fully understood how critical these life skills are. Muhammad Ali once said, "Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth". I don't want my daughter to break the old lease of life, and certainly wouldn't want her to do so before I'm no longer the co-signer on said lease... "Life is about people, we are here to connect." I heard this in the advertisement for a Will Smith movie, seems legit. In the world of business leadership, emotional intelligence has been credited by many as a measure of future success, and is defined in psychology today as, "skill in perceiving, understanding, and managing emotions and feelings".

A few minutes after jumping on the yellow school bus, dutifully finding sticky gum under my seat in the only section I placed my hand, and sitting in the way back of the yellow beast so as to fully test the suspension with my back, we arrived at an assisted living facility near the school. A gaggle of 2nd graders and their 7th grade assigned buddies piled into the center through the front door, packing cheek tiring smiles, candy cane reindeer, and hours of practice in carrying a conversation with the most senior of AARP members. Had their been a professional certification for these conversations, I'd guess these children would have all achieved high marks. Perhaps hours of practice with their own elders, the teacher led practice in school, and years of family induced cheek pinching, pictures, and fruit cakes had already prepared them for this moment. They were extremely comfortable and on a mission to connect. Every group of kids was broken into 3 or 4, and names were assigned of the residents who needed a visit.

My daughter and her two 7th grade buddies went to Bernice's room. It was beautifully decorated with a wreath on the door, smelled of cookies and pine from the wreath or the small tree on her nightstand, and the sweet tooth she told us she had. Bernice had a wonderful smile, was vibrant and happy, and was extremely grateful to have visitors this deep into her 90's. Bernice was a hoot. She proceeded to share with us some of the memories she cherished. The children dutifully asked questions to lead the discussion, and intently listened to Bernice recall the names of her family members who's photos were placed with gentle hands around her mirror next to her favorite rocking chair, and they patiently watched as she pointed and paused at several images who's name escaped her for a brief moment. The conversation bounced from stories of her childhood, the crucifix at the center of her wall, to gratitude for the visit, to discussion of the reindeer candy cane's googly eyes. My favorite part of the conversation was a brief moment when Bernice was struggling to remember our names and the names of several others in her photos. She paused on one of her pictures after furrowing her brow in mild frustration, she chose instead to smile, and then proudly declared, "I can't remember his name, my memory is a little squirrel, but I love all of them and you for coming to visit"

We found something special in our attempt to find the next room. As we walked down a hallway, we could hear singing. The kids smiled and moved confidently forward to find the noise. We emerged into a sitting area, and saw roughly 15 residents of varying degrees of engagement, singing silent night while one staff member led the group in prayer. The children could barely wait until the prayer was over to pass out their candy canes, Merry Christmas, and smiles. It was quite moving to see the residents interact and become excited to receive the attention of the kids for that brief moment.

I often wonder, if we taught children humility and gratitude in the same quantity and with the same fervor we teach them English, wouldn't we communicate with each other a lot better?

Bernice had migrated from her room and was in the lobby as we passed by, she did not stop wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and waving her reindeer at us. As we got on the bus, I heard stories of some of the residents sharing tears of joy with their visitors, and I couldn't forget the smiling eyes of everyone we met and the connections that were made.

So back to the question:

What do you get when you combine children, 60 candy canes, 60 brown pipe cleaners, and 60 pairs of googly eyes?

You get a little emotional intelligence training and you give a little light

Merry Christmas

Here is hoping you get or give your own candy cane reindeer this season,

bvd

It's a winter wonderland

All yesterday evening, the news peppered Wisconsinites with bluster and fear of the impending snowstorm we received yesterday evening and will be continuing most of today. The weatherman on our favorite station was accurate, I have to give him credit, but he had a less than hidden dose of excitement coming through his eyes. It was a bit too much eagerness. I often wonder like an athlete preparing for a big match, if weatherman get psyched up for impactful weather events? Do you think they sit in mirrors doing tongue twisters about clouds while their producers coach them on how they can be better than the opposing weatherman on the other station? I can picture a grizzled veteran producer with coffee in his veins giving the talent the pep talk, "You got this Don, Ted on channel 6 defaults to polar vortex when the snowfall is over 6" and we all know the viewers like to hear about La Nina. Make me proud Don, win one for the Gifford tonight."

Weather prep was so intense, the Power Rangers cartoon was interrupted this morning, and you don't interrupt Power Rangers for anything unless it's more serious than their commercials for light up shoes and legos that shoot things. Wisconsin did not receive as much snow as some states, Ohio I heard received 30" in some places, and we all know Buffalo is giggling at the "light dusting" they consider 30" of snow to be. Fun fact, anything over 12" and you should suggest your maintenance department verify the structural integrity of your commercial flat roof at work, wouldn't want any snow falling on your heads while you shop Amazon during work hours the next few weeks.

As I prepare this morning to go outside and shovel, I get mildly excited learning that it's clearly light and fluffy, knowing less ibuprofen will be needed post shoveling for back soreness. However, it's how my daughters reacted to seeing the snow this morning that reminds me why it's critical for me to do my best not to screw up how my children already are, instead of trying my best to make them more like me.

My oldest awoke at 4:30 am because she was excited. When I was awoken at 6:00am, she let me know it was snowing outside, with a gigantic smile, kinda like the weatherman from the night before. When I finally rolled out of bed to get coffee, she rushed me to the window and squealed, "Dad, it's a winter wonderland outside!"

Like the weatherman who can't wait to get up and tell you about something they enjoy doing, I am reminded of the pure enjoyment children bring to new experiences, and how infectious that can be. After a 12 year run of having the same fake tree, my girls convinced us that we needed a real tree. So before the mini blizzard, we chose to secure our tree. Our experience yesterday morning to grab ours before the snow came was a little more work than plugging in the Ole Plastic Tree, however, the trip itself has become tradition. We now "cut your own", and found a nice sustainable tree farm which made the experience fun, with warm apple cider, a couple of kids who throw it on the roof of your car for you, and not too far a drive. Both girls carried the saw and the plastic tarp for dragging the cut tree with glee, excited to participate in choosing the arbor.

Dragging a tree half a mile back from cutting it to the car is not the first thing I'd choose to do, however, my children approached this experience like Al Roker approaches a storm front. Eagerly grabbing the rope, with their tiny gloved hands, and yanking until they couldn't drag it any further.

It's a lesson I hope to keep learning. Life is a winter wonderland, you just need to look at it through a joyful lens and get excited about doing rather than complaining. Merry Winter Wonderland my friends!


bvd

Dolphinette

In a survey of over 57,000 respondents in August of 2016, people were asked to choose the best Olympic summer sport. It was indisputable that volleyball was ranked 1st and dead last was "equestrian events". As a volleyball coach, I clearly understood why volleyball won, and to this day firmly believe that the instant transition in the sport from offense to defense has no equal. I also know, had the census been fair, the survey would have asked horses how they felt. Clearly, had some of the equines voted, equestrian events would have finished higher than last, even if they failed to get out the Pony vote. I won't go into the negative aspects of the blatant species-ism of this survey here, the country is still trying to heal. So it leaves me with no choice but to declare the second to last place finisher as the true worst sport in the Olympics according to this clearly species biased survey. The worst summer Olympic sport is therefore: Synchronized Swimming. I linked to the article because as we know, everything on Facebook is true.

While I may get some hate mail from this blog, I am looking forward to receiving beautifully decorated envelopes and cards piled in my mailbox in both a choreographed arrangement and exceptionally timed arrival.

Somewhere in a likely sweatshop in Arkansas, a screen printer who clearly lacks self respect, has chosen money over pride, and decided to print the shirt in this image above. First, the word, Dolphinette is not a Webster's recognized word. In other words, don't try it in scrabble. The picture of this female dolphin looks more like a pissed off Narwhale missing it's horn. I'd be mad too if I was forced to rotate upside down in the water with my toes pointed and my nose pinched shut to avoid water entry. I think we all can agree that water should only enter one orifice, and that's only when you are thirsty.

