Everyday fearless teachers,
Walk into their classrooms,
Knowing that it lurks about.
But no matter, teachers
Breaks not a sweat,
For teachers know
What needs to be done.
Door knobs, drinking fountains
Desks, sinks, balls, computers,
Markers, pencils crayons,
Chairs and children
Are where it is found.
But it won’t stop teachers
From coming around.
This blog contains my personal writings. Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment or even a piece of your own writing.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
One of These Guys Is Not the Same
I awoke one delightful Saturday morning to do my imitation of a lumber jack. Why did I decide to do this, it was for a good cause, my church needed help cutting down three dead trees. Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt- grunt, smash a beer can on your head, lumber jack type. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful but if used properly it can quickly bring down a tree. Oh sure I know there are skeptics out there who would crinkle their foreheads and ask in a demeaning and sarcastic tone, “You?” But I appreciate those who have more confidence in me who would give me a reassuring smile and say, “That’s very nice of you, always good to try something new.” So this is a tail of my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to dress like a lumber jack. Finding my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. This turned out to be a tough decision. I wanted to look like a lumber jack, but maybe I could let the lumber jack attire slide. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been a clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of pig, pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donut? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered when I showed up at the church with a Starbucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, there isn’t room next to our dozen eggs and side of pig.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here, the inexperienced want-to-be lumber jack. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and therefore, never learned how to tie knots- surely there are designated knot for the job; knots that were manly and would never come undone. Unfortunately the only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to get these words across my lips, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie manly knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me, as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left, with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard. I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson t-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and blackberry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knots. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car humming the song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together. It is obvious that my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack failed miserably and that I am not nor ever will be a lumber jack.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to dress like a lumber jack. Finding my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. This turned out to be a tough decision. I wanted to look like a lumber jack, but maybe I could let the lumber jack attire slide. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been a clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of pig, pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donut? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered when I showed up at the church with a Starbucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, there isn’t room next to our dozen eggs and side of pig.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here, the inexperienced want-to-be lumber jack. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and therefore, never learned how to tie knots- surely there are designated knot for the job; knots that were manly and would never come undone. Unfortunately the only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to get these words across my lips, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie manly knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me, as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left, with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard. I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson t-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and blackberry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knots. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car humming the song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together. It is obvious that my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack failed miserably and that I am not nor ever will be a lumber jack.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
One of These Guys Is Not the Same 2nd Draft
One delightful Saturday morning I decided that I was going to go do my imitation of a lumber jack. Some would look at me and with a reassuring smile and say, “Oh, that’s nice, always good to try something new,” giving me a vote of confidence. Others would crinkle their forehead and ask, “You? Why?”with a very demeaning and sarcastic tone. Why did I decide to do this, it was for a good cause -my church needed help cutting down some dead trees. Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt, grunt, smash a beer can on your head, lumber jack type. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful- and if used properly it can quickly bring down a tree.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to look dress like a lumber jack. Stopping at my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. Of course, I chose comfort. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of a pig and pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donuts? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered.
At eight o’clock I showed up with a Star Bucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, that wouldn’t sit well with our dozen eggs.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw see paragraph two. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- and it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and learned how to tie knots. The only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to say, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me -as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left- with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard.
I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot. I couldn’t be for sure that I would be the one to untie it, so I couldn’t be associated with it. When it was time to go, I had to make sure that I didn’t ride in the truck with the sorry knots; I had to keep my distance from those knots.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson tee-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, a college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and black berry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knot. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car, humming a song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to look dress like a lumber jack. Stopping at my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. Of course, I chose comfort. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of a pig and pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donuts? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered.
At eight o’clock I showed up with a Star Bucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, that wouldn’t sit well with our dozen eggs.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw see paragraph two. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- and it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and learned how to tie knots. The only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to say, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me -as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left- with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard.
I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot. I couldn’t be for sure that I would be the one to untie it, so I couldn’t be associated with it. When it was time to go, I had to make sure that I didn’t ride in the truck with the sorry knots; I had to keep my distance from those knots.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson tee-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, a college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and black berry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knot. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car, humming a song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Against My Best Judgment
Against my best judgment - really my wife left me with no choice- we are expecting another child in October. I thought we were supposed to be content with what we have? I sure am. So far we have had one and a-half years of ease. I’m not saying it’s been a smooth road without any bumps- there have been plenty of those- but with a baby who began sleeping through the night at eight weeks and is simply a doll when we take her out in public- I truly see what we have here and wish not to press our luck.
