We love dogs. I’ve had a dog for most of my life and we’ve had a dog in our family our entire marriage. Our kids know nothing else than having a four-legged friend padding around the house. Years ago, before children and the business that surrounds them, we fostered dogs in our home. We would go to the local animal shelter, adopt a dog, spend the next several months training it and finding it a permanent home. Each one of those dogs is a pleasant memory.
However, we had two children. Our son is now entering school in the Fall and our daughter is an adventurous two year old, going on 15. The time we had to commit to fostering dogs was limited and therefore, over time, we narrowed our family down to a one dog family. Although, if you ask our dog, Tucker, he would probably say, “Dog? What dog? I am the oldest son.” And that sums up our love for dogs.
Recently, my son and daughter both have been clamoring for another dog. In fact, they want a “puppy”. Several thoughts crossed my mind as the chant for a puppy increased in volume and regularity.
My first thought was, “do you have any idea how much work a puppy is? They chew everything, they aren’t housebroken!” The answer of course is, no, they don’t.
The second thought I had was, “I finally have gotten the one dog we have broken it in.” It has taken nearly eight years, but he is now the perfect family dog. He sleeps when he is supposed to sleep, he eats what he supposed eat (which is NOT the furniture), he relieves himself where he is supposed to relieve himself. So I was obviously in no hurry to respond to this request, a request that would ultimately turn my world upside down.
But as if the pointed ears of a wandering puppy could hear my children’s cry, one morning as we are preparing to leave for church, we find a beautiful white coated, blue eyed female puppy sitting on our back porch, looking hungry and thirsty. You might believe my first feeling was empathy and concern, but I am going to be honest with you, I said, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I thought it was a joke.
You can probably guess how this story goes from this point forward. My wife, who has a huge heart for dogs, gave the puppy food and water. When we returned from church, that puppy sat at attention on our porch as if she was dutifully guarding our home in our absence, growing the fondness my family was already feeling for her. Except for Tucker, who tends to great all dogs with a level of disdain, as if he himself is not a dog. But I know better than the rest of my family on this one, I know this was all puppy manipulation.
As my wife is packing to leave to visit her parents for the week, she sends me a text, “I am worried about the puppy, he is destroying the screen on the window and chewing an electrical outlet.” Who is left to deal with this cute little menace? You guessed it. So, if you are looking for a cute puppy that needs a home, contact me soon. I am not sure how tolerant daddy will be when this puppy starts trying to eat my tractor.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Why won't this car die?!?!
My car is dying. In fairness, it isn’t my car. It is my wife’s car. Or maybe I should put that in the past tense; it was my wife’s car. In fact, to be clear, it was my wife’s college car. This 1997 Chevy Cavalier now has legendary status in our family, it can survive anything. In fact, to my dismay, it survived being picked up and tossed by the recent tornadoes. Of course, it landed wheels down and showed little damage. She just brushed herself off and kept on running.
Unfortunately for the car, she isn’t my favorite. In fact, she isn’t even close. You might ask, “Why do you drive this antique with nearly 200,000 miles on it?” Well, I made a commitment. I once said, as long as it runs, I’ll drive it to avoid a car payment. Let this serve as a word of caution - I said that five years ago.
How did I end up driving this car in the first place? Well, as in many families, our circumstances dictated the type of cars we purchased and drove. When we got married, I was driving my dream truck. It was big, manly, and a stick shift. Unfortunately for that truck, my wife couldn’t drive a stick shift. Additionally, at the time, I had a job that was quite some distance from our home and big, manly, stick shift trucks don’t generally get good gas mileage, so it had to go.
The next circumstance was that we had children. Apparently, somewhere in the marriage and family instruction book it requires previously rugged outdoorsman to purchase powder blue minivans once they have families. I must have missed that day in class and I never received the manual, but his is what I am told. So we bought the minivan and I’ve must tell you, nothing screams TOUGH like a minivan with automated side doors.