So my wife, in an effort to punish me for everything I've ever done wrong, has signed our oldest up for synchronized swimming and purchased this shirt for me. As I write this, I'm wearing it in a car on a 2 hour drive to a synchronized swimming meet listening to Christmas music while it's snowing outside. If that isn't waterboarding, I don't know what is.

My daughter got a 6th place ribbon at the last meet. I've never seen a 6th place ribbon in my life until that day. Why not 7th, did the Russian judge get bribed?

All kidding aside, I'm just going to shut up, golf clap when the rest of the parents do, and smile and ask my daughter if she had fun at this physical activity when it's over. There is a beauty to watching your child do something they like, even if that involves nose plugs and oysters (my daughter's favorite move)

I just passed a farm and saw several horses smiling. We were driving pretty slow, and I thought I saw one of them mouth the words, "Ed you won't believe what I just read, some guy had a shirt on that said proud..." The horses are laughing, man card revoked.

Enjoy

bvd

Teen Relativity

My oldest daughter celebrated her birthday earlier this month, turning 8 years old. I attached a 3 generation photo from dinner at the hibachi restaurant which helps explain why my children are blond, and clearly indicates that I got the shaft in the old gene pool of flowing manes. For reference, prior to obtaining my currently overcooked burnt popcorn color and more hair on my chest than my head, I formerly basked in the golden glow of a 90's bowl cut and had aspirations of growing a pony or a man bun. Shattered dreams pave the road of the follicular challenged.

Incidentally, in dog years where you multiply the age of your dog by a multiplier like the commonly believed but incorrect 7, to give you the equivalent in human years, you are able to gauge the maturity level of your canine friend fairly accurately. If you are interested in learning more about this, here is a link to an article describing where the myth originated and the information from the study. The oldest recorded living dog, Max, a terrier dachshund beagle mix, made it to almost 30 human years before deciding to head to the big doghouse in the sky. The study generated evidence suggesting that dogs age quickly in year 1, then subsequently their aging slows, and varies widely depending on breed and sizeTurns out as an example, a Schnauzer at the age of 1 human year, has the equivalent maturity of a 14.6 year old in "dog years"

I am sure this study done in the 50's, given inflation, would cost many millions to perform in today's dollars, and I have decided, as a dad with daughters, that there needs to be an investment to understand a different age to maturity ratio, that will help fathers everywhere.

Why does it seem all ages equal 14 for your own daughters?

Having just turned 8, every time I see her smile and hop into her booster seat, I picture having to drive a 14 year old to a middle school dance in my dad car hoping that it's winter so she is bundled up in a snowsuit and long underwear for the evening.

Every time she fails to listen to her mother, I picture the selective hearing of a 14 year old teen deciding that an eventual electronic takes precedence over her matriarch while her father prepares to intervene before another remake of "Clash of the Titans" occurs in my home. We all know sequels rarely ever turn out better.

When I get to listen to my 8 year old explain why she verbally lashed at her younger sister for being in her room and taking her toys, it's natural for me to imagine a 14 year old ripping a dress from her cat burglar of a younger sister who managed to extrapolate the one dress her sister would notice was missing, from a closet that couldn't fit a loose sheet of paper it was stuffed so full of garments already.

I'm resigned to the fact that this won't likely change, and the anecdotal evidence suggests that as she ages, my viewing lens won't alter much.

I've surmised when I see her at 18 or 20 studying for an exam, my default will be memories of lazy Saturday mornings reading together on the couch, perhaps picturing her reading Lord of the Flies or Catcher in the Rye 

When she calls someday at 25 to talk about someone she met who melted her heart, Ill think back to some whispering conversation from the kitchen between a 14 year old and her mom, about a crush her dad wasn't supposed to hear about from the living room, but that her little sister was all so proud to document with some recording app on her phone and playback loudly while running around the house with her sister chasing her.

When she visits for a Christmas with her new family, and I see her slide her broccoli to the side of her plate, covered smoothly with some uneaten mashed potatoes and wink at me. I'll picture my 14 year old who used to wink with both eyes and a wide open mouth, to let me know she and I were operating on the same wave length.

I look forward to doing my own study on this theory of teen relativity. I have a feeling in the immortal words of Randy Bachman of Bachman Turner Overdrive, "You ain't seen nothing yet...."

Enjoy!

bvd

Shalom My Friends

Went for a walk with my girls at a local wildlife sanctuary called Shalom a little while back, and I grabbed some photos while we were there. I was sitting on this blog for a few weeks, and after a long week of watching a number of my friends deal with the stress of trying to find club volleyball teams for their daughters to play on while other friends try to make these teams from groups of individuals and parents, it felt right to write.

Shalom is a Hebrew greeting meaning "Peace" or "Harmony" according to the Oxford Dictionary. Apparently the Oxford folks got the definition of Shalom correct. Having been burned by the Yiddish meaning of the word "Schmuck" once after using it in a discussion with a Jewish friend who kindly enlightened me, I learned to verify with multiple sources before attempting to use a word from another culture or religion of which I have very little knowledge. I therefore triple checked to make sure Oxford was correct on Shalom.

What struck me about Shalom Sanctuary was how well they communicated their values. Start to finish pulling in to leaving, there was no doubt about what they believed, and how they planned to share the meaning of their name. Here is a link to their site if you care to explore or you happen to be in West Bend Wisconsin in the future and decide to visit; Shalom Wildlife Sanctuary.

The Shalom sanctuary is nestled in a rural area, well off the freeway in southeastern Wisconsin. It has gorgeous paths through a beautiful wooded forest, surrounded by large open roaming areas for unique wildlife. Herds of endangered albino deer, elk, white tail, buffalo, camels, and more roam in an open format like Jurassic Park without the computer generated terror. The interaction with the wildlife there involves viewing and feeding the animals as you casually stroll around the several mile trail. You purchase stale corn in a large white bucket, and must earn the trust of the hoofed creatures roaming the pastures to get to feed them up close. It's kinda like the brilliant family dog who hears the freezer open and comes running to greet the 3 year old. The dog knows he is going to get his ears tugged and some weird looks, but he likes his odds that he will get to lick the ice cream cone before it hurts. There was a very tranquil silence as we walked through the woods, and the animals went about their ways in a relaxed and peaceful pace.

Shalom had signs placed throughout the trail, and one in particular caught my eye and made me stop for the photo above.

Ego vs Eco

I immediately began to think of all the successful people I have been blessed to meet, all the successful families that pop in and out of my life, all of the successful businesses I've seen or been a part of, and of course sports teams I've watched or been a part of. My head went to teams I've coached where the entire season was spent trying to obtain Eco together, and eliminate Ego. I could substitute people in place of the animals in the Ego image, and pretty well sum up most of the BS happening in the world these days. It felt relatively obvious, and yet most days, it's difficult to see the forest through the trees.

As I watched my girls bound to the next herbivore and prayed they wouldn't get hoof and mouth disease or trampled by an elk who realized the chicken wire can't stop a chicken, I took pleasure in knowing that there are signs like this in our everyday lives telling us to stop and think about what our needs or wants do to others. Many are not as blatant as this, and might show up in the form of someone helping you unexpectedly or achievements you can look back on where a teams needs took precedence above your own wants, and something special was achieved. I kept thinking about the times people did things for my daughters they didn't have to, and were completely selfless.

I wondered how best to communicate this concept to my girls, and make sure they grew up to see the value in Eco over Ego, not in the hug a tree eat grape nuts and granola sense, but in a little more complete picture on the effect we have on other people. I'm pretty sure I'll screw this one up, but I now know I can take my kids to a cool wildlife sanctuary, buy them a bucket of corn and make them read the sign every time we go there...at least until the elk figure out the mother load of corn is on the other side of the chicken wire that can't stop a chicken.