“I don’t want our child growing up without a sibling,” my wife kept telling me. “She needs someone to play with.”
How do we truly know this? How do we know that with all of those ramblings she’s telling us not to have another sibling because she doesn’t want to split the inheritance? I mean after all, she was there when we were meeting with our financial adviser and wanted dad to up the life insurance. I will never forget the look she gave me as I named my price. She wore a puzzled look that said, “That’s it! Not even a million? Well, if you are going to be that cheap, I simply can’t have a sibling.”
But with my daughter and I’s opinions swept away like one of her meals, we are going to have another child. Don’t get me wrong, I am very excited- especially since it’s a boy- I just don’t like pressing my luck. It is very clear to see, easy first baby means difficult second baby. My wife waves me off telling me that it will go so fast that we won’t remember it. She seems to have forgotten the last one over time and so will happen with the next. Unfortunately for me, I haven’t forgotten about the last time. And yes, it is over, but it seemed like eternity in the heat of the moment.
I spent four years in college and many of those nights, I was up late into the night studying or enjoying my college days. There were even a few when I didn’t even go to bed because I was working very hard on a paper or project. The next day came and I simply took a nap and was fine in a few hours; rested and ready to go. If I can do all-nighters in college, getting up in the middle of the night to take an hour to feed the baby should be nothing; I mean I am getting sleep before and after right? Oh how I was ever so mistaken. In my thirty three years I don’t think I have been more mistaken. What was I thinking? For some reason, my reasoning was way off- I mean the Sun and the next star way off.
Even sitting here now I shudder at the thought of how tired I was. Our daughter was born the day before Thanksgiving- even though the meal was free, I don’t recommend hospital food for Thanksgiving- so being a teacher I had the rest of the week off and I needed to only take the next week off from work to do my fatherly duty of helping with the newborn. We arrived home on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. Now before I continue I feel like I need to share some wisdom with new fathers. This being my first child, I was naturally very protective of her. When the nurse suggested we keep her in the nursery so that we could get sleep, I politely declined and kept her in the room. Looking back, I recommend you listen to the nurses. Ignore that natural protective parental instinct and get some sleep! It will be your last! With the slightest noise, I was up and hovering over her in seconds. I was a guard dog protecting his master’s home. I went from deep sleep to ready for war in 3.0 seconds flat only to find that she was shifting sides. When it hit me that she was clear of any danger, I would lie back down and waited for the adrenalin rush to wear off before I could get back to sleep.
Once that happened and I was back to dreaming, it was feeding time and I was up doing what I could to help out. Because I do not have breasts, the only assistance I could give was to change the baby’s diaper, and then I would sit and helplessly watch as my wife did all of the work. When the baby was finished, it was back to bed with her and mom and dad would lay in bed praying that they would once again be graced with sleep before the next feeding.
New fathers, there’s something else that must be explained to you. When they say that a child eats every three to four hours they don’t mean three to four hours from the end of the feeding to the next feeding. Three to four hours is from when they wake up to when they wake up three to four hours later. What does that mean? Unfortunately it means you are not getting three to four hours of sleep but only the difference from when they go to sleep and wake up again. If they make up at 2am, you have to feed them, change their diaper and then put them to sleep and they will wake up at 5 or 6am. You and I can eat a meal and take care of business in a half an hour tops, but not babies; especially if they keep falling asleep while they are eating. The feeding process is about an hour and a half, which means you have an hour and a half to sleep- I’m yawning just thinking about this.
Now that you have an understanding of the feeding process and the time it takes to work it, you will understand how that next week went. I thought that I was going to be able to get a lot of reading and planning finished that week between feedings. Again, I was wrong! Every time the baby slept, we did. I have never known exhaustion like that before. I tried to read but ended up falling asleep, waking up only to reread the page. It wasn’t until that Friday that I was able to stay up for a portion of the day and voyage out into the world again. To give you an understanding of the level of cabin-fever that we had experiences that week, we were excited travel an hour to go to the county registration office to get our little stickers for one of our cars. And was I upset when we had been sitting there for over an hour and realized that we needed proof of insurance that was back at home…no, it simply meant another outing!
