Are you sure people do this every day?

I know people are said to do the single parenthood thing every day and they do just fine. My hat is off to them where ever they may be. today there will be no more dorky attempts at being witty, so I'm ditching the whole captain's log stuff. Yesterday's post reflects the amount of spare time I had at the end of yesterday. I literally collapsed last night at around 10:30 and slept like a baby until the alarm went off. The only reason I have time to write tonight is because I have to do something to keep myself awake while the laundry is finishing the kids socks for tomorrow. Amy made sure that the kids had enough socks to last for the trip, but apparently, one of our kids wears like six pairs a day or something and can't find any socks for tomorrow. I had a hard time getting to sleep the night before without Amy being there with me, but I'm sorry Amy, last night: not a problem. Although everything went off without a hitch yesterday, I sorely missed having the organizational effect that Amy has in our house. The funny thing is, Amy so doesn't consider herself organized. I was a little late getting home from work yesterday but was able to catch our kids before they had to go to the neighbors house. After that everything went pretty smoothly (I hope) for the kids. We even had family home evening. Daddy did the tired lesson where you make sugar cookies and explain to the kids how every part of our family is like an ingredient in the cookie. If you leave one out you don't have good cookies and every part is important no matter how small one may think it is. Mostly they just liked the dough. After daddy explained about cookie dough we had a long discussion about the importance of mommies and how much we take them for granted and afterward ate the cookies and talked about mommy and the surprise party for her that we are going to give her. Poor kids. I don't think they realize that mommy will be getting home around midnight and I'm not sure anybody's going to feel like a party then, but I've made the mistake of underestimating their ability to stay awake before and I'm going to just go along with the flow. That was how yesterday went. Not bad at all even if I do say so myself.

Today however seems to be a little different somehow. You know how in the movies when someone is dangling from a cliff and hanging desperately to a piece of rope? Suddenly and imexplicably, the rope begins to start fraying and you can see the strands begin to strain and break one at a time. One by one the little strands begin to fray and the hanger-on begins to worry a little bit more. Today is that rope. I really miss my wife today. Not just for the obvious reasons either. I have really started to appreciate the things she does for our family. She called last night while we were eating the family cookies and she sounded like she was having such a good time. We all got to talk to her including the 17 month-old who alternated between looking at the phone and putting it up to her ear to hear mommy's voice. Well that's probably all I have time for today, it sounds like the dryer is done. Hopefully the kids will have all the socks they need tomorrow and I will get a little rest tonight because tomorrow there will definitely be . . . more to follow

My wife has left me . . .

. . . OK, its just for a few days while she is away "working" at CHA. what is CHA one might ask? Its a trade show for craft companies. Amy has recently been hired on as a product designer for one of the many scrapbook companies. Its a really sweet gig and I'm excited for her . . . really. It means however that she gets to go to the trade show in Las Vegas. It also means I am a scrapbook widow for the next few days. What it boils down to is that I get to be a single dad of five kids for a while. I should say here that I have never been one to say or think that what my wife does is "easy" I do however look forward to the opportunity to see how my better half lives. So I am going to make a blog entry every day for the next few about my single fatherhood experience.

I'll start with today as day one.