Cheers to kicking over whatever chicken wire might be holding us back from seeing the signs

Enjoy!

bvd

The maple tree in my yard is still there

First, thank you. My blog passed over 1,000 readers per month, even after I took a 2.5 week sabbatical. Why is that important? It's not, other than I feel I don't say thank you enough for the little things, and that doing so might make the world a little better place. I've never seen someone accept a thank you tossed their way with an angry face, so I've got that going for me.

Over the past several weeks, autumn twinkle-toed in gracefully like a well choreographed ballet followed by a Nov 8th prime time bout that many thought resembled the shock that the world had when Tyson bit Holyfield's ear off on national television.

I learned:

The maple tree in my yard is still there

Fall in Wisconsin is beautiful, and in particular, this fall has been filled with exceptionally nice weather. As a well insulated individual, the autumn in Wisconsin is quite a wonderful time to accessorize my wardrobe. I've found that a nice 60 degree day is perfect weather to put on crocs with socks or wear a sweater vest, you know, for those certain days where your chest might be cold but your guns are hot and need a little air.

I was wearing my sweater vest, and decided to rake leaves after work. The maple tree in our front yard was planted almost 17 years ago, and has done well. This particular afternoon, it had shed most of it's leaves and the kids were anxious to help create some fun. I dutifully raked and my girls excitedly jumped in to the pile. Every time the season changes, I'm reminded that the maple tree in my yard is still there.

While wearing a sweatshirt outside with shorts and sandals, I had to rake again a few days later as more leaves fell. This time, my daughter decided she wanted to climb the tree and read a book in the crook of the lowest branch. Odd, but creative, I obliged with a boost, and continued raking leaves. A few minutes later, I snapped a picture of her reading in her branch engrossed in a story about dolphins or such, and I was reminded that the maple tree in my yard is still there.

After I helped her down from the tree, she and her mother told me my daughter was worried that her birthday, on November 9th, would be ruined by the fact that 1/2 the country would be in a bad mood the day after the election, no matter who won. I gave that some thought, and tried to remember some of the things that I knew had not changed every time there was a change in presidents, and I was reminded, that the maple tree in my yard was still there.

One of my favorite books as a kid was "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein. If you haven't read it in a while, it's a quick read. I clearly failed to understand the symbolism of the book as a child, as I probably dreamed about eating the apples the tree handed off and getting to wear a sweater vest when I was more insulated. As an adult, the meaning has changed a bit for me, and as I saw the book in our house the other day, I thought about how it applied to my girls and me.

Clearly, the unconditional love the tree had for the child most parents can relate to. On the flip side, it could symbolize an example of a horribly toxic co-dependent relationship, I have no clue what Shel's life was like and what kind of partying he was into.

Clearly, one could look at the tree like we see many of the most wonderful people we have all likely met in each of our lives, those that give what they can afford to, expect nothing in return, and always find happiness. We can look at the boy as those that always take more and always live unsatisfied. However, after the sadness and depression that many of my friends and family felt Wednesday morning, in comparison to the satisfaction (not joy) the other half of my friends and family felt for the election outcome, I'd offer up another takeaway that I relayed to my daughter when she worried that half of America would be sad on her birthday, regardless of who won;

There are still people who give what they can afford and expect nothing, and there will always be people who take and will never be satisfied, whether it is a gaggle of donkeys or a herd of elephants prancing about Washington. This doesn't change what kind of person you choose to be to others.

I'm reminded today, the maple tree is still in my yard, and every morning I get to choose to be the tree or the boy

Enjoy

bvd

Kolonoscopy

A close family member recently was diagnosed with an illness, and their revelation was a wake up call for me to get myself checked. No one generally volunteers for a colonoscopy, usually not earlier than a doctor typically orders one, but it seemed prudent to get checked now. Having young daughters certainly was a consideration, and they were very curious to know what was going on when I could not eat dinner with them.

The prep was worse than the procedure.

For those of you youngsters that have never had a colonoscopy, the day and a half of no food, and enduring a liquid diet is surely bearable, but the moment you drink the 64 oz of Gatorade mixed with super mega colon blow powder, you and your ego go down the toilet. I am firmly convinced that colonoscopy prep is karma for every dumb thing I've done to a girl since I was a 5 year old. Somewhere, a young woman who's hair I must have pulled in 2nd grade is laughing at me as she reads this story...

A friend decided to send me a massive number of colonoscopy memes. If I laughed too hard, bad things could have happened...

My girls found this whole debacle hilarious. The extra giggles when mom described what dad had to do, and to get out of his way if he was running toward the restroom, caused the room to fill with child laughter. They were excited to make jello for me, and certainly found their way into my hard candy stash, two of the limited things I was able to eat during my 2 days of prep.

As my family drove me to the hospital for the test, I was asked why I had to go.
I was asked why I needed the test.
I was asked when I would get out of the hospital.
I was asked why they couldn't wait in the hospital room for me

That final question struck me. I didn't want my girls to see me sick or incapacitated. I was concerned they would be scared.

So off I sent my family as I waited with an IV in my arm and my rear end hanging out of an undersized gown, watching real housewives of orange county, which by the way, is disturbing enough to have cleaned my colon out by itself. Dr. Cold Hands came to visit, and explained the procedure to me. He asked why I was in at my young age, but certainly didn't offer to remove the IV for me. I was eventually wheeled into the procedure room, my first gurney ride that I remember. I had always pictured Dr. Gregory House and a slew of 7 doctors and nurses running with my gurney, and was slightly disappointed when my only nurse Nancy wouldn't speak medical talk for me and tell me in an urgent voice that I had an elongated medulla oblongata that required 24 cc's of something stat on the way to the room. She did not seem to find the humor in this.

When we got to the dark room of scoping, I was told to roll on my side into the fetal position, which made me quite nervous. I locked eyes with Nancy, and we shared a moment. In that moment, Nancy knew I was about to beg for clemency or anesthesia, she smiled and said gently,"Are you ok?"
I asked, "Anesthesia truck not deliver today?"
She laughed, and after a quick twitch of her wrist on the IV, she leaned in and said, "24 cc's of ..... stat!" I smiled, and the last thing I recall was her laugh.

Post procedure when I awoke in my room, I could hear giggling children outside the door. Dr. Cold Hands came in to speak to me and let me know I had the all clear and a 5 year return visit to schedule. My children came into the room with their mother, and immediately began to ask questions. Was I ok? Could I leave the hospital? Can they see the pictures?

They had no fear, no concerns, and I quickly realized it was not my place to keep my kids away. It was more important for them to know what was going on and feel free to ask questions. The ride home was filled with much wonder from the back seat, like when could I eat? What was the experience like? Did they still have to get out of the way if I was running to the bathroom?

So moral of the story, I have no idea if there is a moral here.

Just a suggestion, be nice to people, you never know when the kolonoscopy karma will come calling....

Vierauge

My oldest daughter doesn't know who Teddy Roosevelt is or what the heck "Vierauge" means. Both are foreign to her, and at the age of 7, I'm glad they are. If it weren't for one of them, the other may have hurt her feelings recently.

Recently, an insightful teacher at our daughters school noticed our oldest squinting from the back of class to read the smart board. She indicated that our daughter was having difficulty reading from a distance, and she suggested a vision check. At first, my wife and I thought perhaps this was simply one of the many unusual facial contortions that our daughter utilizes to communicate uncomfortable subjects like frustration, confusion, or bathroom needs. A quick chat with the squinter produced clarity, she didn't have to poop every time the smart board was used, she had difficulty reading some of the smaller words.