So, getting rid of my truck that only I could drive and trading it in for a minivan, which was for my wife to drive, left me with the car.
Just so you understand, I am a big guy and the Cavalier is not. So getting in and out of this car is somewhat like watching the clowns pile out of the compact car at the circus. Let’s just say it is not the most comfortable car. But after a couple of years, I made it my own. Unfortunately, this story gets worse. About two summers ago the air conditioning went out. I took it into a mechanic to see how much it would cost to get it fixed, “$1000” the big, greasy, tough guy behind the counter said in a tone that suggested he wondered why a big guy like me would be driving a girly little circus car. It seemed a little high, so I took it somewhere else to get a second opinion, “$1200”, the woman behind the next counter said with a look in her eyes that suggested she thought I was less of man because I wanted AC in my little toy car.
The price clearly wasn’t going to get any better so I pondered my options, do I put a $1000 air conditioner in a car that was only blue book valued at $600 or do I simply sweat through the summer? Being the cheap guy I am, I decided to sweat it out, I could use to lose a few pounds anyways.
Well, that was two summers ago and I am midway through my third summer in my little antique girly car with no air conditioning and despite all the pounds I sweated off and despite of the judgmental glances I receive at the stop lights, I’ve grown fond of my little car. I own it now, it is no longer my wife’s college car, it’s mine. But she is fading, she creaks when she turns, she starts slower, and little warning lights are coming on all the time. Maybe it is in this year that I turn 40 that my own aging has given me sympathy on all things aging and loyal over time. When she goes, she will be missed. At least until I get back in my dream truck!
Unfortunately for the car, she isn’t my favorite. In fact, she isn’t even close. You might ask, “Why do you drive this antique with nearly 200,000 miles on it?” Well, I made a commitment. I once said, as long as it runs, I’ll drive it to avoid a car payment. Let this serve as a word of caution - I said that five years ago.
How did I end up driving this car in the first place? Well, as in many families, our circumstances dictated the type of cars we purchased and drove. When we got married, I was driving my dream truck. It was big, manly, and a stick shift. Unfortunately for that truck, my wife couldn’t drive a stick shift. Additionally, at the time, I had a job that was quite some distance from our home and big, manly, stick shift trucks don’t generally get good gas mileage, so it had to go.
The next circumstance was that we had children. Apparently, somewhere in the marriage and family instruction book it requires previously rugged outdoorsman to purchase powder blue minivans once they have families. I must have missed that day in class and I never received the manual, but his is what I am told. So we bought the minivan and I’ve must tell you, nothing screams TOUGH like a minivan with automated side doors.
So, getting rid of my truck that only I could drive and trading it in for a minivan, which was for my wife to drive, left me with the car.
Just so you understand, I am a big guy and the Cavalier is not. So getting in and out of this car is somewhat like watching the clowns pile out of the compact car at the circus. Let’s just say it is not the most comfortable car. But after a couple of years, I made it my own. Unfortunately, this story gets worse. About two summers ago the air conditioning went out. I took it into a mechanic to see how much it would cost to get it fixed, “$1000” the big, greasy, tough guy behind the counter said in a tone that suggested he wondered why a big guy like me would be driving a girly little circus car. It seemed a little high, so I took it somewhere else to get a second opinion, “$1200”, the woman behind the next counter said with a look in her eyes that suggested she thought I was less of man because I wanted AC in my little toy car.
The price clearly wasn’t going to get any better so I pondered my options, do I put a $1000 air conditioner in a car that was only blue book valued at $600 or do I simply sweat through the summer? Being the cheap guy I am, I decided to sweat it out, I could use to lose a few pounds anyways.
Well, that was two summers ago and I am midway through my third summer in my little antique girly car with no air conditioning and despite all the pounds I sweated off and despite of the judgmental glances I receive at the stop lights, I’ve grown fond of my little car. I own it now, it is no longer my wife’s college car, it’s mine. But she is fading, she creaks when she turns, she starts slower, and little warning lights are coming on all the time. Maybe it is in this year that I turn 40 that my own aging has given me sympathy on all things aging and loyal over time. When she goes, she will be missed. At least until I get back in my dream truck!
