Factual Post

Truth:

I look exactly like this:

See what I mean:

From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."

"This guy's new, so sorry if he shoots you."


Never trust the new LEGO guy, ever... 

Post Gaps

I worry sometimes about the gaps here on ihopeiwinatoaster, I worry that in later years the boys might think I wasn't thinking of them or there was nothing noteworthy or that I stopped caring or...

Well, you get the picture.  I have plenty of material, so much in fact that I would like to do a post a day for the month of September to get caught up so I can begin to use the fodder which will be coming home from school this year.

The problem is, and I mention this often, to the point of obsession, I can't seem to find the time and that really frustrates me.  Anyone who takes care of a household knows the feeling, I could list, right now, twenty - at least - things I should be doing right now.  I'll get some of them done, others I will put off, and, truth be told, this blog is one of things that always seems to get put off.  I put off my music as well, in fact just today I cased up my guitars and music and put them on a storage shelf because I needed the space on my workbench, which seconds as a music area, to sort out some paint and painting supplies.

Sometimes, I want to apologize to myself for it, but, I guess I don't want it enough, or I don't have very good time management skills or, and this is the best guess, I am overwhelmed.

And, on top of everything else, today I am going to use some pictures my dear wife already posted on Facebook of the boys first day in Third Grade:

I think this one is pretty good, the look, well, reasonable ,

This one seems nice enough.

This one is probably my favorite, though.  It really captures the spirit of the summer break don't you think.


I, of course, realize that this is a lackluster post.  I might not even it post on the Facebook page.  But, the laundry is on its final spin, the grocery store is calling and there is painting and yardwork and...


From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."
 
"I have not found my true potential yet."


Ain't that the truth...

Blog Block

(Zoning is a very odd looking word.)

I am having trouble lately getting to my computer.  Oh sure, I have some writer issues, you know, direction, voice, tone - little stuff like that - and,  actually, I have been letting myself get a little too thinky and afraid to write too much hit publish, but, that's not what I mean.

And it's true that some of the things I want to talk about don't really belong on this blog, stuff about me and how I got to this point and love and self-image and self-doubt.  I'd like to talk about my musical journey and how, after four decades it has hit a final, it seems, insurmountable wall.

It doesn't seem appropriate to whine about my aging, my yard, my beard or my impossible cravings for meat.  What has that got to do with my boys and the story I am working on for them, about them, about the trip they went on between then and now, or, perhaps, now and then?

I'd clarify that if I could, but, as I said, I've been having trouble getting to my computer, you see, there's a giant Hotwheels track in my flippin' way:

Yeah, that's my chair in the distance, that black one, and in front of it is a wall of cushions topped with that famous orange track.


From Marci's  "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."
 
"LEGOs are dangerous ... but fun."


That is surprisingly accurate except... Ouch, dammit!

"Horn Down and Run"

It is easy to forget that kids are using the same brains we are, I mean, like, physiologically.  They do not have the learning opportunities that a lifetime of experiences have given us; they do not have the vocabulary - words, emotions, feelings - that we can call upon to explain and understand our lives; they do not have the sense of security we may have which is garnered mostly from longevity, but their brains are capable of the same higher thinking which ours are.

"What are we gonna do tomorrow, Dad?"

"What shall we do after dinner, Mom?"

"Where do you wanna ride are bikes to?"

Or, a favorite of mine, perhaps the age-oldest unanswerable question:

"What's tomorrow gonna be like?"

This is all a roundabout way of getting to my own difficulties and anxieties these days, because, I can't know what tomorrow's going to be like.  I wish I could, I know it would help me a lot if I could.  The days have been long here, and, honestly, I haven't been doing the best I can to keep the boys entertained and busy in an intelligent and engaged way.  For this I blame the Internet.  Oh no, not that way, not the time wasting games they play or my stupid Facebook groups.  No, it's just that... damn, I don't want to admit this, but... everyone else is doing a better job at this than I am.  There, I've said it.

Without the Internet, I wouldn't know this.  I wouldn't read blog after blog about wonderful crafts and learning games and trips and fun and educational ways to make your own backyard a "learning laboratory." I wouldn't see image after image of happy kids doing amazing things like traveling through Europe, making working trubuchets, taking yoga lessons, learning to program computers or taking extended road-trips, learning and loving along the way, staying in hotels and visiting seven ballparks in one trip.  Without the internet I wouldn't have to compare myself to others in a way that actually hurts me deeply.

And then I remember what Nick said one day, as I was explaining to him why I get so very anxious when I have to go somewhere new or meet new people.  He said he could really understand the way I feel and he said he gets that same thing, he called it a "dready feeling."  Yes, that's it exactly.  His vocabulary isn't perfect and the sentiment is a little vague and yet, from a brain merely newer than mine but in most ways the same, the precise description of my anxieties in life.  And then he said something that might seem trite and overused today, but, keep in mind his mind just came up with it, to him it is a fresh and powerful point:

"Well, we are who we are, I guess."

Yep.