I recall when it was determined I needed glasses as a youth. I dreaded it. I didn't want it. I knew my social life, sports life, and image would forever be changed, and I feared then, it would never recover. I recall the perception of weakness when I wore rec specs to play sports, and remember vividly the excitement I experienced when I could finally afford laser surgery. I need only one example to explain my dread, the German term for "Four-Eyes" when I looked it up on line for the translation, used it in this sentence, "You just got pantsed in the schoolyard vierauge (four-eyes)"

According to the vision center of America, roughly 75% of all adults in this country utilize some form of vision correction. Eye glasses are the preferred method, with over 64% of those eye correctors choosing eyeglasses. In and of itself, the sheer amount of adult folks utilizing eye glasses should reduce the stigma of wearing them, there is safety in the schoolyard in numbers. But I still feared my daughter may find difficulty with having these spectacles. Critics hide in their own insecurities, and a father's teachings must end in his daughter's self esteem, which will win is a battle fought in a place we don't get to see.

Teddy Roosevelt is widely credited for increasing the popularity of glasses in the 1900's, and in particular, lending wisdom and strength to the image of those who may wear them in the future. Teddy also has some wonderful quotes, and one in particular I found relevant for this, "It behooves every man to remember that the work of the critic is of altogether secondary importance, and that in the end, progress is accomplished by the man who does things"

My daughter confidently choose 2 pair, the most unique of which titled "Hot Kiss" is aqua colored with a multi speckled tiger colored exterior finish that I'm sure would glow in the dark. They arrived early, and she could not wait to wear them to school. In complete contrast to my fears for her, she received support, encouragement, and the schoolyard was extremely kind. Frankly, I switched from worrying about how she would be accepted, to worrying how many times my daughter would try to lend them to someone else on the world tour of the glowing glasses.

I'm thankful for the acceptance, it sure makes reinforcing the self esteem a bit easier. Glad she did not have to learn "Vierauge" or get pantsed in the schoolyard for wearing glasses.

Enjoy

bvd

College

I recently shared with my girls I was returning to college.

Ever wanted to blow a 4 year old's mind and not know how? Tell them you decided to go back to school when they still think you know everything. My youngest let that marinate for about 5 minutes with no other comments, and then all of a sudden, a barrage of questions flew and I chose to quick hit the answers and see how long she could roll.

Why are you going back? I have a goal I want to accomplish, and I like to learn
Old people go to school? Technically child I'm not that old....but yes
I thought school was for kids? I left a tad early.
What's a tad? It's about your size, and it asks lots of questions
Are you going to play volleyball for your school? If they have an over 40 team with lower nets and promise I won't yank a hammy, maybe.
Does this mean we can do homework together? I would like help with calculus, you got my back?
Is your teacher nice? They seem to be, but can you really know anyone on the internet?
Do you get recess? It's called happy hour, same general concept
Do you get a buddy? I get one at school, it's a 4th grader. Just the other "students" at happy hour
Why don't you have a uniform? They don't make 'em in my size, but you look good in yours...

The exchange made me think. Am I communicating what I want her to believe about learning as a life long endeavor, or, have I been conveying that learning is only for kids and when they finish school they are done?

At a certain point in the conversation with her, it must have sunk in that I was in some type of "adult" school for old people. I now receive encouragement from her when I sit down with my laptop to complete my homework. Sometimes that encouragement is hidden in the form of "you're done right?" repeated 74 times while attempting to get my attention. I've received no calculus help offered yet, however, I'm sure she would lend me her crayons and dolphin lunch box.

Without going back to college, how do you teach a child to enjoy learning so much, they take joy from the process of doing so and decide to continue doing it? How do you convey that learning happens in and out of college, and is really a mindset? I've met many people who would benefit from the paraphrased advice of the Dalai Lama, "If you speak, you only learn what you already know, but if you listen..."

Perhaps teaching my children to be better listeners is the first step now. Perhaps the second will be to encourage them to love the process of learning by positively reinforcing attempts and failures as learning errors. If they love to make attempts, regardless of outcome, and listen well, perhaps they will find the joy in the process.

I doubt their minds will be blown if I'm still finishing school when they are 13, although, Rodney Dangerfield has certainly laid a blueprint for an interesting college experience if I'm still in college when I'm 60. Regardless, the experience has taught me that I need to work harder on teaching my girls to enjoy the process and not the outcome.

I plan to give it the old college try, so in the immortal words of Thornton Melon from Back to School:

"Please, try to understand. I don't have the background for this. I mean, the high school I went to, they asked a kid to prove the law of gravity, he threw the teacher out the window!"

Enjoy

bvd

The struggle is real

If you have ever attempted to "share" the feelings of a seven year old daughter as described above in the definition of empathy, it's a bit like riding a roller coaster with no seat belt while alternating between holding on and crying, or raising your arms and laughing till your stomach hurts. And I almost forgot to add, the roller coaster may be on fire or may be perfectly fine, you won't know for about 10-15 years after the ride if you did your job as the carney appropriately.

Yesterday, my wife and I shared a discussion with our 7 year old version of Clark Griswold on a coaster, and I learned in some of her frustrated words, I was not "able to understanding her feelings". Personally I thought this began at age 13 and lasted till the 20's, so perhaps, we are going to have this run a bit earlier, which means we will get this knocked out before high school? Or it could mean state fair is going to last an extra 7 years and I'm going to be buying a lot of popcorn for the show.

So I chose to run this discussion like we were excavating an Egyptian tomb, slowly and carefully.

Background:

We have three family rules for our kids in sports:

1. Look your coaches in the eyes, listen and say thank you after each practice or game
2. Give your best effort
3. Have fun

I watched a sporting event yesterday evening where it appeared my daughter was not having fun. Her coach asked her three times if she was hurt, and told her 7 times where she should be on the field and wasn't, as he was yelling her name sternly and clearly frustrated. This was her first year and game moving from the little field to the big field, and shifting from 4 players to 8 on a side, along with an age jump playing against kids 1-2 years older than her. So as the youngest player on the field, we had expected a rough transition, and certainly witnessed one. So my wife and I agreed I would drive her home.

I began the conversation as I always do, "Did you have fun?"

The answer was a mumbled maybe, clearly a "Hell No! Did you see me out there and hear my coach hollering my full name like I had broken a Ming Vase?", in my 7 year old's language of course.

So I asked, "What would you need to change for you to enjoy it?"

I received a shrug in the rear view mirror. Silence for a taylor swift song to finish....which seemed overly long by the way.

"Dad I was tired, I don't like all this running around on the large field, I should not have signed up for this sport when I knew about all the running"

Inside I was smiling, I'm not a huge running fan either kiddo, and not sure I'm ready yet for pop up chairs and over excited dad's on the sideline yelling "cross it" and "foul" at 7-9 year olds. But that was selfish of me, as would have been the decision she likely wanted to make. She became frustrated I did not understand her and she let me know it. I asked her if I could ask some questions to better understand her feelings. She said yes.

"All the other kids did the same running, so tired isn't an excuse for not listening or giving your best effort is it? Her answer was no. "Were you hurt?" Her answer was no. "Did your effort help your team?" Her answer was no. "Did you commit to play this year?" Her answer was yes.

"So what do you think you can do to make this more fun and help your team for the remainder of the year?" Her answer was definitive "Listen to my coach and give my best effort"

It's fair to say that the discussion was difficult for my daughter, she was uncomfortable at several points. I spent a few minutes sharing her feelings, and a few minutes where it felt as though she shared mine. The ride was our first addressing why she did not have fun in a sporting event, new ground for both of us.

I have zero idea whether this conversation was effective, for all I know, I could have taken the roller coaster off the tracks and set it on fire myself. But like most things difficult, they usually are worth doing. Either way, what a lesson for me as a parent on empathy and a lesson for her on commitment. I will learn in the future if the juice was worth the squeeze.

Enjoy!

bvd

School

Do you remember your first day of all day school?

