What I Know About Soccer II

Soccer season is upon us again.  I’m proud to say that Griffin’s team (The Razordogs) has won both of their first two matches.  This is something brand new to us as we went through the entire season last year without a win.  Griffin seems to be adjusting well to it.  His only complaint at the beginning of the season was that he was being coached by girls.  They couldn’t possibly know what they were doing.  I think the results speak for themselves.

I’m very grateful that I had a chance to study the sport with my oldest son last year, because Gage started this year as well, and things are totally different in the 4 year old league.  In fact, if I were to learn everything I knew about soccer from the footballing four-year olds, it would go something like this…

Soccer is not at all what I thought.  I imagined it to be a game where teams fluidly passed the ball up and down the field with their feet trying to kick it passed the goalie and into the net.  Instead, what I see resembles a cross between a flash mob and a mixed martial arts competition.  A soccer ball has been thrown into the cage as an afterthought.  There is an honest to goodness penalty box that is used during each match!  I thought that was only in hockey, and yet I see the necessity of having it with these young ones.  My son has logged quite a few minutes in the box already, but don’t think for a second that he’s the bully of the field.  No, Gage takes as good as he gives.  Last Thursday’s match left him with a sore on his tongue where he bit it during a tussle.  Poor boy has barely been able to eat this weekend.

It turns out I was completely wrong about the goalie.  There is no goalie.  You would think that this would lead to some high scoring games, but that hasn’t been the case so far.  In fact, I’ve found that a large amount of the game is played behind the goals, an area I previously thought was out of bounds.  It seems that the only true boundary is the chain link fence of the softball field, and I think that’s only an artificial limit imposed by the fact that little ones can’t kick the ball through an open gate.

I also found that I was in error about the point of the game.  In my mind, it was to kick the ball in the net and score a point.  I was only half right.  The goal of the game is simply to kick the ball or tackle the person who is keeping you from kicking the ball.  Direction matters not.  Kick it toward either net you want, kick it past the net, and then keep kicking it.  The more time your foot is in contact with the ball, the more you are winning.

It’s thirty minutes of loosely officiated mayhem that the kids love.

The Law is the Law

Most people are familiar with the various laws that rule the physical world around us.  The Law of Gravity comes to mind as one my children have had ample opportunity to familiarize themselves with.  But there’s a whole plethora of helpful laws, detailed on the internet, that help describe other aspects of this life.  To save you from the laborious task of firing up your search engine, I’ll detail some of the more interesting ones here:

The Law of Reality

                Never get into fights with ugly people.  They have nothing to lose.

The Law of Self Sacrifice

                When you starve with a tiger, the tiger starves last.

Barnes’ Law

                Nothing is impossible for the man who doesn’t have to do it himself.

The Law of Probable Dispersal

                Whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.

The Law of Volunteer Labor

                People are always available for work in the past tense.

Oliver’s Law

                Experience is something you don’t get until right after you need it.

The Law of Observance

                It is what it is, and it ain’t what it ain’t.

To this inimitable list, I’d like to add my own freshly minted law.  After much consideration and scrutiny, I have noticed that people tend to long for the “old days” when everything was easier.  We’ll look at a child who is longing with all their might to get older and tell them, “You don’t know how good you have it right now!  You have so little responsibility, all your needs are taken care of, you only have to walk uphill one way on your trips to and from school!” etc, etc ad nauseum.

After a little introspection, I found myself thinking of my whole life in those terms.  When I was in college, I fondly recalled the days of High School.  After I was married, I reflected on our dating life and perceived that it was somehow a little easier back then.  Once our first child came along, I realized just how simple life had been before, and how little we had taken advantage of it.  Then child number two came, and I laughed at how hard I thought we had it with only one child.  Child number three showed up, and I wept great heaving sobs at my own ignorance in thinking that two was difficult.  Therefore, without trying to put any further pessimistic bent on it, I give you:

Michael’s Law

                Your life will never again be easier than it is right now.

I know that sounds really morbid when you write it out, but bear with me a minute.  I didn’t say that life would never be more enjoyable or fun or fulfilling than it is right now; I only said it wouldn’t get any easier.  There will always be another difficulty to rise up and take the place of the most recent obstacle you’ve overcome.  The point of the law is to emphasize that we should try to look at our current situation and enjoy it for all its worth.

I know…easier said than done.  But the law is the law.

Three Strikes! You're...awesome?

This past Saturday, our LifeGroup had a class get together at a local bowling alley.  It was a fairly good day to go, since there was also an airshow in town and the seventy-two lanes were mostly empty.  We were able to spread out over four lanes, one for men, one for women, and two lanes for the twelve kids we had along with us.

It’s safe to say that none of us will be entering the PBA anytime soon.  There was all manner of technique on display, from a wicked curve ball to plain brute force, none of which resulted in impressive scores.  There was also quite a lack of technique to be seen as well.  The important part is that most everyone had a good time.

After all was said and done, I found that one thing really stood out to me.  I mean no disrespect to the bowling alley or Professional/Amateur bowlers in general, but from what I’ve seen, this is just not a kid’s game.  Much to their credit, they try to make it work, with rails that come up out of the floor to block the gutter and ramps to help the kids aim their ball and give it the necessary speed to make it to the pins.  But let’s be real, the odds are stacked against children from the start…

First off, there’s the bowling ball.  It’s an unwieldy six to sixteen pound slippery-smooth sphere that the child is supposed to manhandle from the ball return to the top of the lane.  This might be overlookable if those stylish bowling shoes came standard with steel toes, but they don’t.  Gage tried to set it down on the floor and kick it like a soccer ball…he only did that once.

That brings me to the technique of actually throwing the ball.  There is a tendency among many children to hover close to their parents in social situations.  You don’t have to be a genius to figure out that connecting the backswing of your ball with a toddlers face is largely undesirable.  Compound that with the fact that not all of us are professional bowlers, and as such, the release of the bowling ball is not guaranteed to be in a forward direction.