That next Monday morning I was ecstatic to get back to work! My wife agreed to handle all middle of the night feedings if I would be the one to put the baby to bed in the evenings while she went to bed early. I happily agreed to that. Unfortunately on the weekends, I had to wake up too and help out. Every Friday morning during that period I cursed the weekend as I crawled out of bed half dead; always looking forward to Sunday night.
I was warned by a friend who has two children not to do it, “Stick with one, it’ll be a lot quieter,” she kept insisting. And twenty six weeks into the pregnancy, it’s already begun- sibling rivalry. My daughter has made a lounge chair out of my wife’s lap and loves to be read to as she reclines. This is not tolerated by my son who each day is pushing his sister out of her chair. Day by day her chair shrinks as my son grows bigger and bigger. Soon, there will not be any room for her and she will have to settle for dad as a lounge chair. What does she have to say about all this? At the moment she hasn’t really noticed, but I am sure when her stage time before her audience of mom and dad has decreased, it will sink in that this new person has got to go.
This is new frontier for us; am I afraid? Of course I am I would be a fool to think I have it all under control. However, I am very excited and I am looking forward to having a son- a miniature me. So, if in the months to come my writings, ideas, suggestions, projects and papers are incomprehensible, incomplete ramblings, please excuse me, I probably didn’t get any sleep.
“I don’t want our child growing up without a sibling,” my wife kept telling me. “She needs someone to play with.”
How do we truly know this? How do we know that with all of those ramblings she’s telling us not to have another sibling because she doesn’t want to split the inheritance? I mean after all, she was there when we were meeting with our financial adviser and wanted dad to up the life insurance. I will never forget the look she gave me as I named my price. She wore a puzzled look that said, “That’s it! Not even a million? Well, if you are going to be that cheap, I simply can’t have a sibling.”
But with my daughter and I’s opinions swept away like one of her meals, we are going to have another child. Don’t get me wrong, I am very excited- especially since it’s a boy- I just don’t like pressing my luck. It is very clear to see, easy first baby means difficult second baby. My wife waves me off telling me that it will go so fast that we won’t remember it. She seems to have forgotten the last one over time and so will happen with the next. Unfortunately for me, I haven’t forgotten about the last time. And yes, it is over, but it seemed like eternity in the heat of the moment.
I spent four years in college and many of those nights, I was up late into the night studying or enjoying my college days. There were even a few when I didn’t even go to bed because I was working very hard on a paper or project. The next day came and I simply took a nap and was fine in a few hours; rested and ready to go. If I can do all-nighters in college, getting up in the middle of the night to take an hour to feed the baby should be nothing; I mean I am getting sleep before and after right? Oh how I was ever so mistaken. In my thirty three years I don’t think I have been more mistaken. What was I thinking? For some reason, my reasoning was way off- I mean the Sun and the next star way off.
Even sitting here now I shudder at the thought of how tired I was. Our daughter was born the day before Thanksgiving- even though the meal was free, I don’t recommend hospital food for Thanksgiving- so being a teacher I had the rest of the week off and I needed to only take the next week off from work to do my fatherly duty of helping with the newborn. We arrived home on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. Now before I continue I feel like I need to share some wisdom with new fathers. This being my first child, I was naturally very protective of her. When the nurse suggested we keep her in the nursery so that we could get sleep, I politely declined and kept her in the room. Looking back, I recommend you listen to the nurses. Ignore that natural protective parental instinct and get some sleep! It will be your last! With the slightest noise, I was up and hovering over her in seconds. I was a guard dog protecting his master’s home. I went from deep sleep to ready for war in 3.0 seconds flat only to find that she was shifting sides. When it hit me that she was clear of any danger, I would lie back down and waited for the adrenalin rush to wear off before I could get back to sleep.
Once that happened and I was back to dreaming, it was feeding time and I was up doing what I could to help out. Because I do not have breasts, the only assistance I could give was to change the baby’s diaper, and then I would sit and helplessly watch as my wife did all of the work. When the baby was finished, it was back to bed with her and mom and dad would lay in bed praying that they would once again be graced with sleep before the next feeding.