Think hard about your first memory of this. Not daycare, but actual, "school" where you got books, backpack, pencils, and your own assigned seat in a chair with a desk attached. As you get older, the memory may become as fuzzy as "new math" feels. I can barely still grasp the feelings that must have danced through my brain and the thumping as adrenaline raced through veins on the car ride to class. I'm sure I probably talked someone's ear off in excitement those many years ago, with questions regarding useless information that seemed utterly critical before I entered the hallowed halls of learning.

With daughters, there is much prep, coordination, and certainly excitement. The social nature of this unique species that is an elementary daughter, creates a Petri dish of learning, for both daughter and her father. In the first week since our daughters returned to class, with our youngest finally attending class every day during the week, I've learned:

1. The first day school photograph has not improved. Folks in early America in the 1800's would still be proud of the difficulty we have in achieving a great picture. In spite of the fact camera technology has progressed to the point we can photograph an up close image of Satuurn's surface, and you can easily shoot 1,000 photos in a second by holding down the button on your phone, it remains a fact that 999 of these shots will involve some combination of a finger up a nose, eyes closed, a forced smile, or a pissed off child. 

2. The backpack has grown. Like a hermit crab, my daughters chose to accessorize their school uniforms with a small themed hotel room on their shoulders. Aren't books going digital? Are we saving the environment and preventing global warming now by blocking UV rays with backpacks? I can't keep up with the green movement...

3. Either my children were excited, or they simply wanted to try to jump out of a moving vehicle. Removing a seat belt faster than Superman can change clothes, it was very clear my wife and I could only hope to contain them in the car long enough to stop the vehicle. They race walked to the doors, and never looked back. 

Had they turned around, they might have noticed their parents a bit choked up and in awe, quite simply, trying to remember what this must feel like for a kid on their first day of school, and attempting to reconcile the emotions a parent feels when they realize their children's dreams are being formed and fed while you are apart.

Dusty that first morning, really dusty.

Enjoy!

Bvd

Believe

A friend of mine posted a meme recently. It was a cute photo with the caption, "Dream big, you'll grow into it" Immediately following that post, another friend from another state posted, "Sometimes you have to dream someone else's dream until they are ready to believe it themselves"

When I read the second post, it struck me. It's been several weeks, and I cannot get it out of my head.

"Sometimes you have to dream someones else's dream until they are ready to believe it themselves"

Having coached girl's volleyball for almost 20 years, I firmly believe that one of the greatest gifts a coach, teacher, or parent can give a person they interact with, is self-confidence. Teaching an ant to walk like an elephant can be easier than helping someone believe in themselves when they don't, but often, the difficult things in life are the things most worth doing.

Confidence is a lot like chocolate. With the perfect number of M&M's and little bit of your favorite I-tunes, your entire garage is cleaned out, the rest of your to-do list is completed, and you are sitting comfortably with a cold beer watching football on a Sunday afternoon with a happy spouse. With too much chocolate, you are struggling to workout in the morning, your kids are playing in the street, and your watching Naked and Afraid with a glass of whiskey thinking you can maybe do better next weekend...

Believing in your own dream certainly takes confidence and wiping away self doubt, which happily creeps into the space vacated when a can do attitude runs into a wall. Teaching confidence to a child, by goodness, takes some focus.

So when my youngest says she wants to be a doctor and my oldest says rockstar. I cringe, and believe it for them until they grow into it. Deep down I may have questions, like would I want this little stinker traipsing across the world treating ebola or my little bohemian chumming it up in a tour bus around the country. Really I am wondering will I be paying more for a phd or for rehab? Isn't this one of the great questions in the effectiveness of our health care system anyways, pay for prevention or pay more for cure?

Then I remembered one of the other joys of helping someone else dream their dream until they are ready to believe it themselves.

Whether they make it or not, the dream makes the present special and the hard work fun

The other day as I skipped through the parking lot to church hand in hand with a 4 year old, I pictured visiting her in her 30's, and simply grabbing her hand and whipping out a full high knee skip down the main aisle at Children's Hospital on our way to lunch together, with many tiny sets of smiling eye's peering from their doorways or joining in like a scene from Fame. "Paging doctor skippypants"

"Sometimes you have to dream someone else's dream until they are ready to believe it themselves"

Pick a buddy, help them dream it, it's a blast!

Enjoy!

bvd

Uno

First, a congratulations to my cousin Michael and his wife Andrea. They recently had their second child, and now, he has become a daddy with daughters, plural. As he and his bride continue their wonderful journey as a family, with a new 3 to 1 female to male ratio, I am looking forward to sharing the secret handshake with him, and divulging the classified information hidden in "Low T" commercials he will find ironic.

Today, however, I would like to broach the wildly divisive topic of Uno. If I lose some friends over this post, I am prepared...

In 1971, a barber named Merle Robbins, invented the game. He was playing "Crazy Eights" with his spawn, they began arguing over the rules. Merle, like most fathers about to lose to their children in anything competition related, changed the rules, and decided to invent his own game. He dubbed it Uno, dumped the families last $8,000 into manufacturing these cards, and then it became regionally popular over the next 10 years. Merle sold the rights for $50,000 in 1981, and I contend, would be turning over in his grave, not because of the money he missed out on after the sale and wild national growth in popularity, but because he knows they made an NSYNC and Backstreet Boys Uno version and attempted to destroy this man's personal legacy as an upstanding inventor of the second best family night game ever.

Merle, wherever you are, thank you and I'm sorry

My daughters 4 and 7, have become addicted to Uno. TV, nope, lets play Uno. Go outside to play, nope, lets play Uno. Time to go to bed, nope, let's play Uno.

Like a cage fight, a family plays Uno in close confines. One cannot stand across the room and play, you must be around the table to reach the pile. This makes trash talk particularly personal and in your face. When a 4 year old begins trash talking before during and after she places 3 draw 4's in a row, you feel the burn, and I don't mean the candidate that got slapped around by Wasserman Schultz. In my home, my 4 year old clearly wears the title belt, and we do not believe in letting her win. When she first started playing, I'd take joy in making sure she had more cards in her tiny mitts than she could hold. I have often described her as competitive, and Uno clearly is stoking this fire in her. Recently, my wife and the prodigy played head to head for 45 minutes, and my wife did not win a single match. Like Bobby Fischer probably did, she giggles like a madman while you come out holding 68 cards as she makes a "Did I do that" face and slams down her final draw 2 to rub it in, you don't lose too much self esteem. So thank you Merle, your work is laying the foundation for my offspring to enjoy competition. I personally feel that teaching a daughter that it is critically important to be comfortable competing is a crucial part of developing a strong child. If people approached life challenges the way most people approach Uno, a desire to win with no fear of failure, more could be accomplished.

Now the I'm sorry Merle.

I would like to apologize for the new "swap hands" card. It's a Karl Marx hatchet job on your creation.

If you have not played Uno in some time, the new "swap hands" card allows you when you play it, to take away the cards of any player you are playing against. Let that evil sink in. Through no fault of your own, after you have worked hard to keep your own cards secret from spying children, to plan and execute your meticulous winning strategy and have gotten to the final card, your piece de resistance, any player can hand you all their baggage and swap hands with you, robbing you of your effort. What is this world coming to and which ding dong at Mattel decided this was a good choice? Shouldn't the "swap hands" card be named the "Robin Hood" card. "Why not simply put in an "automatic win" voucher in the deck? What's next, a participation trophy for whomever comes in second?

Rip these up, I implore you! It may seem fun at first, the devious giggle as a child steals your win immediately after you rejoice with an "Uno". Are we creating a generation of kids who believe they deserve an automatic win voucher in life? Doesn't it also diminish that joy you got when you first beat your Dad in a game if everyone beats their Dad every time they play?

The deck can be stacked against you dad's, be careful out there in the new game of Uno...