But, assuming all that was fixed, and we were able to fling puffy white clouds at the bowling pins, there’s still the matter of the rules.  For the first years of a child’s life, you pour yourself into teaching them how to take turns and treat each other fairly.  Now, take them to a bowling alley and try to explain to your sobbing four year old why she doesn’t get her second turn after making a strike.  It’s punishing them for doing a good job…not fair!  And let’s not even mention the tenth frame, where some of their friends get THREE turns while they only get two.

Despite these “issues”, I think every kid had a great time.  If you’re considering taking yours bowling, I’d suggest that you go ahead and do it.  Maybe knowing these pitfalls ahead of time will help you safely and enjoyably navigate the game.

The Knight and the Dragon

Image via Wikipedia

Once upon a time, there was a brave young knight who lived in the kingdom of Aux Arc.  His chivalrous deeds and heroic exploits quickly caught the attention of the king and won him the respect of all his peers.  It came as no surprise to anyone when the king placed this brave young knight at the head of all his vaunted warriors.

All went well for many seasons, as the knight continued his training and taking care of those under his charge.  Yet, as is wont to happen, hard times fell upon the kingdom.  The king worked diligently to keep his realm intact, first spending his own fortune, then eventually selling off bits and pieces of the castle, and finally, trading the very armor of his knights to buy food.

Through all this, the First Knight’s allegiance remained firm and he continued to support his liege.  So, when tales of a dreaded dragon to the south began to fall on his ears, the young, brave knight stepped forward to put an end to this menace.

The king knew that this threat must be answered, but feared sending his most valuable servant to fight the fearsome foe, especially since there was no armor to be had in his territory.  Therefore, he called in a favor from an old witch and had her ensourcel a set of leathers.  The enchantment was said to protect the wearer from all manner of fire, and through much testing was proven to do just that.

The First Knight donned his equipment and headed southward to end the vile beasts reign of terror.  The trip was long and slow, given the fact that the horses had been sold and he had to make the journey on foot.  Yet, this provided him a chance to meet many people he would otherwise have never known.

In the town of Yomsburg, he defeated a senile sorcerer who wandered the village, setting fire to the structures.  His unscorchable leather protecting him from the lunatics attacks.  At Mt. Murphee, he rescued a ravishing damsel who was trapped by the lava flowing from its angry peak.  The molten rock felt as mere waves of water lapping against his legs.  He even stopped in the village of Brownwood and saved a kitten from a burning home.

Tales of his heroic bravery and ensorcelled ‘armor’ spread in his wake!  Time after time, the enchanted leather had proven itself.  So, it was with no small bit of courage and confidence that the brave knight stepped into the dragon’s lair and shouted his challenge to the dread beast.  The mighty wyrm measured its strangely dressed opponent with reptilian eyes and prepared to defend itself.  The knight, unencumbered by heavy iron plate, charged forward at unheard of speed…and was crushed to death by the dragon’s powerful tail.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY:  If Bobby Petrino doesn’t cobble together an offensive line that can hold its own, Tyler Wilson is going to get flattened every week until the football season ends or he lands in the hospital.

Leggo My Eggo

A new entry in the crazy letter writing campaign!  I’m hoping this will land in the hands of someone with a sense of humor.  I’ll post an answer from Kellog if and when I receive one.

Dear Eggo,

I wanted to take a moment to write your company and let you know how much our family enjoys your products.  They are invaluable for those mornings when the kids need a quick breakfast before rushing out the door to school.  The one exception to this rule is our three year-old who will eat them for breakfast every day whether we are in a rush or not.  Sometimes he’ll even ask for them for lunch or dinner.  As the most experienced Eggo connoisseur in our house, his favorite is Blueberry.  The rest of us tend toward Buttermilk.

I do have one issue I’d like to discuss with you, though.  A recent event in our house has opened my eyes to the dangers of unrestrained Eggo Waffle toppings.  A few weeks ago, my wife and I took a little more time than normal getting ready in the morning.  When I came out to check on the kids, the six year-old had already attempted to fix his younger brother some breakfast.  From the side, I could tell that it was supposed to be an Eggo waffle, but the view from the top was totally different.  Beneath a sheer layer of syrup and from atop the waffled surface stood a veritable mountain of butter that completely covered the edges of the round treat and rose to a peak in the center.  It must have been applied with a mason’s trowel.  There was so much, we could have made a topographical map of my three year-olds breakfast.

As I stood there looking at the heap of saturated fats my boy was trying to ingest, something inside me snapped.  I realized that this was unhealthy, and there had to be a better way.  Taking one of the freshly toasted Eggos up, I tasted it, for the first time, without any toppings.  I was surprised at how flavorful it was just by itself!  And that’s when the idea hit me.  Your product comes with everything it needs to make a delicious breakfast!  Especially when you factor in the multiple choices like Blueberry, Strawberry, and even Chocolate Chip.  At that moment, I changed into an Eggo Purist.

I realize that this is an individual journey that each person must make in their own time, but I believe your company has the power and responsibility to influence people in this direction.  I checked your website and made note of your various Eggo products and the pictures displayed on the front of each box.  To your credit, there are many that are presented in a “Purist friendly” manner (no toppings).  However, I’m afraid you’ll find that most of these tend toward your specialized products and not the standard round waffles:

Non-Purist	Moderate Purist	Purist
Buttermilk	Nutri-Grain Whole Wheat	Chocolate Chip
Homestyle	Nutri-Grain Low Fat	Cinnamon Toast
Blueberry	FiberPlus Calcium Buttermilk	French Toast
Strawberry	FiberPlus Antioxidants Chocolate Chip	Homestyle Minis
Cinnamon Brown Sugar
Thick & Fluffy

If you take the butter out of the picture and take the syrup out of the picture, I still believe your product is strong enough to stand on its own.  Maybe this slight change in presentation could help influence people toward a healthier Purist lifestyle.  And, in the end, isn’t it all about keeping your customers alive longer so they can purchase more of your delicious products?

