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.