Enjoy!

bvd

Snooze at the Zoo

The Milwaukee Zoo has a unique event that my 7 year old daughter currently loves to attend. It's called Snooze at the Zoo. "Snooze" involves reserving a camping space at the Zoo, setting up a tent with your children, and staying the night on the grounds while animals snore and roar around you. It sells out quickly, and of course, is a wonderful bonding experience with your children. This season, both my wife and youngest daughter opted out, and the honor to take my oldest camping was mine.

August weather in WI is usually hot and humid, and rain and thunderstorms seem to pop up regularly. Weather.com was not predicting a nice camping evening and "Raincheck" was not in the fine print of the Snooze at the Zoo waiver. As my hairline has receded, rain isn't my favorite outdoor weather condition, and potential lightening and thunder usually is enough to get me inside.

We attended Snooze with the intent of returning home to sleep. We first enjoyed the camping picnic dinner they provided, and then walked the entire zoo together in the rain. It was empty other than the reduced number of campers, many I'm sure finding the rain a Debbie Downer. We chose however to find every puddle we could splash. I have never had an umbrella sword fight I've lost, until yesterday evening. I was shown butterfly gardens, braved a hand in hand walk through the "Wolf Woods" at dusk, and learned that rain can feed happiness to a soul, tiny and large, if you let it.

As the evening progressed, faces were painted, I received a bad bart moustache and my daughter chose a cloud with a rainbow, fitting for our wonderful evening together. We played ping pong ball in the fishbowl, cornhole, and learned from a wonderful 67 year old volunteer about pelts, horns, and turtle shells. I listened to the same volunteer answer the question on how she got the pelts and horns, explain to a 3 year old boy and my daughter that, "sometimes animals live life so happy and free, that when they have shared enough time on earth with us, they give us their shells and pelts so they can continue to share their happiness with us" Go figure I'd always thought explaining death to a child sucked, how wrong I was.

The most interesting part of the night wasn't the Zoo, we have spent time there before. It was seeing my daughter's reaction to the weather.

Gene Kelly sang "Singing in the Rain" well before my oldest daughter roamed the earth. A light and airy song, that jingles it's way into your brain and holds on for dear life. The last line before the final refrain in case you don't have Gene Kelly on your iTunes favorites playlist:

Why do I get up

Each morning and start?

Happy and head up

With joy in my heart

Why is each new task

A trifle to do?

Because I am living

A life full of you.

Watching my 7 year old daughter bounding from puddle to puddle with an umbrella twisting in her hands, or trying to drink the rain as it falls from the sky reminded me of the lyric above. I watched a miniature version of the joy that likely once bounced in my heart when the water started to fall. It was a happy reminder that the wonder of youth should not be wasted by adulthood.

Instead of camping at the zoo and waiting for the thunder and lightening to wake us at 2am, we chose to make a pillow fort in the basement and camp out at home. I was asked how I was going to make a fort big enough for both of us, to which I replied, "I have power tools". While I can still make a mean fort, I was reminded this morning that I have not yet learned how to make one so awesome that my back isn't sore the next morning after sleeping in it.

So many lessons in the rain at the zoo, and we didn't even have to wait for the crying peacocks acting like roosters at 5am to make me want to learn if peacock tastes like chicken.

Enjoy!

bvd

Dad, no one is listening to me

FaceTime is a wonderful thing for a traveling parent. Most of today's technology designed to keep America "connected" has resulted in disconnecting from reality and supplementing life experience with virtual feedback. Like a trip to Las Vegas, you get flashing lights, cute sounds, rewarding point totals, and the ever popular instant "like" of acceptance and praise with every snap of an Instagram. Even our "presidential" candidates use 140 characters and the thumbs of interns to tell us why we should or shouldn't cast a vote for them in an election process that was first written on parchment when a twitter was slang for your goofy neighbor who liked feeding pigeons from her porch.

One of my favorite internet meme's right now is an image of a 1980's windowless cargo van, dark color, with the words, "Rare Pokemon Inside" spray painted on the side. The caption reads, "How to kidnap a 28 year old in 2016"

As a father with daughters, who travels and works from a phone and Microsoft surface and an airplane and in 40 some odd states, the idea of your children separating into some digital universe instead of bonding with you is a dangerous proposition. I liken it to the original movie Tron, not the remake for obvious artistic reasons, except the blue light doesn't surge up and down on their super cool spacesuit pants, but glows on your child's face from the reflection of an Ipad.

As a parent in the digital age, you also may fall into the trap of getting sucked into the mind numbing alternate universe of social media, 24 hour news at the touch of a finger on your phone, and during the most glorious time of year, you find yourself trapped in football and fantasy sports. I admit to failure in this department, and my fantasy drafts are fast approaching. As the reigning champion in 1 league, one has an obligation to defend one's honor...

So, driving down I85 in Georgia's mountains, on the way back to an airport, as a passenger in the car mid update on Linked In, the familiar ring of FaceTime twinkles in the car.

I gently slide the accept call button, and so appears a blonde 4 year old also sitting in a car as a passenger. We bond immediately as twin captives strapped in our chairs as others bounce happily through traffic. I realize we are mutually in a 55 mph reality and looking for an escape into the digitally enabled world of each other. After the general pleasantries of 4 yr old conversation, a frustrated huff occurs and a small frown appears, "Dad, I'm having a rough day"

At 4, "rough" can mean many things, so I needed clarity. "Why honey?"

"Dad, no one is listening to me!"

4 year old girls never seem to stop talking, at least intentionally, so I found it likely that everyone in the car was listening, but had given up on interrupting or commenting. "No one listening" was not likely accurate, since clearly, Steve Jobs and his vision, had solved this problem for my child years ago with the release of FaceTime, and our current technological connection. So I corrected her and let her know I was listening to her right now.

"But dad, no one is listening here"

At that moment, all the Candy Crush, Netflix, Frozen Themed Games, and even the vaunted Pokemon could not serve my daughter's needs for human interaction. My daughter can ask Siri "Are we there yet?" and she may respond with a snarky comment adrift in the modern hipster programmed response, but it will not provide her what she craved at that moment.

I was told I was loved, and saw a smile on a 4 year old Tron who had found her way out of the video game. I will continue my vigilance to keep both of us away from rare pokemon vans and the virtual non reality we face today.

Enjoy!

bvd

Fast times at dadmont high

Facebook has a way of reminding you of the past. Those of you that use it, get the occasional pop up which shows you one of your posts from 1 or 2 or 5 years ago, with the breif headline, your memories. Ingenious really, other than your name spoken by a loved one, is there anything in the world more precious than a memory? Facebook is truly the world's greatest time suck, we all know this, however, the juice is often worth the squeeze.

A trip down memory lane can solve a crisis, brighten the darkest day, and quite possibly be, one of the greatest gifts we share with each other as humanoids. Memories don't happen unless you are in the moment.

The last time I enjoyed a Sean Penn performance, he played Spicoli, a classic character from the historical literary work of art, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. My favorite line, he asked Mr Hand, "If I am here, and you are here, doesn't that make it, our time?" This weekend, I enjoyed some "our time".

I witnessed a wonderful wedding between two perfect puzzle pieces that happily fell off the table, landed connected, are now glued together, and fit so perfectly, you wondered if Hasbro plans to stop making puzzles now.

I attended a Packer Family night with my girls, where 76,000 people paid to watch a football team practice and scrimmage themselves, followed by a laser and fireworks show set to a mix of old, new, country, and rap music. I was asked by my youngest when the "lasers" we're going to start, and she reminded me that last year, I told her that she had to be careful because some lasers can chop your head off. I didn't catch her ducking during the show, but I did get a few eager glances of wonder when a 200' helmet magically appeared in the center of the field with green streams of light emanating from the perimeter of the stands.