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Michael Thomas

Diary of a Stray Kitten

Day 28

Life has gotten better since the People found me in a briar patch on the other side of the creek.  I cried for two days before they came for me.  I’m glad they did since it was getting harder and harder to catch those grasshoppers.  The lady gave me milk today!  It was so good, I hope I can stay here forever.  Some little people came over today too.  I bet they’d be fun to play with, I wish they’d come outside with me.

Day 29

The Lady took me to see Dr. Nick and Mrs. Mischelle today!  They were very nice.  They checked to make sure I wasn’t sick and even told me when my birthday was. 

I like the Lady!  She gives me food and water and milk.  I like it when we sit in the swing on the back porch.

Day 30

I don’t like the Lady anymore.  For no reason at all, she shoved me into a sink full of water and rubbed a foul, burning chemical all over me.  I still smell like this ‘shampoo’.  If I wanted to be wet, which I don’t, I’d have gone down to the creek and jumped in it.  I think I’ll ignore her for the rest of the day.  That should make a point.

Day 31

The little people came back over and played with me today.  They were a bit rough, at first, but the Lady showed them how to play and they got better…at least the older one did.  That smaller one likes to pull my tail and carry me upside down.  I don’t like that.  I liked it even less when he threw me off the porch.  Thank goodness the Lady made him stay away from me for the rest of the time.

I’ll be more careful what I wish for in the future, as I no longer wish the little people to come outside and play with me.

Day 40

Do I stay where I have food, water, and milk, or do I go back to the briar patch?  The little people come to see me far more often than I like.  If I can make it to the Griffin quickly enough, I’m mostly safe.  However, the Gage will inevitably get his grubby little hands on me, and then I’m at his mercy.  Some days, I can handle the abuse, and some days I just want to hide in the tractor or under the grill.  What to do…what to do…

Day 47

I must be brief.  The Gage has shown up a full day early and without his older brother.  I’m running out of hiding places.  Was also terrified to learn that there’s a third little person…the “Sister”.  She’s the smallest of the three.  Thankfully they keep her inside.  She’ll be trouble, mark my words.

Day 54

I’ve decided to stay.  I can deal with the Gage on a once a week basis.  The Griffin is really nice and can teach me cool things, like how to give a ‘High-Five’.  I’d like to give the Gage a ‘high-five.’  In the face.  With maybe a chair.  At least claws and teeth are still an option if things get too bad.

How NOT to Dance With a Total Stranger

You may think the title to this post is a bit absurd, but I’d wager that almost everyone reading this has engaged in a tango with a total stranger at some point or another.  I know I’ve had more than my fair share of experiences.  You’re walking along, minding your own business when twenty feet away, your eyes lock with another person’s heading your direction.  At this point, you’re hoping against hope that it’s not going to happen, yet it usually still does.  You move right to go around, and she moves to her left, effectively putting you both on a collision course again.  Quickly you make an adjustment to your route only to look up and see that she’s done the same thing.  You’re no closer to solving this pirouetting predicament of circumventing the stranger, and you’re running out of time.  Finally, after a few more failed attempts and with mere feet to spare, you both come to a complete stop and stand embarrassed about how the two of you couldn’t find a way to solve this without resorting to words.

Today, I’m going to tell you how to completely avoid these situations.  The root of the problem lies in eye contact.  Here in the western part of the world, we’re conditioned to maintain eye contact.  Culturally, we believe that it shows interest and focus on what the communicator is saying.  Unfortunately, eye contact can also be a sign of aggression or a means of flirting.  In my opinion, eye contact shows attraction.  When coupled with movement, it leads to this phenomenon of “quantum walker’s entanglement”, where both people are inexplicably drawn toward each other.

The solution, therefore, lies in breaking eye contact before your bodies become “entangled”.  If you look away while maintaining your current speed and heading across the intervening distance, it is suddenly incumbent upon the other person (we’ll call her Mrs. X) to move out of the way or be run over.  Almost without fail, Mrs. X will realize that your course is set and she needs to go around.  The disaster is averted and no party comes away from the experience embarrassed!

Some of you more attentive readers noticed my use of the word ‘almost’ in the sentence above.  The problem with any fool-proof plan is that the world is always making more ingenious fools.  As a result, there are some cases where a person may decide they intend to walk straight through no matter what, in which this situation becomes a potentially humiliating game of ‘chicken’ with you not paying any attention to your opponent.

Again, a more astute reader may notice a second potentially disastrous situation arises if BOTH you and Mrs. X decide to use the method I’ve laid out.  While many may contest that it is less of a red-faced experience to apologize for running into someone than to explain to your wife why you are engaged in what appears to be courtship dances with another lady, head-on collisions are wholly undesirable.  Fortunately, the last step to my plan evades both issues.

After the look-away move, you need to return your attention toward your intended path right before contact is made.  This gives you a chance to stop, should the other person decide to be a jerk or employ the same technique you are using.  “How will I know when to look back,” you might ask.  It’s a simple Algebra problem, like you’ve no doubt solved countless times in school:

Mrs. X leaves her initial spot, traveling North at a given speed (let U equal her speed in ft/s).  You leave your initial spot, traveling South at a different given speed (let V equal your speed in ft/s).  The distance between you and Mrs. X must be estimated (in feet), and will be represented as Δ in our equations.

Assuming constant velocity for both you and Mrs. X, our implementation of the distance formula is as follows:

                (U*t) + (V*t) = Δ, where t is the amount of time it will take for both bodies to meet.