Captains log date 1.29.2006

We woke up at 0530 this morning to get the cadets up and ready to take the admiral to the airport. Did you know there is a 5:30 in the morning? We proceeded with the established plan that mom worked out the day the admiral knew she was "goin' to Vegas, Baby!" cadets were awoken, fed, dressed, and packed into the transport van which had already been started and defrosted by the captain. The drive was uneventful as the cadets listened to music and the admiral slept (did I mention that we got up at 5:30? . . . A.M.? ) We dropped her off at the airport by 0730 and drove home again. We got home at 0830 just in time to get the cadets dressed and ready for church that starts at 0900. We actually got there a little early. Again because of careful logistical planning by the admiral. Church has rarely been as interesting. Its one thing to try to keep five cadets quiet and reverent for an hour and ten minutes. Its quite another to do that and sing in the choir, write a talk for my eleven year old for primary (that I totally forgot about until halfway into the meeting), as well as keep a constant stream of froot loops going into a16 month- old mouth. By the way, she didn't want me to leave her to go sing with the choir, so . . . I held her and sang. Then I proceeded to teach not one, but two lessons while holding her while she led a completely normal day of eating sleeping and stretching the captain's face as far as the skin would go without ripping. Then it was home again. (the captain decided to not attend choir practice today, does that make him a bad person?) Everbody napped but the captain who needed some me time where it was real quiet. The cadets were well behaved so they got lunch in the mess hall at around 1400 and spaghetti for dinner at1800. They watched movies, ate popcorn, and enjoyed some ice cream before going off to bed at 2000. At this point the captain read the cadets a story, helped them say their prayers, and tucked them in. We didn't get a whole lot accomplished, but we didn't sink the ship. Its still sailing although there is . . . more to follow.

building a fan base the border crossing way . . .

I have mentioned before that I am a part-time musician. One of the many good things about being a performing musician is the occasional chance I get to perform. The effect of music on people never ceases to amaze me. The last couple of gigs that Brad and I played were about as interesting as we've ever done. There was that one time we performed for a church girls camp and were treated like rock-stars. That was interesting and cool. Although I would have enjoyed a couple of hundred teenage girls screaming and cheering for me a lot more twenty years ago, it was still very appreciated and an enlightening experience that I would do again in a minute.

The last two gigs we had were at: 1) A worship service at a Seventh-Day Adventist church and 2) the nursing home where I work. The SDA performance was given to us through a friend of mine named Skip Johnson who also happens to be the pastor of the local congregation. We performed "The Other Way Around", Elephant Rock" , and most surprisingly "I'll Be the One" The last song was a special request by Skip at the end. As long as I live, I don't think I'll ever think of the song as a "worship song" but somehow, Skip was able to put the message of the song into a biblical context and make a small but effective sermon out of it. By the time he was done, it was practically a hymn. Well . . . not really, but I digress. The result was really positive I think. There were several members of the congregation that came up to us afterward to comment on the overall performance and some had really nice things to say about "I'll Be the One" in particular.

The second gig was last night at the nursing home I work at. I'm not going to pretend that it was a monumental success, but it had its own little moments of satisfaction and fun. We played for about 45 minutes and sure there were some who were falling asleep by the time we were done, and there were a couple who were trying to wander a bit; but for a bunch of people who usually listen to music by artists who have been dead for years, the ones who could hear us really seemed to enjoy it and they were very supportive. I had a pretty good time and the residents gave me a lot of good feedback today while I was doing their therapy. Although they could have been saying nice things to get me to stop, I choose to think that they really did have a good time also.

Anyway, Brad and I figure that we'll keep practicing, writing, and playing for anyone who'll listen with the hope that when it comes to really appreciative audiences that there will be . . . more to follow . . .

And now its time for "Cooking with Blueberries" with your host: Daddy!