New fathers, there’s something else that must be explained to you. When they say that a child eats every three to four hours they don’t mean three to four hours from the end of the feeding to the next feeding. Three to four hours is from when they wake up to when they wake up three to four hours later. What does that mean? Unfortunately it means you are not getting three to four hours of sleep but only the difference from when they go to sleep and wake up again. If they make up at 2am, you have to feed them, change their diaper and then put them to sleep and they will wake up at 5 or 6am. You and I can eat a meal and take care of business in a half an hour tops, but not babies; especially if they keep falling asleep while they are eating. The feeding process is about an hour and a half, which means you have an hour and a half to sleep- I’m yawning just thinking about this.
Now that you have an understanding of the feeding process and the time it takes to work it, you will understand how that next week went. I thought that I was going to be able to get a lot of reading and planning finished that week between feedings. Again, I was wrong! Every time the baby slept, we did. I have never known exhaustion like that before. I tried to read but ended up falling asleep, waking up only to reread the page. It wasn’t until that Friday that I was able to stay up for a portion of the day and voyage out into the world again. To give you an understanding of the level of cabin-fever that we had experiences that week, we were excited travel an hour to go to the county registration office to get our little stickers for one of our cars. And was I upset when we had been sitting there for over an hour and realized that we needed proof of insurance that was back at home…no, it simply meant another outing!
That next Monday morning I was ecstatic to get back to work! My wife agreed to handle all middle of the night feedings if I would be the one to put the baby to bed in the evenings while she went to bed early. I happily agreed to that. Unfortunately on the weekends, I had to wake up too and help out. Every Friday morning during that period I cursed the weekend as I crawled out of bed half dead; always looking forward to Sunday night.
I was warned by a friend who has two children not to do it, “Stick with one, it’ll be a lot quieter,” she kept insisting. And twenty six weeks into the pregnancy, it’s already begun- sibling rivalry. My daughter has made a lounge chair out of my wife’s lap and loves to be read to as she reclines. This is not tolerated by my son who each day is pushing his sister out of her chair. Day by day her chair shrinks as my son grows bigger and bigger. Soon, there will not be any room for her and she will have to settle for dad as a lounge chair. What does she have to say about all this? At the moment she hasn’t really noticed, but I am sure when her stage time before her audience of mom and dad has decreased, it will sink in that this new person has got to go.
This is new frontier for us; am I afraid? Of course I am I would be a fool to think I have it all under control. However, I am very excited and I am looking forward to having a son- a miniature me. So, if in the months to come my writings, ideas, suggestions, projects and papers are incomprehensible, incomplete ramblings, please excuse me, I probably didn’t get any sleep.
Monday, July 13, 2009
One of These Guys Is Not the Same
One delightful Saturday morning I decided that I was going to go do my best imitation of a lumber jack. Some would positively reassure me by looking at me with a smile and say, “Oh, that’s new, always good to try something new.” While those who knew me would partially close one eye, crinkle their forehead and with a very demeaning and sarcastic tone ask, “You? Why?”
Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt, grunt, smash a beer can on your head type of guy. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful- and if used correctly- it can quickly bring down a tree. I assure you it was for a good cause- our church needed a few lifeless trees taken down- besides, it was going to be manly bonding time.
As I prepared for this undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Stopping at my flannel shirt I thought, “Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear flannel shirts?” Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at this point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches or comfort. Of course comfort won that easy battle. Was there really a battle? Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!)
Passing through the kitchen I thought, “Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone.” Stop right there, that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of a pig and pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. But what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy donuts? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered.
Promptly at eight o’clock I showed up with a Star Bucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a satisfied look that said, “No thanks, that wouldn’t sit well with our dozen eggs.” I sheepishly sat down with my donuts and had my breakfast while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw-see paragraph two. While trying to decide on how I would best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car, everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- and it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But then it was too late, the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more reassuring as I broke out of my frozen state. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and learned how to tie knots. The only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head. A dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads bowed in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to say, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me -as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left- with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard.
I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would be overlooked. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me was gone and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot. I couldn’t be for sure that I would be the one to untie it, so I couldn’t be associated with it. When it was time to go, I had to make sure that I didn’t ride in that truck with the sorry knots; I had to keep my distance from that knots.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson tee-shirt, ripped pants, cowboy boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face and black berry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knot. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived there. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “What? Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The work had ended and as I was walking to my car, I humming a song on the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together.
Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt, grunt, smash a beer can on your head type of guy. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful- and if used correctly- it can quickly bring down a tree. I assure you it was for a good cause- our church needed a few lifeless trees taken down- besides, it was going to be manly bonding time.
As I prepared for this undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Stopping at my flannel shirt I thought, “Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear flannel shirts?” Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at this point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches or comfort. Of course comfort won that easy battle. Was there really a battle? Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!)
Passing through the kitchen I thought, “Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone.” Stop right there, that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of a pig and pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. But what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy donuts? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered.
Promptly at eight o’clock I showed up with a Star Bucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a satisfied look that said, “No thanks, that wouldn’t sit well with our dozen eggs.” I sheepishly sat down with my donuts and had my breakfast while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw-see paragraph two. While trying to decide on how I would best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car, everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- and it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But then it was too late, the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more reassuring as I broke out of my frozen state. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and learned how to tie knots. The only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head. A dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads bowed in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to say, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me -as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left- with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard.
I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would be overlooked. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me was gone and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot. I couldn’t be for sure that I would be the one to untie it, so I couldn’t be associated with it. When it was time to go, I had to make sure that I didn’t ride in that truck with the sorry knots; I had to keep my distance from that knots.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson tee-shirt, ripped pants, cowboy boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face and black berry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knot. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived there. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “What? Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The work had ended and as I was walking to my car, I humming a song on the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wonders of a One Year Old
It was a trip to beat the heat, that’s how it began anyway, a mere suggestion; something to do on a lazy summer day. Of course she always gets excited when we say we are going anywhere. She runs to the back door and reaches up to touch the handle. With every ounce of effort she has, she attempts to turn the knob that will lead her to freedom. Only the call from dad to bring him her shoes will bring her back from her attempt at an escape. “Cau- Cau!” she cries.
“Yes dear, we’ll go to the car. But first you need to put on your shoes,” I reply.
As we pull out of the garage she points to the radio. Mom knows it’s time to turn on the CD player; another drive, another round of toddler music.
By the time we listen to the CD once, we arrive at our destination, The Wildlife Experience. My wife being fairly new to this part of town has never been there before, myself, dozens of times on fieldtrips. It used to be a small museum/ education center with an IMAX theater, but they added a new addition onto the museum exhibiting eight different biomes of the earth that opened in May. I had to go see it, sure I wanted to preview it for the upcoming school year, but I was excited for my daughter going to her first museum.
As we approached the building, my daughter was drawn to the bronze coyotes and elk standing next to the waterfall day in and day out welcoming all of the eager children to the museum. I could see the wonder in her eyes, a spark of awe and excitement building up inside. This was just the beginning. One look at her expression and I knew we had come to the right place.
After we paid, we headed to the elevator that would take us to the new exhibits. On the way up she began to whimper as she made the connection of doctor offices and elevators. Fortunately all of that is forgotten as the doors open and the exhibit is now within sight.
The Globology exhibit begins with a giant sphere hanging in the middle of the walkway. There is seating around the edge of a darkened room. Projectors from the four corners of the room find the same target in the center. Suddenly the sphere comes to life; the planet earth hangs from the ceiling. Not really understanding the presentation of how important water is to our earth, she still is mesmerized by the giant ball that changes color. “Baw, baw,” she says as she points to the giant earth. I can only imagine what is going through her head… Wouldn’t that be fun to play with in the yard!
The presentation finished up and we move on into the rainforest exhibit. Trees surrounds us, we are in the canopy of the rainforest. To our right a monkey comes alive and warns us to keep our distance. I look at my daughter expecting her to be frightened from all of the noise but she is intently staring at the monkey with a look of wonder. I move down beside her stroller and tell her the name of the animal that was making the disturbance. “That’s a monkey. You have a little toy monkey that you play with. That’s what a monkey looks like in the rainforest,” I explain. We move on passing the colorful birds sitting in the tree tops and a waterfall that cascades down to the floor of the rainforest.
Passing through each biome brings exhilaration. We enter the savannah and she sees the life-sized replica of her favorite stuffed animal, an elephant. She points to it in amazement. “Yes sweaty, that’s an elephant,” I point-out to her. Her eyes are glued to it. Moving forward she turns and sees three lions next to the elephant. She recognizes them and becomes excited. “Those are lions. You have toy lions at home. That’s what they look like in the wild,” I describe to her.