Simplifying:

                (U+V)t = Δ

Solving for t yields:

                              

 

Once you’ve estimated all constants (Δ, U, and V) and solved the equation above, you know how much time you have until you run smack into Mrs. X.  Unfortunately, there is one more variable that must be accounted for.  Since you’ve been doing this calculation while you’re walking, you must also account for that precious time you lost while solving for t and subtract it from the total number of seconds.

Therefore, the complete equation would be

                      

,where ψ is the amount of time it took you to solve the previous part of the equation.

You know, in retrospect, it’s probably just better to look back toward your traveling vector after a second or two of glancing away.  I would highly suggest this for people who are terrible at estimation or are mathematically impaired by fractions…or both.

Well there you have it!  Hopefully this little info-blog will help you avoid those awkward social situations that sometimes arise from dancing with total strangers.

Hurricane Haven

I was thrilled to open the mailbox and find a very official looking letter in a brown envelope from Florida.  NOAA replied to my request that a hurricane be named after Haven!  Here is their answer:

Dear Mr. Thomas,

Thank you for your e-mail. {It was actually a letter}

Since 1953, Atlantic tropical storms have been named from lists originated by the National Hurricane Center.  They are now maintained and updated by an international committee of the World Meteorological Organization (WMO).  Six lists are used in rotation.  Thus, the 2011 list will be used again in 2017.

The only time that there is a change in the list is if a storm is so deadly or costly that the future use of its name on a different storm would be inappropriate for reasons of sensitivity.  If that occurs, then at an annual meeting by the WMO Region IV committee (called primarily to discuss many other issues), the offending name is stricken from the list and another name is selected to replace it.

It is certainly possible that the name “Haven” could be selected sometime in the future if a storm with a female name beginning with the letter “H” must be replaced.

Kind regards,

Dennis Feltgen

Public Affairs Officer

Meteorologist

NOAA Communications & External Affairs

National Hurricane Center

This would mean that the earliest possible storm to be named after my daughter would be in 2018.  For this to occur, next year’s tropical storm Helene would have to be a very destructive one.  If we miss that, then the next date would be 2020 as long as the 2014 storm Hanna is devastating.  Failing that, the new date would be 2022 as long as the 2016 storm Hermine causes a big enough economic impact.

I won’t be rooting for death and destruction any time soon, but should those factors all come together and cause need of a new “H” name, I hope Mr. Dennis Feltgen can sway the committee to consider the name Haven.

Miss You in a Heartbeat

I am excited because today marks my 100^th post to this blog.  I couldn’t believe it myself, but I went back and checked in my archives, and sure enough there were 99 other posts.  I’m practically a pillar of the internet, now!  Take me away, and I’m sure the whole thing would come crashing down.

That being said, I don’t have an earth shattering post that I’ve been saving up for this grand occasion.  I’m simply going to reach back into our short history as parents and pull out a significant story to share with you.  This could be titled That Time We Lost Griffin.  Yes, I’m sure you’re surprised that parents as incredible as us could do such a thing, but it happens.

First, let it be known that we do not make it a policy to lose track of our children, but as any parent can attest, once they start walking and developing a little mind of their own it gets more difficult to ensure that they stay where they’re supposed to.  Secondly, this has only begun to happen since Haven’s birth and in situations where we are both present.  So, it could be due to inadequate communication and the fact that we’re outnumbered.  Regardless…

The first time this happened was on a trip to Silver Dollar City earlier in the year.  The kids had done really well up until the point where we wondered into Geyser Gulch.  Their eyes widened as they took in the various water sprayers and the three story playhouse complete with slides and air cannons for shooting foam balls.  Tamara found a seat at the far end of the play area and set to taking care of Haven.  I took the boys and headed up the playhouse.  We did the slides and shot the cannons for a long time.  At one point, Gage wanted to go do another slide, so I told Griffin exactly where we were going.  I expected him to follow.  He didn’t.

This was the beginning of a terrifying 15 minute search of the area.  When we got off the slide and he wasn’t behind us, I checked where I had left him.  He wasn’t there.  Gage and I sat still and scanned the area to see if we could see Griffin.  Once that failed, I headed back to Tamara and dropped the younger kid with her.  Taking the stairs of the playhouse two and three at a time, I went to the top and worked my way back down…three times.  Panic was beginning to creep in at the edges of my mind.  Somewhere in my head, a timer was incrementing, and with each tick of the clock I knew the search area was widening.  What if someone took him?  What if he was looking for us and wondered out of Geyser Gulch?  I may not even be looking in the right place!  What was he even wearing?

I went to the area entrance and scanned the crowd, hoping to see a little blond haired boy playing in the sprinklers.  I worked my way back toward the rest of the family, stopping once to pop my head in the bottom floor of the playhouse and look around.  Ducking back outside, I walked slowly, scanning the faces of each child, all the while hoping he somehow made it back to his mother.  When I got within eyesight of Tamara, I could tell by the look on her face that he wasn’t there.  “Have you looked at the water cannons,” she asked.  “He was talking about those when we came in.”  I didn’t know where they were at, so I stayed with the two youngest kids while she went and checked them out.

Moments later, a water soaked little towhead came bounding around the corner with a thundercloud of a mother in close pursuit.  Desperate worry changed to instant relief, which was immediately evaporated by red-hot anger.  The boy got a good chewing on by both parents, and then was relegated to holding a hand for the rest of the visit.

In a moment of freedom, the little guy made a bad choice.  He didn’t even know it until he was being ‘read the Riot Act’.  You can teach and remind and practice all you want, but there are inevitably times when it is up to them to make the right decision.  I guess it’s true what they say, “You can lead a horse to spilled milk, but you can’t make him cry.”  Or something like that…

Devil's Den

Monday marked the boys’ very first hiking trip at a state park.  We woke up to a clear blue sky and a temperature in the mid-eighties, so it was a perfect day to get outside.  Gage actually complained about it being too cold!  After a long drive to the park, Tamara dumped us out by the Devil’s Den self-guided trail and off we went.