Tucker, the Family . . . Hummingbird?!?!
I am fascinated by hummingbirds. You may question the depth of my manhood when you read that statement, but in fairness, have you ever looked closely at one of those crazy birds? They seem to be more closely related to a bug than a bird. My wife recently put out hummingbird feeders (ultimately they are plastic containers that look like apples filled with sugar water) and to my astonishment, the hummingbirds came. But they didn’t just come for a quick sip of the sweet sugar juice, they came to chug it! One hummingbird in particular seems to visit all day every day, not sure how that little guy holds all that juice, but I assume he has to make many trips to the hummingbird men’s room.
My son has grown attached to this little guy and decided to give him a name. Now, for those of you who don’t realize, an animal takes on a whole new meaning in a family when a child is able to name them. Since I had never heard of anyone naming a hummingbird, I anxiously asked my son what title he had in mind for this thirsty little bird.
“Tucker,” he answered excitedly.
“Tucker?” I asked.
“Yes, the hummingbird’s name is Tucker,” he responded, full on confidence.
“But the dogs name is Tucker,” I told him in an effort to point out what seemed to be a painfully obvious duplication and a possible point of confusion for our canine family member.
“Yes, I know.” Okay, deal done, the hummingbird is now Tucker, so much for my son’s creative genes. I guess we can catalog that name in with other originals he has come up with like, “dog” for his stuffed dog, “horse” for his stuffed horse, or my favorite, “lion” for his . . . you guessed it, sock lion.
Despite my son’s lack of imagination in the name creation category, my fascination with this little bug . . . or bird, continues. So, why am I so fascinated with Tucker the hummingbird? Well, it’s not the name, although I am fascinated with what my son thinks will happen the next time he yells, “Tucker, come here!” I am fascinated with this little bird because he is simultaneously moving faster than my eye can see and sitting perfectly still, hovering next to the feeder as if it was an ornament hanging from a invisible string.
As I attempt to dissect this fascination, and simultaneously watch as my son attempts to call the bird to light on his finger, “Here Tucker, Tucker. Land on my finger, Tucker,” while the dog looks on in total confusion (I can only imagine what is going through his mind, “On your finger? Really?”), my mind wanders to the fact that this bird is like most of our lives. The world around us is moving, changing, and evolving at a speed that we cannot even see and yet our lives sometimes seem to be firmly planted at a standstill. Or maybe it is just the simple idea that we have a hummingbird and a dog both named Tucker. I wonder which will try and get on his finger first . . . this could be fun.
My son has grown attached to this little guy and decided to give him a name. Now, for those of you who don’t realize, an animal takes on a whole new meaning in a family when a child is able to name them. Since I had never heard of anyone naming a hummingbird, I anxiously asked my son what title he had in mind for this thirsty little bird.
“Tucker,” he answered excitedly.
“Tucker?” I asked.
“Yes, the hummingbird’s name is Tucker,” he responded, full on confidence.
“But the dogs name is Tucker,” I told him in an effort to point out what seemed to be a painfully obvious duplication and a possible point of confusion for our canine family member.
“Yes, I know.” Okay, deal done, the hummingbird is now Tucker, so much for my son’s creative genes. I guess we can catalog that name in with other originals he has come up with like, “dog” for his stuffed dog, “horse” for his stuffed horse, or my favorite, “lion” for his . . . you guessed it, sock lion.
Despite my son’s lack of imagination in the name creation category, my fascination with this little bug . . . or bird, continues. So, why am I so fascinated with Tucker the hummingbird? Well, it’s not the name, although I am fascinated with what my son thinks will happen the next time he yells, “Tucker, come here!” I am fascinated with this little bird because he is simultaneously moving faster than my eye can see and sitting perfectly still, hovering next to the feeder as if it was an ornament hanging from a invisible string.