Some days it just doesn’t pay to try to please folks. Take Saturday for example. It is no small tradition in our house that dad makes pancakes for breakfast every Saturday morning. So Saturday morning I woke and began the preparations for Saturday pancakes at the Brown house. In the midst of these preparations my seven year-old son came up with a wonderful suggestion. “Dad, let’s make blueberry pancakes today!” “What a great idea!” says me. “Let me check and see if we have blueberries” says me again. I checked and, sure enough, we had: BLUEBERRIES! My son was ecstatic. Immediately he ran off to tell everyone in the house about this wonderful turn of events. Soon, I had three very happy children doing “The Blueberry Pancake Dance” accompanied by “The Blueberry Pancake Song” Since finances don’t allow for me to get the kids the exact thing they want all the time; I was feeling pretty darn good about my ability to make my children’s lives just that much happier. For everyone knows that life just goes better with blueberry pancakes. My children were dancing and singing and I was mixing and adding and pouring. Everything was copasetic with the small exception of my three-year old boy. My youngest son isn’t a big fan of blueberries however and a dilemma was born. He didn’t want blueberries in his pancakes thank you very much and began to cry after only two verses of the “blueberry song”. Luckily, dad had a problem- solving groove going on and was able to avert disaster by pouring some batter out of the original mix and saving it for the blueberry-free demographic (which also happens to include my wife, incidentally.) After making the pancake batter and adding a generous amount of large beautiful blueberries, I made about 12-15 of the most gorgeous 4 to 6 inch blueberry pancakes in recorded history. Life was good. Heating up the syrup now. Setting the table. “Don’t forget the cups and milk.” WooHoo! Blueberry pancakes! Blueberry pancakes! Blueberry . . . wait a minute. “What are you guys doing?” Says a rapidly deflating daddy. “What’s the matter with your pancakes?” “Nothing, daddy. We’re just taking out the yucky parts” “THOSE ARE THE BLUEBERRIES!” “I know daddy” says my seven-year-old son. Yea verily the same seven-year-old that suggested blueberries to begin with. “I just don’t like to eat them in pancakes” At this point a much less experienced father would have tried to reason with him and show him the missing logic of the whole situation. An even less experienced father would have tried to find out what in the world this boy was thinking. Luckily for me, however, I have the benefit of my vast parental experience and performed the only really helpful action. I slowly and methodically beat my head against the wall with the knowledge that as sure as life goes better with blueberries that there will undoubtedly be: more to follow . . .

Magic . . .

I don't want to be too sappy here but I have to get this out. Our lives are made up of moments. Short ones, long ones, the beautiful and the ugly. Moments that leave us breathless, moments that that leave us scarred . . . and moments that leave us irrepressively happy. These last kind are often the moments we often use during the particularly difficult moments that inevitably show up. I think of these as magic. They have the power to overcome all negative moments and pull us into a better place. By simply conjuring up these moments, it dispels unhappiness and the occasional bouts of depression for me. I try to keep a few of these moments on hand. Lately it seems I have been running out of magic ones and reusing the same old tired ones. Fortunately, I was able to replenish my supply this weekend.

I should say that one of those moments was my youngest child's first birthday. Its so hard to believe that she is a year old. She is so unbelievably intelligent and beautiful. Traits I know she received from her mother. I am constantly amazed at the abilities my children have to grow up at all, let alone become real people with their own personalities and talents. Seeing the passing of another birthday reaffirms how utterly honored I am to be allowed to share their parentage.

Most of the other moments I was able to put into my bag o' moments was a wonderful experience in the small town of American Fork, Utah. There is a small park there that has an amphitheater in it's center. This last weekend, it was the setting of the LDSmusicians.com music festival and concerts. I have the great fortune of being associated with the founder of the group, Brad Thompson, and participating in the events. Brad is an incredible guy with a heart of gold and the patience of Job with me sometimes. He started this group as a way to get other LDS musicians together and talk about their respective experiences as LDS musicians. From that beginning, a movement was created. People from all over the word have joined. Every year there has been a time and place set aside to meet other members of the group, give them a chance to perform for each other, and share in each other's company. I was unable to go last year but was able to bring my whole family this year. As usual, I was not disappointed.

I don't know if I have the ability to express the magic present there this year. There are some links that will take you to what others have said and also some pictures, but as beautifully worded and excellent as they all are, there really is no way to describe it. The group is made up of (for the most part) people like me--amateur wannabes, with "real jobs". All at various levels in their respective musical accomplishments. Some are very well-seasoned performers with years of experience. Some are just starting out and have very little experience, but all share the acceptance of a group dedicated to the making of music from the perspective of a Christ-centered life. We talked we laughed and we shared our various triumphs and frustrations with our respective careers. We let our emotions spill out in awe of the power music has to touch us. We met some brand-new old friends and caught up with some long-time old friends. We wondered at the amazing capabilities of our friends. We felt the encouragement and support of our peers. Mostly, however we were home. And it was Magic . . .


More to follow . . .