The older one immediately assailed me with questions about how long it would take to get to the cave, but those were quickly silenced once we reached our first rock formation.  Griffin was all over the place, climbing and poking around the many crevices that lined the hillside.  Gage enjoyed his fair share of climbing too, but was more enthralled with the oversized acorns that dotted the ground.  After the first four, I declined to carry anymore, so he made due with stuffing them in the waistband of his shorts.  I’m certain that if he had pockets, his pants would’ve been dragging the ground by the end of the day.  EVERY acorn he came across got added to his collection.

At times, it was a nerve-wracking experience for me, watching a six year-old and a three year-old, with so many sheer drops and steep slopes.  I was constantly herding them by hand and by voice as we traveled through some of the more dangerous areas.  It was during one of those times that the following conversation ensued:

Griffin:  Did you see that big hole up there?

Me:  Yes, that’s really high up, isn’t it?

Griffin:  Yeah!  I know what this is called.

Me:  What’s that?

Griffin:  It’s a buffalo.

Me:  I think you mean a bluff.

Griffin:  Yeah, that’s it.

Then a little further down the trail, with Gage in the lead:

Me:  Gage, be careful.  Those stairs are steep.

Griffin:  Yeah, it’s a buff.

Gage (with all the indignation a 3 year-old can muster):  I KNOW WHAT A BUFFALO IS!!

Me:  It’s ‘b-luff’.  The word is ‘bluff’.

Griffin:  Yeah, that’s it.

Griffin next to his 'buffalo'

By the end of the trail, my boys were starting to get a little hungry.  We crossed the street and found a nice shaded picnic table to enjoy our meal on.  While we ate, we watched kids playing in the water and throwing rocks.  This proved to cause an insurmountable setback with the boys finishing their food, so I packed it all back up while they shed their socks and shoes and hit the water. 

It didn’t take way too long for the kids to find a snake happily making its way through the shallows, with a minnow in its mouth.  I came over and knelt down as we watched it struggle through the water, desperately looking for a place to make shore that wasn’t covered with people.  Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a large rock hurdled over my shoulder and slammed into the small reptile.  The fish was jolted loose, and the snake disappeared.  I looked to see who the assailant was, only to find my oldest son standing there.  “Griffin,” I said, “I know that Mammy doesn’t like snakes and kills every one she sees, but I don’t want you killing them unless they are trying to hurt you.”  He thought about this for a moment, then replied, “OK.  But it was hurting that fish.” 

“Yes,” I said, “But that snake has to eat something, and as long as it’s not you, I don’t want you trying to kill them.”  Then I added, “That was a really accurate shot, by the way.”

His reply:  “Of course it was.”

We walked to the store, had some ice cream, and then the boys wanted to hit the trail again.  So off we went to scramble about the hills until it was nearly time for Tamara to pick us up.  With nothing else to do, we found our way back to the picnic table and then down to the water for more rock throwing fun.  Griffin and Gage immediately went over and introduced themselves to two college guys and tried skipping rocks with them.  At one point I looked up to see my youngest pointing over at me and announcing, “That’s my daddy over there.  His name’s ‘Daddy’.”

Being thusly introduced, I made my way over and helped them skip rocks until our ride showed up.  It turned out to be a wonderful day!

Tired, Dirty, and Happy!

The Halfway Point

My wife and I have reached the point where we’ve known each other longer than we’ve not known each other.  I think it’s a significant milestone in our relationship, and no small feat, at least on her part.  While I got myself a normal wife, unfortunately, she got herself an engineer.

It does have its upsides, to be sure.  However, there are also a myriad of peculiarities that come as part of the package.  Does the career choice dictate the behavior, or does the behavior influence the career choice?  I don’t know.  But I do know that what she puts up with is almost universal to my kind.  I found an incredibly detailed list on these traits and made a few modifications to it.  So, by way of explanation, and in honor of Labor Day, here are some of the trials associated with my job that she’s had to endure over the years:

Social Skills

Granted, she’s done a great job in training this out of me, but engineers have entirely different objectives when it comes to social interaction.  “Normal” people expect to accomplish several unrealistic things from socializing like:

·         Having stimulating and thought-provoking conversation

·         Creating important social contacts

·         Feeling connectedness with other human beings

In contrast to “normal” people, engineers tend to have more rational objectives when it comes to social interactions:

·         Demonstrate mental superiority and mastery of all subjects

·         Avoid getting invited to something unpleasant

·         Get it over with as quickly as possible

Fascination With Gadgets

To the engineer, all matter in the universe can be placed firmly into one of two categories:

1.       Things that need to be fixed

2.       Things that will need to be fixed after I’ve had a few minutes to mess with them

At their very core, engineers are problem solvers.  They love it so much that if there are no problems handily available, they will create their own problems.  Normal people, for the most part, don’t understand this concept; they believe that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  Engineers believe that if it ain’t broke, it probably doesn’t have enough features yet.

No engineer looks at a television remote control without wondering what it would take to add a tazer function.  To us, the world is a toy box full of sub-optimized and feature-poor toys.

Fashion and Appearance

This pains me to write, but without the encouragement of a loving wife or girlfriend, clothes are the lowest priority for an engineer.  Assuming the basic threshold for temperature and decency has been satisfied, the objective of clothing has been met.  Anything else is a waste.

Love of Star Trek

Engineers love all of the “Star Trek” television shows and movies.  It’s a small wonder, since the engineers on the starship Enterprise are portrayed as heroes exploring the secrets of the universe.  This is much more glamorous than the real life of an engineer, which consists mostly of hiding from the universe.

Dating and Marriage

Dating is never easy for engineers.  A normal person will employ various indirect and duplicitous methods to create a false impression of attractiveness.  Engineers are largely incapable of placing appearance above function.  Fortunately, engineers have an ace in the hole.  They are widely recognized as superior marriage material:  intelligent, dependable, employed, honest, and somewhat handy around the house.