As I attempt to dissect this fascination, and simultaneously watch as my son attempts to call the bird to light on his finger, “Here Tucker, Tucker. Land on my finger, Tucker,” while the dog looks on in total confusion (I can only imagine what is going through his mind, “On your finger? Really?”), my mind wanders to the fact that this bird is like most of our lives. The world around us is moving, changing, and evolving at a speed that we cannot even see and yet our lives sometimes seem to be firmly planted at a standstill. Or maybe it is just the simple idea that we have a hummingbird and a dog both named Tucker. I wonder which will try and get on his finger first . . . this could be fun.
Friday, July 8, 2011
An open letter to the REAL "Unsung Heroes".
As some of you know, my wife recently nominated me for the Sears “Unsung Heroes; Dads Making a Difference Contest”. Amazingly, I was selected as one of 10 finalists in the contest and we were placed on Facebook to have “fans” vote one of the dad’s as most deserving and to receive a grand prize of $30,000 toward a community build project.
While I am most proud of being a husband, father, and in general, a “family guy”, the title “Unsung Hero” made me feel a little uncomfortable. I have never viewed myself as a “hero” in any way, shape or form. The truth is, I am simply a product of my community. We have a rich history of legendary figures who have served our community and country in many ways; they have fought wars, served as spiritual warriors, built community, raised families, and have been beacons of light for all of us to see. By living in a community that is full of unsung heroes, it serves to inspire us all to be better, to give more support, and to serve more often. This spirit of service is not exclusive to one individual or group of people, but a spirit that is instilled in the very fabric of our community. It is not the exception, it is the norm.
This spirit was never more apparent than it was on April 27th and the days immediately following those devastating storms. That night our emergency services and first responders worked in circumstances that were simply overwhelming, with devastation across our entire county, roads impassable, 911 emergency lines full, our local heroes went to work, pulling people out of crumbling homes, risking their own life and limb to help those in need. Unfortunately, the extent of the crisis was far beyond what our emergency services could respond to and that is when we watched as neighbors, in the dark of night, crawling through rubble, cutting trees, and moving debris to help those in need.
We watched as farmers used tractors to clear debris off of roads, businessmen picked up chainsaws to cut trees off of houses, and elderly women walked miles to offer warm meals, hugs, and prayers of comfort. Nobody was untouched. Nobody was unmoved. And nobody sat still when they had an opportunity to serve. This is the spirit of our community, this is home.
I am proud that my wife thought so highly of me to nominate me for this honor, possibly the best Father’s Day present of all time. I was surprised and honored to be selected by Sears as a finalist, but most of all I am humbled to be a small part of this community of unsung heroes.
So, I’d like to dedicate this column to you and say “thank you” to everyone who supported our efforts to win this contest and bring this $30,000 home to Bradley County, but more importantly, thank you for what you do every day, serving your neighbor, supporting your friends, inspiring those around you, and acting as the REAL unsung heroes.
While I am most proud of being a husband, father, and in general, a “family guy”, the title “Unsung Hero” made me feel a little uncomfortable. I have never viewed myself as a “hero” in any way, shape or form. The truth is, I am simply a product of my community. We have a rich history of legendary figures who have served our community and country in many ways; they have fought wars, served as spiritual warriors, built community, raised families, and have been beacons of light for all of us to see. By living in a community that is full of unsung heroes, it serves to inspire us all to be better, to give more support, and to serve more often. This spirit of service is not exclusive to one individual or group of people, but a spirit that is instilled in the very fabric of our community. It is not the exception, it is the norm.
This spirit was never more apparent than it was on April 27th and the days immediately following those devastating storms. That night our emergency services and first responders worked in circumstances that were simply overwhelming, with devastation across our entire county, roads impassable, 911 emergency lines full, our local heroes went to work, pulling people out of crumbling homes, risking their own life and limb to help those in need. Unfortunately, the extent of the crisis was far beyond what our emergency services could respond to and that is when we watched as neighbors, in the dark of night, crawling through rubble, cutting trees, and moving debris to help those in need.