A league of my own

Tonight I went to the Weiser Fiddle Festival. It's official name is The National Old-TIme Fiddlers Contest and Festival in Weiser. I went with an old friend, which is really the best way to go. I guess I should clarify here that many people who attend the Fiddle Festival don't actually go to the contest itself. In a lot of ways, the Festival is an excuse to get a lot of Bluegrass musicians together to jam late into the night in the campgrounds and booth areas that are common to a lot of small-town festivals. That's what my friend and I did. After getting reacquainted and catching up on all the news and reminiscing a bit, we started to jam. It should be noted that while I can play the guitar, my friend (Brent) is an actual guitarist. We had a lot of fun until the gnats drove us away. So, we decided to move to a different location. After moving to a more central locale and playing a few songs, really cool stuff began to happen. Another friend of mine showed up and started to play along, then another, then some of Brent's other friends started showing up and all of a sudden, we were this huge jam session with upright bass, dobro, three guitars, a fiddle (of course) a harmonica, a mandolin and several really good singers. I was truly amazed. What was really amazing is that people started to crowd around and before I knew it there were probably 75 to 100 people who had brought their lawn chairs and were sitting back and really enjoying themselves. Now, I know for certain that they weren't there because I was a phenomenal bluegrass player. On the contrary, I think they stayed in spite of my miscues and utter lack of ability to keep up at times. But mostly they stayed becuse they were genuinely enjoying themselves. There were some really good/great players there so I don't need to say how inadequate I felt during most of the jam session, but there was this one shining moment when Brent asked me to sing a song that Brad and I wrote together that has a Bluegrassy feel to it. "Lenny the Noodler" went over very well with the other musicians there. For one moment, they were listening to a song that I wrote and were really enjoying it. I had some genuine compliments from people I admired a lot musically. There was something that I could offer this amazing group of musicians and it felt pretty good. Even though I was completely out of my league, I had something these musicians admired about me as well. Even for a little while. Many thanks to Brent for still claiming me as a friend after I ruined what were probably pretty good Bluegrass tunes. I owe him lots for other stuff as well, but especially for the experience tonight. Well its late. Bed is calling.

More to follow . . .

Oh the joys of a capitalist society . . .

We bought a new minivan last week. You know, they didn't even have minivans when I was learning to drive and was picturing the dream rod I would have when I finally became old enough to get a real job and drive a real car. So it should come as no surprise that how weird I think it is to see me as a member of the minivan set. Nevertheless, I am going to forego any semblance of pride and masculinity and admit that I don't really mind driving a minivan that much.

Anyhoo, the main crux of my post today centers around the latest trend in car sales these days. It goes by different names: "Nice Price", "No-dicker sticker", etc. but the truth is that dealerships are tired of people who do their research and are better at negotiating really good prices for their cars than the salesmen they hire. So . . . they come up with a marketing idea that they think actually fools us. "We've saved you time and effort by refusing to negotiate the price of your vehicle." They make it sound like they're actually doing us the favor. What a bunch of hooey. Its like the time manufacturers introduced the "new" concentrated dish and laundry soaps and charged us more for it. The difference? the "concentrated" formula has less fillers. Meaning--"we've been watering our product down for years and charging you for it, but since the price of water is going up, we'll just get rid of it and pass the savings on to ourselves. "

We bought a new minivan at a local dealer. (the no-dicker sticker kind) the asking price was 8900. we agreed and paid 1000 down and we were set to make payments of 250 a month. We got into the "sign the stuff" room and somehow got talked into a comprehensive warranty and maintenance plan that ended up costing 4000 more. The confusing thing is that we actually lowered our payments to about 240 a month and lowered the interest rate by like 6 points, but turned our 8900 dollar van into a 1300o dollar what-the-heck-did-we-just-do. As long as I live, I don't think I'll ever get the spine to just buy a freaking car. I was so frustrated that I went home and washed the dishes with our concentrated dish soap.

More to follow . . .

One more day . . .

Its interesting how life can change in a single moment and rearrange perspectives. I don't spend as much time as I should with my kids. I don't appreciate my wife as much as she deserves. I'm not as thankful as I should be for the things I have.