Honesty

Engineers are always honest in matters of technology and human relationships.  It’s for this very reason that it’s best to keep them away from customers, romantic interests, and other people who can’t handle the truth.

It is this strident vain of honesty that can make watching movies with engineers an excruciating experience.  Not only will they spend the entire film analyzing the true capabilities or presentation of all technical matters on the big screen, they’ll see fit to share it with those present.

Frugality

Engineers are notoriously frugal.  This is not because of cheapness or mean spirit; it is simply because every spending situation is seen as a problem in optimization, that is, “How can I escape this situation while retaining the greatest amount of cash?”

Powers of Concentration

If there is one trait that best defines an engineer, it is the ability to concentrate on one subject to the complete exclusion of everything else.  This, on occasion, causes them to be pronounced dead prematurely.  Some funeral homes in high-tech areas have started checking resumes before processing the bodies.  Anyone with a degree in electrical engineering or experience in computer programming is propped up in the lounge for a few days just to see if they “snap out of it.”

Risk

Engineers hate risk.  They will eliminate it at every possible turn.  This is understandable, given that when an engineer makes one little mistake, the media will treat it like it’s a big deal (i.e. Hindenburg, Space Shuttle Challenger, Titanic, Ford Pinto).

The risk/reward calculation for engineers looks something like this:

RISK:  Public humiliation and the death of thousands of innocent people.

REWARD:  A certificate of appreciation in a handsome plastic frame.

Being practical people, engineers evaluate this balance of risks and rewards and decide that risk is not a good thing.  The best way to avoid risk is by advising that any activity is technically impossible for reasons that are far too complicated to explain.  If that is not sufficient to halt a project, then the engineer will fall back to a second line of defense:  “It’s technically possible but it will cost too much.”

Ego

Ego-wise, the most important thing to an engineer is how smart they are.  The fastest way to get an engineer to solve a problem is to declare that the problem is unsolvable.  No engineer can walk away from an unsolvable problem.  No illness or distraction is sufficient to get them off the case.  These types of challenges quickly become personal – a battle between the engineer and the laws of nature.

Along those lines, nothing is more threatening to the engineer than the suggestion that somebody has more technical skill.  Sometimes, less scrupulous people (managers) will use that knowledge as a lever to extract more work from the engineer.  For instance, an engineer might say that a project is technically impossible to complete (code for “I don’t want to do it”), and a manager would respond by saying, “I’ll have Bob look into it.  He’s good at solving difficult problems.”

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

I’m beginning to think that learning to pray is a lifelong process.  The closer our relationship with God, the better we learn how to communicate with Him.

I’m seeing flashes of that with the boys.  There are nights, when it seems like they really connect with heaven.  Even Gage, unprompted, has broken into a prayer of thanksgiving, followed by a simple request for good sleep and rain.

However…being the children that they are, there are still some off the wall requests that get lobbed toward the throne of God.  I’ll try to chronicle a few of them for your reading pleasure.

At an earlier age, Griffin thanked our Creator for the color red and the number 7.  The only explanation I have is that it was either a really interesting week in preschool or he was channeling Sesame Street.

As he grew, my oldest boy became quite adept at praying for everybody, and I mean everybody.  He went through every name he knew, then stated a general “help everybody else” for those he didn’t know.  One time, he changed his prayer to “help everybody except the bad guys” and then started telling God, in detail, what he’d do to the bad guys if they tried to kidnap him.  I had to finally break in on him and explain how Jesus wanted us to pray for our enemies, not pray for ways that we’d be able to hurt them.

Gage is where most of these nuggets of humor come from.  For the longest time, his prayers consisted of praying that all his favorite cartoon characters would get good sleep.  The cast of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Little Einsteins, and Chugington should have been some of the most rested and refreshed cartoons in the business.

As he’s grown, so has his range of requests.  A few weeks ago, my mother found a stray kitten and fell in love with it.  The boys did to.  A couple of nights after she adopted it, Gage was saying his prayers and threw in, “Please help Mammy find another cat so Griffin can have one and I can have one.”  We quickly interceded on her behalf and prayed to the contrary.  Had his request succeeded, I’m sure he’d have tried to pray a whole zoo down on her head.

Recently, his prayers tend toward thanking God for the rain and for trains, but Wednesday night I guess he decided that God was answering his petitions for precipitation so well that he’d go for broke and request something a little more personal.  Out of nowhere he threw in, “Thank you for letting us go to Chuck E. Cheese and the mall tomorrow.”  What!?  Welllll…James did say, “…ye have not because ye ask not (James 4:2).”  I’m just fairly certain he didn’t have a pizza peddling rodent in mind when he wrote that particular scripture.

Yup.  Prayer time can be pretty interesting on any given day.  If you have a moment to respond, I’d love to hear about the humorous things your kids have prayed for!

Eye of The Storm

Disclaimer:  This is a copy of a letter sent to N.O.A.A. last week.  It was in production before Irene ever came near the coast, so it was not written to belittle the people who have endured her wrath or experienced loss as a result.  Now, that being said, I believe those who would get most offended are still without power, so…let’s just get this underway before they come back online… 

Dear NOAA,

In light of the recent increase in tropical storm activity, I have been perusing your website.  I saw a link for the Hurricane naming list and was fascinated by its history.  I did notice, however, that in the ‘H’ category, the name ‘Haven’ was not used.  I would like to take a few minutes of your time to make a case for why I believe this is a name worthy of entering your rotation.

I think you would agree with me that two of the most notable traits of a hurricane is that they are destructive and they are most often named for women.  Let me just say that I totally get the logic at work there.  It just so happens that I have a 10-month old daughter named Haven, and when I think of raw destructive power, this little girl is what pops to mind.