The final biome is the coral reef. In order for my daughter to see the fish in the aquariums, I have to remove her from the stroller. I lift her up so that she is face-to-face with the fish. “Fish,” I say.
“Fi,” she echoes.
We move from aquarium to aquarium looking at the different types of sea creatures that live in the coral reef; from sea anemones to sea horses. What a rainbow of sea creatures! My daughter is pointing out each fish as she stares in wonder. When we came to the end she begins to get fidgety, so I set her down and away she goes. The first thing that goes through my mind is that she was going to pull one of the many corals off of the wall, or walk right underneath the railing and into an exhibit. In tail, I follow her back up to the elephant. She points at it and turns around and goes back to the coral reef and looks up at the giant great white shark that is hanging from the ceiling. “What’s that?” she questions.
“A shark,” I reply. “Do you see him chasing those fish?”
With that, it’s back up the ramp and this time she stops at the lions and looks. With mom waiting at the cave entrance, we go back and forth from shark to lions, shark to elephant. With time running out, I redirect her to the caves. One look and she takes off. What is it that caught her attention? The waterfall, next to the cave exhibit is the floor of the rainforest where the waterfall makes its descent. The reason she finds this so fascinating is because her favorite thing to do in the tub is play with the water as it exits the spout. I knew exactly what she was thinking when she looked at me with outstretched hands wanting me to pick her up but I dampened the moment when I told her that she could not play in the water. She didn’t give up easy; she kept leaning toward the water as we walked around it. As we continued on, I put her down, and back to the waterfall she went. She stood there taking it all in. Seeing the smile on her face as she looked up to the source of the water and then following it down to the pool below, I saw a joy in her eyes that told me that she was thrilled that she had the opportunity to come and see all of this. A look that said, “Thanks mom and dad, I have had the time of my life.” Even though she didn’t say it, I could see it in her eyes.I put her down and we followed as she took off running through the different exhibits. I could tell by the excitement on her face, she was having a blast and that this is a really cool place! Time had run out and the museum was closing. I picked her up to leave and she was not at all happy about the idea of leaving. But as she squirmed in my hands, I reassured her that we would soon return.
“Yes dear, we’ll go to the car. But first you need to put on your shoes,” I reply.
As we pull out of the garage she points to the radio. Mom knows it’s time to turn on the CD player; another drive, another round of toddler music.
By the time we listen to the CD once, we arrive at our destination, The Wildlife Experience. My wife being fairly new to this part of town has never been there before, myself, dozens of times on fieldtrips. It used to be a small museum/ education center with an IMAX theater, but they added a new addition onto the museum exhibiting eight different biomes of the earth that opened in May. I had to go see it, sure I wanted to preview it for the upcoming school year, but I was excited for my daughter going to her first museum.
As we approached the building, my daughter was drawn to the bronze coyotes and elk standing next to the waterfall day in and day out welcoming all of the eager children to the museum. I could see the wonder in her eyes, a spark of awe and excitement building up inside. This was just the beginning. One look at her expression and I knew we had come to the right place.
After we paid, we headed to the elevator that would take us to the new exhibits. On the way up she began to whimper as she made the connection of doctor offices and elevators. Fortunately all of that is forgotten as the doors open and the exhibit is now within sight.
The Globology exhibit begins with a giant sphere hanging in the middle of the walkway. There is seating around the edge of a darkened room. Projectors from the four corners of the room find the same target in the center. Suddenly the sphere comes to life; the planet earth hangs from the ceiling. Not really understanding the presentation of how important water is to our earth, she still is mesmerized by the giant ball that changes color. “Baw, baw,” she says as she points to the giant earth. I can only imagine what is going through her head… Wouldn’t that be fun to play with in the yard!
The presentation finished up and we move on into the rainforest exhibit. Trees surrounds us, we are in the canopy of the rainforest. To our right a monkey comes alive and warns us to keep our distance. I look at my daughter expecting her to be frightened from all of the noise but she is intently staring at the monkey with a look of wonder. I move down beside her stroller and tell her the name of the animal that was making the disturbance. “That’s a monkey. You have a little toy monkey that you play with. That’s what a monkey looks like in the rainforest,” I explain. We move on passing the colorful birds sitting in the tree tops and a waterfall that cascades down to the floor of the rainforest.