I had an accident on my way to work yesterday. It was on a two-lane US highway with a bad reputation for its hazardous conditions. There are several fatalities per year on this highway for various reasons. The accident was my fault. I simply made some wrong assumptions based on what the driver was doing and rear-ended his vehicle. Mostly we're both fine, although I think he got injured the most. I have a dislocated thumb, a sore chest where I hit the steering wheel, and a really stiff neck. The other driver was already feeling pain in his back and neck by the time the paramedics arrived. I was traveling at about 70 miles per hour when I hit the brakes, so the only real van we have is totalled. As bad as I feel about the entire situation-- Me hitting another vehicle, the other driver getting hurt, me ruining my families main mode of transportation along with the only way for me to get to work, I was able to come home and hug my wife and kids again. I was able to say one more prayer to God for all the blessings I have. I was able to spend another night lying next to my sweet wife and hear her breathing as she slept. And finally, I was able to wake up today and make waffles for my son's birthday (its his seventh, but who's counting) and smell the rain of spring for one more day.


More to follow . . .

Did I mention that I'm not very consistent?

Its obviously been a little while since I posted. I have this problem that only I can relate to: I have great intentions and minimal follow-through. I was thinking the other day about what I could post and nothing came or I ran out of time. There's a great line in a song by the quirk-rock group "They Might Be Giants" that sums it all up nicely: "Now its over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want--or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do."

My son was sick last Saturday night. I hate when my children are sick. I hate the helpless feeling I have when my son can't move his head without it hurting, or cries because he hurts so badly. I hate the feeling I get when he says " I hurt" and I am powerless to keep him from going through this alone. I stayed up all night with him and held him and gave him more tylenol when his four hours were up. I don't want to assume that I know exactly how it is, but everytime this happens I feel that I become closer to God. As I stayed up with Matthew and rocked him gently, I ached for him. When he cried out in pain I silently prayed that if it were possible, God would let his pain pass to me so he wouldn't have to bear it. When his fever ran high and his pain was greater, I pleaded with him to please take the medicine that would make him better. I know it sounds cheesy, but maybe if you have kids you know what I'm talking about?
I think about God as a loving Father in Heaven. I think about him knowing how much this life hurts at times and how important it is to Him that we go through this life and face those pains and challenges and grow from them. I can picture Him giving us the Savior and pleading with us to please take the medicine he has offered. As I htink about my life's choices and the effects those choices had on me and others, I wonder how many times I cried out in pain that my Father wanted to take from me and the times I refused to take the medicine that my Father offered because I didn't think I'd like the taste.

More to follow . . .

Three holes from the end

I have "issues" with my girth. I don't feel heavy. I don't feel overweight. So I don't have weight issues. My clothes and my mirror beg to differ, however. I have a belt that I have worn for about six or seven years. At my skinniest, the belt is on the fifth hole from the end. When I'm at my portliest like, say, now, the belt fastens at the third hole from the end. When the belt fastens here, it is the official fat tub o' lard stage for me and signals the beginning of another round of diets. The last one I tried was the Atkins diet. A diet that worked very well for me as far as weight loss went, but it made me constipated and I was cranky and got sick easier. So I'm currently trying what I refer to as the non-diet diet. I belong to a gym (more to follow about that later . . .) and I try to work out five days a week including 35 minutes of cardiovascular work on a stationary bike. That coupled with not being a complete psychopath about eating is what I hope will take me to my goal. It worked for me before.

I find the whole diet/weight thing an interesting study in human behavior. Why do we eat way too much, exercise way too little, become disgusted with ourselves, wonder how we got this way and how we get out of it--then spend our money on products, books and experts to tell us to eat less and exercise more? The diet and exercise industry is a multi-billion dollar practice in irony. We pay people to tell us what we already know. Sure, the experts can break it down for us to the molecular level, but deep down inside, we all know that the reason we're fat is because we deposited more than we've withdrawn from our calorie accounts. They can give us all the physiology of how exercise works and why sugar and fat turn us into three holes from the enders, but they don't tell us anything new. So, why do we spend the money? Maybe, like me, we're all trying to avoid paying for our laziness; which is another part of the study in human (and only human) behavior. You don't see monkeys in the jungle pinching the flab on their guts or looking at their hind parts in the water to see if their hiney sticks out too much. They're too busy eating and running around in the jungle. Sometimes our superior intellect can be a real liability. but thats a different subject on which there will be . . .



more to follow . . .