I know that it is profoundly unfair to compare myself to others.  I can't look at a friend's ability to grasp faith so strongly and integrally and see my own floundering, hopeless, amorphous faith for something less than theirs.  I can't see a mother of five do so much for her kids at the pool remaining upbeat and happy as her twin toddlers melt down and her older kids won't listen and compare myself to her, wondering why I can't be that positive and kind all the time.  I can't listen to the aggressive ramblings of a mother of a boy we know practically bully me into calling the school and insist on a certain teacher or program and feel the fear rise up in my heart, the fear that I am somehow failing them because I don't want to be, well, a prick.

We are who we are.  Thanks, Nick, it is easy to forget that.


I haven't been posting much around here.  I was a little disheartened by my last post, it, uh, well... wasn't very good.  It sort of just fell down around itself.  But, here's my secret, the side of me that I think is okay, cool in fact - I don't really mind, so what, it wasn't perfect, but, I tried and, I stand by it.

Truth be told, I sometimes try to be who I am not.  Sometimes I fake it pretty well, but, I can only maintain it for a while, and that duration is shorter and shorter as I get older and older.  Why do I try?  I am still working on that one.  Usually to impress someone, and, often these days, to try to be better for my boys.

So back on the horse today, I'll try to remember that I am who I am already and I suspect the boys are as well.


Here are some recent images I found on the floor, and the questions they silently are asking me:

Why does this penguin have a dagger in his skull?  

Is Tambo a baby penguin in a wimple or a dead mole, uh, in a wimple?

Uta Hagen was a unicorn, who knew?

Is "horn down and run" the absolute best advice ever given?

 Are "power glands" gross, or is it just me?

When will Nick learn to spell (and you know I ain't kidding)?

The whole glands thing is really creepy, is it not?

So, some seriousness, some silliness.  That's the way life is isn't it.  I could fine tune this a little more, I could trash it because I don't know if it's of any worth or, or, I could just leave it as it is.


From Marci's  "...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat..."

"I'm giving you your saliva back."


Such good boys, returning what they borrowed, our work here is done, wait, what... 


"Horn down and run."  Hmmm, I might have a new catchphrase, I was getting tired of my old one.  Thanks for stopping by.

Onehundredthmonth Day

Well, I've got a lot to prepare today, it's Onehundredthmonth Day, and you know how much there is to do.  I have finished all the traditional Rice-Crispy treats shaped in a '100', the Mylar balloons are ready for liftoff and I have all the hats ready for the 'silly dancing in respectable hats ritual' we all must endure.  But, it only comes once a lifetime.  I hope you all got your announcements, I mean, well, no one sent any money gifts, yet.

OHM Day, as it's come to be called, sure has come a long way from its humble beginnings as a celebration of having made it on this planet for one hundred months.  Quite an accomplishment in the medieval ages from whence this  modern tradition can trace its roots.  Most tribal societies also have some permutation of the special day as well, usually culminating in ritual dances or bungee jumping and wild body adornments.

Of course now it's all themed parties with fake unicorns, rented hats and factory-produced crispy treats, gluten-free of course but, they're really not that hard to make, folks.  And nobody uses Mylar anymore, regular balloons are fine, saying a hundred Mylar balloons for every kid is bad for the environment.  Whatevs, a tradition's a tradition.

Of course, the boys made their hut.  So often you see them prefab these days, themed of course, I saw a Spongebob themed OHM Day hut the other day and a Disney princess one as well.  What has this important celebration come to?

I know, I know, it's inside but, the weather has been so uncooperative and the bugs and finding enough sticks, well, we just went ahead and did it inside.

Zack has his hat finished:

Nick did his traditional pom-pom first, he'll get the hat done soon:

They both have been working hard on the legend they must tell, just as I did, just as you did, just as all those who came before us had to.  Nick's is based on this guy, Lefty-Life:

It's a cautionary tale set in the a Mayan rain forest before the Spanish annihilated them.  Zack's is a traditional story of knights and ninjas and lion-mounted rocket launchers:

So, I hope this all brings back fond memories of your OHM Day festivities.  Perhaps you will get out some pictures and share them with your families, tell some stories, remember your legend, maybe even dig out your respectable hat.  Hey, memories are what it's all about.


From Marci's  "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."
 
(pause)

"I lost you at 'It is hard to explain'."


In my defense I was trying to explain how the E.R.A. is baseball is calculated, and, well, I'm not really sure myself...

Time Sensitive Stuff

A funny thing happened on the way to the blogarena this morning.  I was sort of getting down on myself because I have only done five posts this month.  Knowing that if I didn't do another one today or tomorrow  it would be my fewest ever in a month I resolved to get one done.

It's a pretty day here, the boys are playing athletic games in the well manicured backyard and I am making a healthy lunch  I'm working on this as the boys are playing some PBS kids crap on the computer that probably teaches them something.  We'll get outside after lunch I am sure.  A bike ride or a creek walk, something will happen, perhaps the pool.

Dammit!  See what I do, blather on and on when I have to get something said...