Passing through each biome brings exhilaration. We enter the savannah and she sees the life-sized replica of her favorite stuffed animal, an elephant. She points to it in amazement. “Yes sweaty, that’s an elephant,” I point-out to her. Her eyes are glued to it. Moving forward she turns and sees three lions next to the elephant. She recognizes them and becomes excited. “Those are lions. You have toy lions at home. That’s what they look like in the wild,” I describe to her.
The final biome is the coral reef. In order for my daughter to see the fish in the aquariums, I have to remove her from the stroller. I lift her up so that she is face-to-face with the fish. “Fish,” I say.
“Fi,” she echoes.
We move from aquarium to aquarium looking at the different types of sea creatures that live in the coral reef; from sea anemones to sea horses. What a rainbow of sea creatures! My daughter is pointing out each fish as she stares in wonder. When we came to the end she begins to get fidgety, so I set her down and away she goes. The first thing that goes through my mind is that she was going to pull one of the many corals off of the wall, or walk right underneath the railing and into an exhibit. In tail, I follow her back up to the elephant. She points at it and turns around and goes back to the coral reef and looks up at the giant great white shark that is hanging from the ceiling. “What’s that?” she questions.
“A shark,” I reply. “Do you see him chasing those fish?”
With that, it’s back up the ramp and this time she stops at the lions and looks. With mom waiting at the cave entrance, we go back and forth from shark to lions, shark to elephant. With time running out, I redirect her to the caves. One look and she takes off. What is it that caught her attention? The waterfall, next to the cave exhibit is the floor of the rainforest where the waterfall makes its descent. The reason she finds this so fascinating is because her favorite thing to do in the tub is play with the water as it exits the spout. I knew exactly what she was thinking when she looked at me with outstretched hands wanting me to pick her up but I dampened the moment when I told her that she could not play in the water. She didn’t give up easy; she kept leaning toward the water as we walked around it. As we continued on, I put her down, and back to the waterfall she went. She stood there taking it all in. Seeing the smile on her face as she looked up to the source of the water and then following it down to the pool below, I saw a joy in her eyes that told me that she was thrilled that she had the opportunity to come and see all of this. A look that said, “Thanks mom and dad, I have had the time of my life.” Even though she didn’t say it, I could see it in her eyes.I put her down and we followed as she took off running through the different exhibits. I could tell by the excitement on her face, she was having a blast and that this is a really cool place! Time had run out and the museum was closing. I picked her up to leave and she was not at all happy about the idea of leaving. But as she squirmed in my hands, I reassured her that we would soon return.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Common Sense
One day as I was watching the news, I became fed up with all of the stories about people not using their heads anymore. So I wrote this poem. Enjoy...
Common Sense
Common Sense is not common anymore,
It stays behind when people close the door.
It slipped out the backdoor,
When it felt it wasn't needed anymore.
Across the yard and over the fence,
Leaving the population very dense.
Common Sense has left this town,
Leaving people to slowly drown.
From hot coffee actually being hot,
To burgers and fries healthy not.
Oh to think upon is perplexing,
People are driving and texting!
Oh when will it ever end,
And our problems be on the mend.
Now I'm crying in dire need,
"Come back Common Sense," I plead!
Common Sense
Common Sense is not common anymore,
It stays behind when people close the door.
It slipped out the backdoor,
When it felt it wasn't needed anymore.
Across the yard and over the fence,
Leaving the population very dense.
Common Sense has left this town,
Leaving people to slowly drown.
From hot coffee actually being hot,
To burgers and fries healthy not.
Oh to think upon is perplexing,
People are driving and texting!
Oh when will it ever end,
And our problems be on the mend.
Now I'm crying in dire need,
"Come back Common Sense," I plead!
What Matt's Reading Now
I just finished the fourth book in the Olympian series called "The Battle of the Labyrinth". It is a great series written by Rick Riordan. I have one more book to read until I finish the series; "The Last Olympian". This is a great series if you enjoy Greek Mythology. I read the first book, "The Lightning Thief", to my class this year as we studied Greek Mythology. It's a modern day story about Percy Jackson who is a demigod. His father is Poseidon and he is trying to prevent the Titans from destroying Mount Olympus.
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