Since she learned to crawl, there’s been no end to the path of devastation she leaves in her wake.  She sweeps through the house, howling with glee at the mayhem she will cause.  Clearing a coffee table, emptying a cabinet, or yanking over a trashcan is done in the blink of an eye.  Other times, she moves silently, like the eye of the storm, waiting to get a hold of the really dangerous things.  She’s already destroyed her mama’s expensive candle stand (a hurricane candle stand), and it makes me extremely nervous at how she eyes the grandfather clock.

Caught in the act

“But what about water,” you may find yourself asking.  Yes, we have that covered too.  Haven is amazing in the water.  Bath time is an event that requires at least two or three towels to clean up.  No liquid is safe from this little one’s ability to gather and fling it with wild abandon.  The dog bowl is her favorite target.  She’ll silently crawl into the kitchen, stand up at the dog’s feeder, and splash water all over the floor and walls until the nearest adult extricates her from her fun.

Right now, she may be containable, but I estimate that she’s just building in intensity.  It’s for these reasons that I believe Haven deserves a place in your naming rotation.  It’s interesting to note that the word ‘haven’ denotes a place of refuge or rest.  I think the inherent irony is something the Hurricane Naming Convention has been missing for much too long.

Thank you for your consideration.  I await your reply.

Sincerely,

Michael Thomas

NOAA was kind enough to reply.  Here's their answer.

Pop Goes The...Elbow?

One incredibly annoying problem inherent in all babies is the inability to communicate.  The best they can possibly do when something is amiss, is cry for all they’re worth.  While this can roughly let the parent know that something is wrong, that wrongness could range from a wet diaper, to an empty stomach, to the vocalizing of displeasure at having her hand stepped on by the dog.

Therefore, it is quite a relief when they reach that age where they can accurately relay these important messages, and take the guesswork out of the whole parenting equation.  This is something I was very happy about this past weekend.

On Saturday, Tamara’s grandmother had her 91^st birthday.  It was a great party with smoked ribs, mac & cheese, and some of the best birthday cake I’ve ever had.  We had fun talking, doing a little archery, and playing football in the front yard.  My two boys also had a ball terrorizing Aunt Francis’ dog and cats.

It was during one of these canine play periods that Gage ended up falling to the floor and injuring his arm.  The boy was inconsolable and couldn’t use his hand to grip much of anything.  A couple of Tamara’s cousins work in the field of nursing, and they looked the boy over pretty closely.  There was no swelling or discoloration, but they advised us to get him some motrin, ice it down, and let him rest for a while.  At this point, we honestly didn’t know if he was really, really hurt or if there was just a good measure of tiredness involved.

We took him home, gave him the drugs, and put him to bed.  The boy went out like a light, and slept all night long.  However, the next morning, Griffin woke me up about 6:00 and said Gage was calling for me and he couldn’t get out of bed.  We got him up and Tamara took him to ProMed as soon as it opened.

The doctor examined him and suspected that it was a dislocated elbow, but took some X-rays just to make sure.  After all, you don’t want to go yanking around on an arm if it is, in fact, broken.  Gage thought it was pretty cool to look at the pictures of his bones, and the films ended up confirming what the doctor thought.

Gage had a dislocated elbow, and it was merely a matter of popping it back in.  It will not be an experience that ranks very high on his “All Time Favorites” list, but Gage was immediately able to move his hand and arm again.  His first item of business was to console himself by picking up his green blanket and rubbing the tag on his lip.  That’s our boy!

I’m so glad he was able to tell us where the pain was and what actions caused him physical discomfort.  It made it possible to quickly get him the help he needed.  I suppose we should enjoy this while it lasts.  For some reason, we tend to grow out of that phase where we can express our pain.  Physical pain, sure, but the stuff that eats us up from the inside we tend to just keep to ourselves. 

It could be because of pride, though when you sit down and think about it, that’s a pretty silly reason to live in misery.  It might be that we think we’re the only one going through an issue, which again, is a somewhat ignorant assumption.  Everybody has problems, everyone needs a friend, and at many points in our lives, we all need help to make it through.

This was really highlighted for me at Sunday night’s church service.  We had communion, then spent some time talking and praying with different individuals.  It almost seemed chaotic watching people randomly walk all about the church and meet in small groups to share and pray, but there was no chaos to it.  It was a deliberately choreographed event where people followed the urgings of God’s Holy Spirit.

I’m thoroughly convinced that we weren’t meant to fight through life alone.  Even though most of us can make it through a crisis, it’s the day to day living that tends to eat you alive.  We all have problems, and I think most all of us have friends that care enough to help us work through them.  It’s really up to us to point to where the pain is and tell them how it hurts.

Untagged

A desperate wail echoed into the early evening hours.  This was no ordinary cry of pain or anger, but a soul wrenching howl of anguish and loss.  Tamara quickly ran from the bedroom to find our youngest son crumpling to the floor in the hallway.  He was on the edge of pure hysteria.

“What’s wrong,” she asked, trying to usher Gage away from the full scale breakdown he was approaching.  Amidst the sobbing and tears, she was able to decipher one word…‘Tag’.  Yes, the unthinkable had happened.  The washing instructions had completely torn away from one of his favorite blankets and now lay lifelessly on the floor.  Those of you who know Gage can understand what a tragedy this is.  If you don’t quite get it, you’ve probably not heard about his love of tags.

It took a good deal of time to calm his aching heart.  With great care, Tamara was finally able to convince him that she could sew it back on.

As I was telling this story in my LIfeGroup, one of the other guys mentioned that his oldest daughter has the exact opposite problem.  She has a fit if any of her clothes have a tag in them.  He said they have no idea what size any of her garments are, or what the washing instructions might be for them.  They have to cut the tags out of every one or she won’t wear them.  The suggestion was made that they need to collect all those tags and then we could sew them on a blanket for Gage.  I think it’s a great idea!  I can almost imagine the look of befuddlement and delight on his face at seeing an entire blanket ringed in tags!