Anyway, I was leafing through the "keeper box" considering what of the endless supply of stuff that waits there, hoping to be shared, I would use when these came up:

Marker drawings of flowers in vases done by the boys sometime last year in second grade.

They are not aging well; the colors are fading and running; the paper is brittle and is a bit crumpled.  They are not holding up.  The ravages of time will soon take away their beauty and, unfortunately, their relevance.

Honestly, my memories are not aging well either.  I once asked a group of friends with older kids what they did when they couldn't get their kids to eat this or clean up that or poop right or pee left or, whatever, and none of them remembered.  I was appalled.  Now I get it.

There's just not enough room in my heart for all of it.  The joy that was watching them watch a fire roar up in the living room, that memory, is supplanted by the lazy memory that is a summer at the pool.  Trying to keep up with books they are reading now leads me to forget their early favorites.  It wasn't until I watched them eat a bag of chips between them, that I remembered to remember thinking they'd never be clever enough to eat anything crunchy.

And then a wave of images of bottles and soothies and diapers and giggles and knocks and trips and wonder and joy and fear and hope rolls over me and I realize, I can't.

I can't be expected to remember all of this, can I?  Could you?  Do you?


I suppose that's why I continue to poke around here, blundering one way and then another.  I am trying to remember this stuff, boys, really I am, but growing up is complicated and trying to watch it and guide it and live it sometimes gets in the way of remembering it.

Don't worry, we took some pictures, too.

What's Between Me and You

You know what? Something surprising happened, our internet service and our television service all got blown out by an electrical storm on Saturday.  On Tuesday, yes three days later, Kelly (names changed to protect the innocent, or are they?), friendly capable Kelly, you know, from the local phone company, got everything back in working order. Apparently, it broke a card of some sort - maybe a “NIC card” - and he had to add a Netgear thingee to make the computer work without the missing cardy thingee (is it like a playing card, what?), get this, over the airwaves.

I'll be honest here, computer stuff makes me cry, I don't get it and, since I recently learned that rage is anger at an unresolvable situation, it enrages me. I cuss, I weep, I scream because I don't get it. I can rebuild a carburetor from a '67 Volkswagen Beetle; I can line up a few words and make a sentence work; I can make a very good hamburger; I can grow pretty good kids; but I can't begin to understand how all of this works.

I understand, basically, how paper is made. I understand how a graphite pencil leaves a semi-permanent mark on that paper. I pretty much understand how a fountain pen works, the mechanics of a ball-point seems pretty graspable and even the gel pens I favor seem basic, aside from the ink chemistry, enough to understand. Crayons, got that; markers, cool; colored pencils, easy. I even understand type-setting and letterset-printing, lithography.  I've held a font in my hands, they smell of machine oil and guns.   I can honestly say I understand how photography works. Well, used to work ...

This ain't that simple. I don't, at a purely basic level, understand how the letters and words and sentences and hopes and dreams get from my fingertips here, to the screen, well, here. Beyond that, how, in God's good name, does it get from me to you? I mean, what we are doing collectively, although not simultaneously, here as I write and you read is beyond my comprehension. 

Consider this booklet the boys made with just a little help from me (if you click on the first one you should be able to then scroll through the whole book like, well, a book):

It's pretty cool.  But, there is more to the story, in this case, the story before the story.  The one where we were out, the boys and I, walking our rental dog - the dog we take care of for some friends when they are out of town - Snickers (names changed to protect the innocent, or are they?), when we got to talking about life and nature and I asked them what they thought were some of the most important things we need for life.  Honestly, I was sorta thinking sciencey stuff, I had a clever speech prepared involving Ancient Greeks and the periodical table but, the very first thing out of Nick's mouth was God.  Zack followed immediately with Love.  Food and Water followed in the same order.

Nick has a matter-of-fact way of saying things - it's a little patronizing, but, I'm just gonna let his friends tell him that later - so he said, matter-of-factly: "That's about everything."

And then they continued their conversation about wizards, mosquitoes and, as I recall, squid, and walked on down the road.

I chuckled a little at myself and thought about my wasted, petty speech, realizing, how succinctly and poignantly they had summed up the whole metaphysical conversation.  Boys, I thought to myself.

They continued down to the stop sign, where we turn around, the dog pooped, I cleaned it up and, a few steps later Nick said:  "Dad we should make a little book about those four important things we need to live."

Yes, Nick, yes we should.

And, we did.


I folded the papers for them, explaining the 'folio' process and how a book is actually made.  They both chose the words they spurted out on the walk, and, they decided we should make the title page on the computer.

And we finished it and we held it in our hands and Mom read it and now, now...

Now you have it, on a computer screen, wherever and whenever you are.

And, I don't know how that happened or how it is even possible.

I may not know how this is possible, but, I know a little about  why it's possible? Why we have enabled this function? What led us to this impossible plateau of electronic sophistication? 

I needed to share this with you.

Thanks everyone who understands this stuff and lets me monopolize this magical digital mystery tour to bring you the essential nonsense I post around here.

And thanks to you for stopping by, I appreciate it.

From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."

"I am good and full of secrets."


So am I little buddy, so am I ...