We watched as farmers used tractors to clear debris off of roads, businessmen picked up chainsaws to cut trees off of houses, and elderly women walked miles to offer warm meals, hugs, and prayers of comfort. Nobody was untouched. Nobody was unmoved. And nobody sat still when they had an opportunity to serve. This is the spirit of our community, this is home.
I am proud that my wife thought so highly of me to nominate me for this honor, possibly the best Father’s Day present of all time. I was surprised and honored to be selected by Sears as a finalist, but most of all I am humbled to be a small part of this community of unsung heroes.
So, I’d like to dedicate this column to you and say “thank you” to everyone who supported our efforts to win this contest and bring this $30,000 home to Bradley County, but more importantly, thank you for what you do every day, serving your neighbor, supporting your friends, inspiring those around you, and acting as the REAL unsung heroes.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Of Mice and Men and the battle between
My daughter is a huge mouse fan. In particular, the legendary mouse going by the moniker “Mickey”. However, a recent family encounter with a mouse was not nearly as sweet and cute as the aforementioned cuddly cartoon critter. No, our story of mice begins with me sitting on the couch watching television one night when the little fellow stuck his head out from behind the television stand. Cautiously, he moved out into the open to check out his new neighborhood. Now this wasn’t the friendly theme park mascot that my daughter is so fond of, no, this was the mouse that eats into your cereal boxes and makes a nest out of your favorite sweater.
As I watched our little visitor scamper around the floor boards looking for crumbs, I was already drawing up my battle plans for the next day. This mouse had broken into my fortress and because of his trespass, I declared war. I planned on making quick work of this little rodent and claim my crown as the defender of my home.
The next morning I visited one of our local hardware stores and immediately went to the “pest” aisle. I couldn’t help but imagine my daughters disappointment if she could only get a peek inside my head at the plan I was devising for this little fellow, but like a good father, I shook that thought out of my head and purchased the old fashioned, tried-and-true, snap trap.
I entered the battleground and found his most likely route of travel considering the sighting I had the night before. I set the snap trap and started to place the bait in position. My bait of choice is peanut butter as I’ve actually had more success with it than using the traditional cheese. As I placed the peanut butter, I accidently triggered the trap, which immediately earned its name and reputation by snapping down on my thumb causing significant pain (and an equal amount of embarrassment) . . . mouse - 1, daddy – 0. My daughter would smile.
Finally the trap was successfully, if not painfully, set and positioned. Now all I had to do was wait patiently. The next day, anxious to see the bounty of my strategic planning and positioning, I took a quick look at the trap. Unfortunately, what I saw made me realize I was battling no ordinary mouse. This mouse was clearly battle tested and wise to the ways of the snap trap. But not only was the trap not triggered, the peanut butter had been licked clean. Finally, adding insult to injury, the little rodent left evidence that it was him that had stolen by the bait. I’ll spare you the details of the evidence, but let’s just say it rhymes with “house scoop”. Yes, he essentially took my bait and left a signed statement on how he felt about my battle plan . . . mouse – 2, daddy – 0. My daughter would now be laughing.
Unfortunately for our arrogant little visitor and two of his friends, a series of four traps, set with staggered bait of peanut butter, cheese, and honey was too much to resist and I was rewarded with the sound of victory late one night, a loud “SNAP” from behind the piano as I slowly slipped into a hazy dreamland of dancing mice with a smile on my face.
So what would I tell my daughter about this battle victory? Like most good daddy’s . . . nothing, of course, but if I am ever forced to tell this tale to my rodent-adoring daughter, I’ll tell her this, I’d be happy to go visit Mickey at his house, but he’d better not come looking for crumbs at ours. daddy – 3, mice – 2, FINAL score
As I watched our little visitor scamper around the floor boards looking for crumbs, I was already drawing up my battle plans for the next day. This mouse had broken into my fortress and because of his trespass, I declared war. I planned on making quick work of this little rodent and claim my crown as the defender of my home.