In other tag related news, we may have an issue of hard feelings developing between Gage and his sister.  For the better part of five years, our dining room chairs have sat virtually unscathed as they silently performed their duty.  Haven has changed all of that.  Single handedly, she has ripped almost every single manufacturers tag from the bottom of these seats. 

The first time Gage came across this grisly sight, he did nothing short of panic.  “Sister’s got a tag,” he screamed, loud and long enough to hear from three rooms away.  By the time I got to the kitchen he was bouncing back and forth with tears streaming down his face.  He couldn’t understand how she would even want to do something so horrible to those precious, hallowed things.  Those two may always be at odds over their contrasting treatment of tags.  Only time will tell.

Scouts Honor

Well, it’s reached that time of year, again, where my wife and I try to over-commit ourselves.  Soccer season is hiding just around the corner, waiting to pounce on us and kick the snot out of our Saturday mornings.  The difficulty is multiplied by the fact that both Griffin and Gage will be playing this season.  Despite the long days ahead, I’m certain they’ll have a wonderful time.

Aside from my wife being tied up with PTO this year, we’ve also added something new to the mix.  Griffin came home from school on Monday completely frantic about how awesome Boy Scouts is.  I’ve got to hand it to whoever did the in-class recruiting; You…Were…Incredible.  He hit me as soon as I walked through the front door, brandishing a colorful sheet of propaganda, showing boys in the midst of various exciting activities.  Usually our quiet one, Griffin continued to jabber all through dinner about the things we would do once we were in Boy Scouts.  “A bit excited are we,” I asked my wife.  “Oh, I’d say so,” she replied.

A good night’s sleep did little to diminish his fervor.  As he sat at the breakfast table on Tuesday, he held an apple in one hand, and his hallowed brochure in the other.  “We’re going to the meeting tonight aren’t we,” he asked.  I told him we would and went about the rest of my morning while he talked of camping, archery, and BB guns.

That evening, I was once again met at the door with questions of when we were going to go.  I told him it would be after dinner, and that’s when he asked me, “So, do we just follow the guy after it’s over?”  I realized right then that he had the wrong idea about what would go down this night.  I think he somehow got it in his head that we’d sign up, walk out the back door of the school cafeteria, hop in a canoe, and paddle toward our campsite.

It’s always a bummer when your expectations get dashed.  He did handle it pretty well, though.  I explained that we were just signing up tonight, and these fun activities were events that would take place throughout the year.

It should have come as no surprise that he’d think this way.  He’s being brought up in a society that’s just not geared to wait for things.  We cook with microwaves, we have the internet at our fingertips, and we have fast food that sometimes just isn’t fast enough.  Our family rarely watches anything on TV that hasn’t been DVR’d.  We don’t have time for commercials!  The kids are completely baffled at what “live TV” is.  We watched a show during Shark Week and they couldn’t fathom why we wouldn’t fast forward through the commercials.  There was just no explaining it to them.

Sure, we’ve made life convenient for ourselves, but it leaves me to wonder what kind of expectations we’re instilling in our children.  Are we making their lives easier, or hurting them in the long run?

The Pecking Order

I’ve touched on the various personality traits of my children before.  Despite the many hours I’ve logged studying the boys, I’m still amazed at the differences in their behavior and attitudes.  I’ve spent time reading about birth order and how it affects a child’s mental growth and the way they interact with each other.  Through all this research and observation, I have to say that Gage confuses the life out of me.

At three years of age, the family has unanimously voted him “Most Likely to Usurp the Head of Household”.  On multiple occasions, he’s called me out, claiming that he, in fact, was the daddy, and he would “spank my hiney”.  This is not an issue that concerns me too much right now, since he’s a skinny little preschooler that I can tote under one arm…but there’s a day coming.

The research I’ve done points out that Gage, as a middle child, should be the peacemaker of the family; working to bridge the gaps between all parties and bringing unity to the household.  HAH!!  Truth be told, my three year old is an opportunist, waiting to slip into any vacuum of power and seize control.  And it doesn’t matter who he has to step on to do it.  I mean that in the most literal sense.

For the longest time, he’s bullied his six year old brother, who is much too kind hearted to do anything about it.  Recently, however, Tamara instituted a new rule that anytime Gage hits Griffin, the older victim gets a free shot on the offending party.  It didn’t take very long to see this new rule blossom into full effect.

Last week, Tamara heard the outside door slam while a wailing three year old stalked to his room.  Upon probing into the situation, Gage stopped crying long enough to exclaim, “HE HIT ME BACK!!”  My wife looked the little one over and asked, “Did you hit Griffin?”  To which Gage replied, “YES, BUT HE HIT ME BACK!”  Walking outside she asked Griffin, “Did you hit your brother.”  My oldest looked up from his playing and said, “Yes, but he hit me first.”  “OK,” she replied, and walked back in.

Oh…things are a changin’!  Since that little incident, Gage has somehow managed to refrain from punching his older brother.  I guess it’s true what they say, some people learn by sight, some by hearing, some by doing, and then there are a select few that just need to have knowledge beaten into them.

Arm crossing technique at age 2

I’m happy to say that we’ve seen other improvements in Gage, as well.  Last Saturday, he got upset about something that the “supposed” leader of the house said.  Quickly, he crossed his arms, declared in a loud voice that he was not happy with me, and stalked off to his room.  Some might see this as impudence, but I see it as progress.  He didn’t throw anything, he didn’t scream, he just used verbal communication to express his feelings on the subject.

This victory in anger management, however, was very short lived.  On Sunday afternoon, the youngling and I once again found ourselves at odds.  As I calmly squatted down to correct my son on how he should and should not speak to his father, the little imp walked right up to me and kicked me in the shin.  It really didn’t hurt at all, but an action like that requires immediate correction.  Once again, Gage was not happy with me.

Obviously, we’ve still got a long way to go with this one.