So today, as I woke up and the memories of "our time" this weekend trickled through my groggy brain, I popped open the world's greatest time suck ever invented next to Pokemon, and the photo above trickled across my screen as a memory. I remember vividly the day we took this photo. My wife and I disagreeing as she started pulling over along the side of the road. Me protesting that we didn't need any more photos that day. I recall grumpily setting my children on top of a cart of pumpkins, hoping they wouldn't crush them and force me to buy the whole lot of them from guilt, or that my children wouldn't jump off the trailer and run away. I remember being nervous the farmer might come running out of his house hollering, perhaps not finding my children on his cart as cute as my wife found it to be. I remember gradually smiling as I noticed my youngest's ears dangling happily away from her noggin, and along with her smile and eyes, betraying the orb as a child's face and not just another vegetable stacked on the cart. I remember posting the photo as a happy thanksgiving note to my friends. I remember smiling when I saw how lucky I was to have my 2 beautiful children. I remember thinking I should apologize for being grumpy about taking the photo.

The reminder this morning was a bit more than a photo, it was Mr Hand being stumped from the comment.

Make sure you are there so it really is "our time"
Being present is a present and the memory is the gift that keeps on giving
Sean Penn should have quit after Fast Times at Ridgemont High

Enjoy!

BVD

Fishtastrophe

We have had a fish tank since November of 2015, approximately 8 months. 10 gallons of passing glances at cute fish with colorful names and scales. I was able to withstand the barrage of "Dad, can we have a dog..." and the compromise was the tank and the fish. Little did I know, fish can be expensive and often, they don't last.

My family and I have unfortunately negatively impacted conservation efforts on several species of aquarium fish, including the Betta and Danio population over the last 8 months. PETA has begun protests in front of our house, and my children fear leaving the safety of our home, as someone may throw red paint on us on the way to our car. It's gotten pretty bad, we have failed 7 fish, and have only 2 brave souls remaining. I thought perhaps eating sushi in front of them was part of the problem, however, we have now gotten to the point where I think they may enjoy a "last dinner" more than they dislike seeing their breathren on our table.

They have shared wonderful names, such as Alvin, Simon, Theodore, Glimmer, Mr Sucker, Glubs, and Glubs the second. Tributes can be found in our backyard for Glubs the second, he was buried below our mulch near the playhouse. Glubs "the original" may or may not have been flushed down the toilet before my children came home, I cannot confirm or deny his whereabouts.

Friday evening, after work, I had to remove Mr Sucker, who was sleeping with the fishes, or Luca Brasi, if you are old enough to remember this reference. Saturday morning, after a night out with friends while our kids had a sitter, I was forced to extract Glimmer, who was supposedly still blinking, in spite of the fact he was stuck to the intake pipe of the water filter upside down the entire morning. After a failed attempt at resuscitation to pacify my children, Glimmer circled the drain and made his way to water treatment.

What has been truly amazing to watch, has been the transformation in my girls.

We began with massive sobbing and tears when Glubs the first passed and I failed to provide a proper burial. Glubs the 2nd was buried with a prayer and memorial service.

Somewhere in between Glubs the Deuce and Mr Sucker, my children went from wanting to host a wake, to flipping the fish into the toilet and flushing it themselves.

I blame myself, my inability to keep fish alive certainly has made their disposability an issue.

This event has led to a revelation. Girls don't need fish. Anyone want a 10 gallon tank before my kids begin to think nature is disposable? 2 fish included if you make it soon...

Enjoy!

bvd

I remember those days...

I'm not sure when it first began, when I started thinking about events that occurred in the past with my girls and began thinking, "I remember those days" , however, it has started occurring more frequently the last several months as I marvel at how fast my daughters are growing in vocabulary, height, and particularly developing into their own crazy characters.

Aside from the traditional father to future son in law thoughts like, "good luck son" and "may the force be with you" of late trickling through my brain, I've caught a few "I remember when's..."

This morning on a business trip, after boarding a plane, and after receiving some very cute texts from wife and spouse with emoji's I'm still deciphering like an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph, a tiny baby girl swaddled in her mothers arms accompanied by an obviously exceptional grandmother, scooted into two seats directly in front of where I was seated. Short flight from Detroit to Philly, I am thinking I might have some entertainment and a baby I get to goo goo too and mutually entertain. I'm a terrible judge of baby age, so I would put this little grommet at the approximate of 6 months, only because it's July and we have just entered the 7th month of the year.

Unfortunately, this content child was far too amazing, quietly purring and smiling in her mother's arms to focus on much else in the world. I doubted I would see or hear much of this child's personality on the flight.

A thought trickled through my head, I remember when .... my children would be this content for about 5 minutes before unleashing the fury on all those in earshot. It seemed like forever ago when they had attention spans longer than a goldfish and could stare at your eyes for what seemed like forever. No I could tell, this child was extremely content, had a great mother and the power of grandma sitting right next to her, this child was going to be lucky to wake from their love induced coma.

It is amazing when you take the time to watch the interaction of a baby with the world around them. Such a special place their view of the world can be sometimes, full of wonder, content, exploration, coming from a basic foundation of safety and support. Freedom to fail and learn by doing so, with a careful catastrophe prevention squad as your guide.

So as we all settled into our seats and prepared to travel in bliss, the baby popped up and smiled between the seats ready to explore. Adorable child, I remember when popped up again for me too ... remembering when my kids were that adorable ... they loved to cuddle ... they loved to explore ..... it came rushing back and a large smile broke across my face. The baby smiled as well.

Such joy in believing you were responsible for a child's smile. 

And then the cute baby giggled lightly, oh the joy!

It was at this moment, the I remember's began to flow

A faint odor slid it's way between the cracks of the pleather, trickling over the armrest. Gas probably, no wonder the child is smiling... I remember when my kids would toot and giggle....

The baby turned and smiled at the gentleman in the seat next to her... I remember when my 6 month old would flirt with strangers and make someone else's day too....

Then I heard the mother firmly pronounce, "oh $%@" and lift the smiling baby into the air off her pants... I remember when my girls pee'd through their diapers....

And as the adorable child continued to smile, the grandmother and mother discovered what we all know. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and the leak was not going to be allowed to mellow because it was not yellow...

At that moment, I remembered something very important, all the times when something natural and unexpected occurred in public with my child, and suddenly I was embarrassed and should not have been. Empathy flowed, but was not necessary here.

As I mentioned earlier, mom and grandma were exceptional. Pants were changed, magic wipes and a bottomless mommy bag produced not only a change of children's clothes, but mothers pants as well. I remain impressed we did not have to call in a bio hazard team and delay the plane.

Ironically, our entire flight was delayed over 1.5 hours, forced to deplane and the airline had to bring in another plane because of a mechanical issue, the computer part they needed to fix the plane, was not available in their hub in Detroit. Three comments:

1. If this mother and grandmother were our mechanic, they could have pulled whatever part we needed out of their bag, and perhaps a new plane too they were so well prepared

2. Perhaps this 6 month old uber child knew our trip was going to go to crap anyway

3. It's a lot of fun to remember when you are a daddy with daughters

Enjoy!

bvd


 

Road Trip

In America, the family road trip is a rite of passage, exceptional memories created for future generations of your spawn to reflect upon. It is a red white and blue institution, like baseball, apple pie, and politicians being full of themselves and baloney.

Road trips can be the prelude to new beginnings, new experiences, or new places. The colonist in all of us has a pre-disposition to explore, and from the early beginnings of our great experiment in the United States, the road trip was your birth rite.

I remember road trips with both my parents. Usually the funny or odd things stand out.

Like the time, "Don't Stop" by Fleetwood Mac was stuck in the 8 track player of my dad's TR-7 and played on constant loop from Texas to Cincinnati. Now listening to that song brings back Clockwork Orange like flashbacks and I'm sure permanently scarred me into always thinking about tomorrow when I should be thinking about today because, it will be here, better than before. I mean, everyone knows yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone...

Or the time, my mother and I road tripped to California from Wisconsin. This was certainly a new beginning. I had just learned how in karate class to calm my breathing. I learned that trip, when we got to the mountains, that 10% gradients with Semi's around our tiny car was stressful for some adults. I remember my mother pulling over, mid descent, and attempting to teach her karate breathing so we could finish the drive.