The next morning I visited one of our local hardware stores and immediately went to the “pest” aisle. I couldn’t help but imagine my daughters disappointment if she could only get a peek inside my head at the plan I was devising for this little fellow, but like a good father, I shook that thought out of my head and purchased the old fashioned, tried-and-true, snap trap.
I entered the battleground and found his most likely route of travel considering the sighting I had the night before. I set the snap trap and started to place the bait in position. My bait of choice is peanut butter as I’ve actually had more success with it than using the traditional cheese. As I placed the peanut butter, I accidently triggered the trap, which immediately earned its name and reputation by snapping down on my thumb causing significant pain (and an equal amount of embarrassment) . . . mouse - 1, daddy – 0. My daughter would smile.
Finally the trap was successfully, if not painfully, set and positioned. Now all I had to do was wait patiently. The next day, anxious to see the bounty of my strategic planning and positioning, I took a quick look at the trap. Unfortunately, what I saw made me realize I was battling no ordinary mouse. This mouse was clearly battle tested and wise to the ways of the snap trap. But not only was the trap not triggered, the peanut butter had been licked clean. Finally, adding insult to injury, the little rodent left evidence that it was him that had stolen by the bait. I’ll spare you the details of the evidence, but let’s just say it rhymes with “house scoop”. Yes, he essentially took my bait and left a signed statement on how he felt about my battle plan . . . mouse – 2, daddy – 0. My daughter would now be laughing.
Unfortunately for our arrogant little visitor and two of his friends, a series of four traps, set with staggered bait of peanut butter, cheese, and honey was too much to resist and I was rewarded with the sound of victory late one night, a loud “SNAP” from behind the piano as I slowly slipped into a hazy dreamland of dancing mice with a smile on my face.
So what would I tell my daughter about this battle victory? Like most good daddy’s . . . nothing, of course, but if I am ever forced to tell this tale to my rodent-adoring daughter, I’ll tell her this, I’d be happy to go visit Mickey at his house, but he’d better not come looking for crumbs at ours. daddy – 3, mice – 2, FINAL score
Monday, June 27, 2011
Answering the tough questions
My wife and I just recently celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. I hesitate to say this, for fear of losing my “Man’s Man Card”, but I still feel like I am on my honeymoon. I am not like many of the sitcoms we watch, I love my wife and every day is a joy and I am a blessed man.
Throughout our marriage, we’ve been intentional about explaining to our children the love associated with a healthy marriage. Our hope is that one day our children will grow up and find that perfect person that will make every day of the rest of their lives happy and fulfilled.
However, to children of a certain age, marriage is a foreign concept.
“Why are you and mommy married?” he recently asked me.
“ Because we love each other and wanted to spend every day with each other,” I responded, full of confidence.
“Every day with a girl?” he asked with a tone that suggested surprise and disgust.
After a little discussion, it was clear that he needed a timeline of how this all happened. My wife explained to him that I was born and then she was born. Now that I think about that conversation, she did put a fairly significant emphasis on the fact that I was born first, but I digress. Then she explained we went to school (a stage he is about to enter), went to college, met, fell in love and got married.
He continued to ask about when he and his sister came into the picture. In an effort to explain how we would prefer it happen, we communicated that you get married, and after you are married you can have children.
Now at this point I am getting a little nervous. Surely he is not going to ask the “How did I get here” question and if so, I am totally not prepared for it. I could feel my stomach tighten and little beads of sweat form on my brow.
To my relief, he went a completely different direction. Tucker, the family dog, and a part of our family, happened to be sitting on his lap during this conversation. And while my wife explained the process of getting married in order to have children, he asked the most obvious question in his little five year old mind, “When did Tucker’s mommy and daddy get married?”
Uh.
Leave it to the five year old to ask the difficult questions. We went on to explain that only people get married and that children are born out of love. That is when he said the words that make my heart warm, “I love you.” The ideal ending to a potentially challenging conversation and it was navigated perfectly by my wife.