Fruit of my loins

I've heard the question many times. Where do they get it? Of course I'm talking about children and the energizer bunny-type ability to go on forever without stopping. I heard my six-year old one time after running around the house, riding his bike for hours, building a fort, chasing his little sister, and running away from his big sister, tell me that he was tired and needed to rest--he was lying. He stopped for no less than 28 seconds and then with a battle cry of "Hey! That's MINE!" away he went full throttle. So, the question remains: Where do they get all that energy? I have a theory which I believe to be as valid as any the so-called scientific community can provide. Here goes: Children get their energy from their parents. I'm not talking in genetic terms. I'm talking literally. Children suck the energy straight from their parents. Think about it. You had energy before you had kids, right? You were able to get up out of the chair/sofa/loveseat without making those same grunting noises your parents made? You were able to play on the floor, stay up late at night, get around on anly a few hours sleep. What happened? You had kids. Somehow children have mastered the technology that has eluded the technological world for centuries. They are able to extract energy from adults to use for their own evil designs. Possibly the actual point of energy extraction is whe they elicit the anger response. Something about the frequency of their screams and whines triggers an increase of potential energy in me that when finally released becomes absorbed into their own type of fuel cell network. That's it! they are running on limbic energy. They are converting natural emotional distress and frustration into carbohydrates. My plan? I'm glad you asked. One of two things will work. One(and this is my least favorite) : Find some way of surgically disconnecting my limbic system. Two: become more Vulcan-like in my reactions to my children's bad behavior. I just won't respond with my normal emotional strategies because its just what they want. I'll live longer, they'll have less energy to use against me and maybe, I'll be able to keep up with them. And maybe somehow, someday, they'll come and ask me how where I get all my energy at such an old age.


More to follow . . .

Maybe next week

I had this really cool note written for tonight's entry, but I went to spell-check it and it disappeared into cyber-limbo and I'll never see it again. Anyway, kids are fed, wife has new shoes, the lawn is mowed, we have a new wheel on our pathetic wheelbarrow and we have a Costco-size package of toilet paper in our bathroom. I've done enough to save my little corner of the world for this week. Maybe I'll actually get what I planned done one of these Saturdays.

More to follow . . .

PS I won't be using spell-check anymore, so you'll have to find a way to deal with typos found here.

Beginnings . . .

I never know what to write in a journal. I never know what's going to be important to anybody in ten minutes let alone ten years. My life is wonderfully normal. I have a beautiful wife, five children, a dog, some guppies, a mortgage, and one and a half minivans. I have a good job in a stable career; I play music and have quasi-dreams about being able to be a professional singer/songwriter for a living. I play guitar and write my own songs. I have million dollar ideas and a twenty dollar budget. I live in a small town with quiet neighborhoods far from the insanity of the major metro areas. I am deeply religious and like to think that everything is spiritual. Not in some new-age "wherever you go, there you are" way, but in muted, subtle manifestations. My children are happy, healthy and intelligent. I have a lot to be thankful for. I also have a great deal of responsibility that I'm not always crazy about. I suppose I could complain about some things, (I've got some interesting family dynamics and socio-political issues I'm concerned about) but after I get through counting all the ways my life is really enviable, I would be too tired to take on a hypocritical endeavor like that. So until I'm in a fouler mood, I'm just going to have to be a little Pollyanna-ish about things. I hope that's alright.

More to follow . . .

Just a test folks . . .

I set up this to see how it works and with a little help from my wife, it looks like it might actually work. Too late for much more tonight, but I might or might not post again later.