So, as a dad with daughters, I decided it was prudent to make sure my children experienced a road trip. A family member is to be married today in Florida, and we made the decision to drive from Wisconsin to Palm Harbor, which according to the AAA TripTik, is 39.25 hours round trip, 2,664 miles, or "What were you thinking" distance.

To further pander to the inner colonist in all of us, I bypassed the horse and buggy, but chose to attempt the trip in our Toyota Camry, in spite of the fact we have a perfectly fine larger vehicle we could have taken. The first argument started before we left the house during the attempted packing of enough suitcases to clothe a civil war infantry regiment, into the trunk. The backseat was filled with pillows and books and all the suitcases and clothes we couldn't fit in the trunk. Somehow 2 children fit into their car seats. I consciously figured since we were headed to Florida, that looking like the Beverly Hillbillies or a mobile version of hoarders was acceptable in the state. I was correct.

To give you a snapshot of our trip, I recorded the first hour highlights of our 39.25 hour round trip:

38 seconds into the trip, "I need a snack"

13 minutes in came, "When are we going to be at the hotel" which repeated in similar format 27 times in the first hour, including "are we there yet" "when are we going to be there" etc etc etc

26 minutes in, I was told we forgot someone at the house. Just before I applied the brakes and caused an accident, I learned that we had forgotten one of my youngest daughter's imaginary friends. I didn't like this particular imaginary friend anyway, so we kept driving. You miss my on time choo choo, you no get ride.

34 minutes in I was asked, "Can I have some strawberries to make me feel better about missing our house"

48 minutes in, I realize our oldest daughter has yet to speak as she is intensely reading a new book. I instantly realize she has achieved "most favorite daughter status" a very rare and special award. I pray quickly this will continue.

52 minutes in, gas stop. Not for gas, but for potty. Boys don't do this, had I had sons, they would have had to refill the bottle that caused the need to tinkle.

58 minutes in I became a DJ, playing songs like, "The Hand Clap" song by Fitz and the Tantrums, "Roar" by Katy Perry, "Lips are Movin" by Megan with an H, and so on and so forth.

At the end of this first hour, I knew we were going to have a wonderful trip and there would be some great memories with my girls. And while we didn't get Fleetwood Mac stuck in the 8 track, or have to pull over to kung fu breathe on the side of the road in the mountains, we got to make our own memories.

Someday I look forward to hearing my daughters tell me about their first road trip with their children if they are so blessed. If it's anything like the first half of the one I just had, it will be worth every "are we there yet"

bvd

Deer in the Headlights

Living in certain parts of the US, you may have experienced, a deer in the headlights.

The situation can be harrowing, or enlightening, depending on many factors. For example, a deer in your headlights 20' directly in front of you while your car is traveling 65 mph on the freeway, may elicit a response involving skid marks on the road or skid marks in your underoos. Alternately, a deer in your front yard grazing as you pull into your driveway can be a calming reminder that you need to cut your grass, and a clear example of how beautiful nature can be.

When a deer turns to view a bright light source like a headlight, they are momentarily blinded and they freeze in place. You can see how at 65 mph in front of you, this is not a desirable outcome, whereas in your yard, a few extra minutes of staring before the deer begins to eat your garden may give you time to protect your hydrangeas.

Deer are a big piece of life during certain times of the year in Wisconsin. For instance, the second story on the news this evening was about a deer jumping through a window into the Oconomowoc Piggly Wiggly and roaming the aisles of this neighborhood grocery store. For my friends in other states who may have never, "Shopped the Pig", it's important to know that the cheese and booze aisles are the major focal points of this regional behemoth.

I would venture a guess you don't often get this type of shopping companionship at your Whole Foods, it's not like the $90 a pound lobsters just hop on out of the tank and carry your Pellegrino and kale with kohlrabi salad to the counter for you. I've attached photographic evidence of the hoofed marauder. I often find the need to sit down when deciding which type of margarita mix goes with which cheese I'm planning to serve, so I was able to empathize with bambi here.

As a dad with daughters, the "deer in the headlights" stops by at least once a day, usually when my explanation for something lasts longer than 3 sentences or we are learning a new concept that might be skimming by at 65 mph when my ladies need it standing in the front yard grazing instead.

So, I've begun using one liners to get points across to my children. I'm not sure if that's appropriate, but I was once told that one of the best things about having your own kids is that you get to screw them up from scratch, so I'm thinking the worst case scenario is that they may end up with some pithy or breviloquent set of values that will fit right in to today's internet meme society. Best case, my kids end up using these comments on my wife and I, and remind us to practice what we preach.

A few of the standard "go to" one liners I use in an effort to avoid the deer:

"Can't is a bad word"
"Are you being kind, grateful, and happy?" (the motto on the kids chalk board)
"Everyone has a but" (whenever the word "but" is used as a prelude to an excuse)
"Hard things are usually the right things to do"

I pull out the classics still:

"If it was easy, everyone would be doing it"
"There are starving children in other countries, is it kind to waste food?"
"Kids in China would like these toys back, we can arrange it"
"Which one of you is the phantom pooper who never flushes? Thanks for wiping BTW"

These one liners certainly have begun to transfer and appear to be working. My wife commented that she has been getting them thrown back at her recently. This was rewarding to hear. Certainly I had hoped they were listening, now I had some potential confirmation of this.

In an effort to improve my golf game while spending more time with my littlest daughter, I took her with me to the golf range. Her patience can be about that of a goldfish, however, with sports, she seems to be capable of a bit longer span. So, I handed her a tiny 9 iron with a pink handle, a small bucket of balls, and gave her a goal. Hit one of two cones that were 15' away with a golf ball, and I would buy her ice cream. Excited, she began swinging away. Couple solid hits, and better than I expected she would do with the first 7-8 balls.

I tried to give her advice in one liner format, perhaps something I heard:

Relax
Are you balanced?
Get closer to the ball with your feet
Focus on the ball
Easy swing

A couple nice folks walking by at the range complimented her on her swing, very helpful to keep the 4 year old engaged in what she was doing. A little boy about her age came over and wanted to chat with her about the putt putt range he was headed to next. She was ready for this welcome distraction. She smiled, then she brushed her hair away from her eyes to get a better look at junior, I put the kibash on this one with a reminder about how good the ice cream would taste if she hit her goal. I hope this works still when she is 16.

She ran through all her balls, getting very close several times and making me proud, as well as a bit jealous of how natural her swing was. I realized she made it look easy to have fun while golfing regardless of where the ball went.

She ran over and grabbed more balls from my bin, smiling and giggling the entire time and went back to hit more at the orange cone of potential sugary dairy goodness.

When all the balls were gone, and the target was not hit, the negotiation began. "Dad I got really close, maybe we should share an ice cream instead?" Clever, appeal to my love handles, well played child, well played. I held firm, "No, it would be hard for me to do that, you made a deal with me"

"Dad, hard things are usually the right things to do"

I giggled inside. "But sweetheart, you didn't hit the cone"

"Dad, everyone has a but"

I was just a happy deer bouncing through a field toward some paved area. "I can't give you ice cream when you didn't hit the cone"

"Dad, can't is a bad word"

At this point, I likely needed to get out of this conversation before the entire public golf range heard her ask me if I had ever failed to flush the toilet. It was then I realized who the deer was and who was really driving the car with the high beams on.

I successfully explained a deal is a deal, and did not pay out on the ice cream bet, but not without a few glares of disappointment and the cold shoulder. Fortunately, the attention span is bi directional, and all was forgiven in 5 minutes.

If you are a daddy with daughters, sometimes you are the deer in the headlights, sometimes you are the deer in the piggly wiggly, but remember, everyone has a but...

Enjoy your wonderful dears

bvd