When I look over the last seven years of my life, it hasn’t been all easy, but it has been perfect and I have travelled it with my soul mate. And as a result, when those difficult questions do finally arrive, “Daddy, how did I get here?” I know exactly how to handle them . . . “Go ask you mommy.” Happy anniversary babe!
Throughout our marriage, we’ve been intentional about explaining to our children the love associated with a healthy marriage. Our hope is that one day our children will grow up and find that perfect person that will make every day of the rest of their lives happy and fulfilled.
However, to children of a certain age, marriage is a foreign concept.
“Why are you and mommy married?” he recently asked me.
“ Because we love each other and wanted to spend every day with each other,” I responded, full of confidence.
“Every day with a girl?” he asked with a tone that suggested surprise and disgust.
After a little discussion, it was clear that he needed a timeline of how this all happened. My wife explained to him that I was born and then she was born. Now that I think about that conversation, she did put a fairly significant emphasis on the fact that I was born first, but I digress. Then she explained we went to school (a stage he is about to enter), went to college, met, fell in love and got married.
He continued to ask about when he and his sister came into the picture. In an effort to explain how we would prefer it happen, we communicated that you get married, and after you are married you can have children.
Now at this point I am getting a little nervous. Surely he is not going to ask the “How did I get here” question and if so, I am totally not prepared for it. I could feel my stomach tighten and little beads of sweat form on my brow.
To my relief, he went a completely different direction. Tucker, the family dog, and a part of our family, happened to be sitting on his lap during this conversation. And while my wife explained the process of getting married in order to have children, he asked the most obvious question in his little five year old mind, “When did Tucker’s mommy and daddy get married?”
Uh.
Leave it to the five year old to ask the difficult questions. We went on to explain that only people get married and that children are born out of love. That is when he said the words that make my heart warm, “I love you.” The ideal ending to a potentially challenging conversation and it was navigated perfectly by my wife.
When I look over the last seven years of my life, it hasn’t been all easy, but it has been perfect and I have travelled it with my soul mate. And as a result, when those difficult questions do finally arrive, “Daddy, how did I get here?” I know exactly how to handle them . . . “Go ask you mommy.” Happy anniversary babe!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Think about it for a minute, then go do something.
As I lay in bed one recent evening, about to fall asleep, a piercing alarm shattered the quiet. Even though it was late, I shot out of bed, my feet barely touching the floor as I ran to see where this noise was coming from and turn it off before everyone was awake. Five ear piercing electronic blasts lasting nearly two seconds a piece came from the other end of the house.
Fortunately, the alarm did not wake the kids. Unfortunately, before I could get to the source, the house went silent again. The eardrum splitting alarm was gone. I sat still and quiet, holding my breath as if I could catch the perpetrator if it did not realize I was there; but to no avail, no beep, screech, or alarm was forthcoming.
Now, if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar situation, you know the dilemma we are now facing. We know that there is a malfunction in one of the many alarms we have in our home and we can probably guess it is a dead battery, but without being next to it, we can’t tell which one it is. We also know that this isn’t probably the last time this alarm wails, history tells us that we can expect more to follow. Going to bed now would be pointless, we need to formulate a plan to conquer this problem.
So my wife and I developed a strategic system to figure out which alarm was the culprit. She positioned herself in one room under an alarm and I was near another. I know this isn’t the most sophisticated system, but it was almost midnight, what do you expect? Five minutes went by, then ten, and soon I lost my focus and started wandering the house. Recognizing my wandering as weakness, it was then that the mystery alarm momentarily revealed itself. My wife rushed out of the room she was in and said, “It wasn’t that one, was it yours?”
Unfortunately, because I was out of position, I still could not tell which alarm was the culprit. I sheepishly shrugged.
“What do you mean you don’t know, you were sitting right next to it!?!?”
I explained that I had wandered and she said, “You left your post?” in a tone that sounded more like hurt astonishment than question.
I knew at this point that the mystery was now mine to own. I positioned myself near an alarm to continue the process of elimination. Another half hour passed before the squeal let loose and we were able to identify the exact alarm. I dutifully climbed up on a chair and changed out the battery. Now you may be asking yourself at this point, why didn’t you just change all the batteries? Well, good question, but my simple response is that I only had one new battery remaining and I didn’t want to run to the store at midnight to buy new nine volts. Unfortunately, this decision was moot as it turned out not to be a battery problem at all. In fact, when I was changing the battery, it set off all of the smoke alarms, including the one’s the children’s room. Our daughter, somehow, didn’t wake (oh, how we’d all love to sleep that heavy again, right?). Our son woke up and in a worried voice said, “Mommy, what’s happening?”
“The smoke alarms are going off and we’re trying to figure out how to turn them off,” she calmly responded.
As he drifted back off to sleep, he simply said, “Well, think about it for a minute and then go do something,” great advice for so many problems.
After more than an hour of wrestling with the mystery, we eventually just had to turn off the breaker to the alarms completely to fix the problem (before I get an inbox full of warnings, we went out and bought a battery operated smoke detector to use until we get this situation fixed, thanks for your concern). Our alarms still don’t work properly, but don’t worry, I am going to think about this problem for a minute and then I’ll go do something.
Fortunately, the alarm did not wake the kids. Unfortunately, before I could get to the source, the house went silent again. The eardrum splitting alarm was gone. I sat still and quiet, holding my breath as if I could catch the perpetrator if it did not realize I was there; but to no avail, no beep, screech, or alarm was forthcoming.
Now, if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar situation, you know the dilemma we are now facing. We know that there is a malfunction in one of the many alarms we have in our home and we can probably guess it is a dead battery, but without being next to it, we can’t tell which one it is. We also know that this isn’t probably the last time this alarm wails, history tells us that we can expect more to follow. Going to bed now would be pointless, we need to formulate a plan to conquer this problem.
So my wife and I developed a strategic system to figure out which alarm was the culprit. She positioned herself in one room under an alarm and I was near another. I know this isn’t the most sophisticated system, but it was almost midnight, what do you expect? Five minutes went by, then ten, and soon I lost my focus and started wandering the house. Recognizing my wandering as weakness, it was then that the mystery alarm momentarily revealed itself. My wife rushed out of the room she was in and said, “It wasn’t that one, was it yours?”
Unfortunately, because I was out of position, I still could not tell which alarm was the culprit. I sheepishly shrugged.
“What do you mean you don’t know, you were sitting right next to it!?!?”
I explained that I had wandered and she said, “You left your post?” in a tone that sounded more like hurt astonishment than question.
I knew at this point that the mystery was now mine to own. I positioned myself near an alarm to continue the process of elimination. Another half hour passed before the squeal let loose and we were able to identify the exact alarm. I dutifully climbed up on a chair and changed out the battery. Now you may be asking yourself at this point, why didn’t you just change all the batteries? Well, good question, but my simple response is that I only had one new battery remaining and I didn’t want to run to the store at midnight to buy new nine volts. Unfortunately, this decision was moot as it turned out not to be a battery problem at all. In fact, when I was changing the battery, it set off all of the smoke alarms, including the one’s the children’s room. Our daughter, somehow, didn’t wake (oh, how we’d all love to sleep that heavy again, right?). Our son woke up and in a worried voice said, “Mommy, what’s happening?”
“The smoke alarms are going off and we’re trying to figure out how to turn them off,” she calmly responded.
As he drifted back off to sleep, he simply said, “Well, think about it for a minute and then go do something,” great advice for so many problems.
After more than an hour of wrestling with the mystery, we eventually just had to turn off the breaker to the alarms completely to fix the problem (before I get an inbox full of warnings, we went out and bought a battery operated smoke detector to use until we get this situation fixed, thanks for your concern). Our alarms still don’t work properly, but don’t worry, I am going to think about this problem for a minute and then I’ll go do something.
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