The Birthday Boy

When Bardo was two, he thought surely three was the magical age. Throughout his big day he would announce that he was now old enough to join swim team or go to school or stop taking naps, but alas, none of these things have yet come to pass. Nevertheless, Bardo has had a merry birthday celebration. He loved those birthday phone calls. For his birthday dinner, he chose this:
And for his birthday present he got this:
For days after his birthday, he ran around wearing this:
The day after his birthday he kept throwing his ball over the fence so he could visit the neighbor's house. He showed up at their door in his knee pads and helmet.

We also allowed him to do this special birthday activity:
When Pippi said she didn't get to see, we told her to remind us on her birthday, and we would allow her to examine the inner workings of the toilet tank, too.

Over the weekend we had a fun party with good friends. Even Uncle Ivan showed up. The Warlock made gorgonzola burgers, root beer and ordered a cars pinata stuffed with the good stuff. We also have a cake leftovers enough for all the grandmas, grandpas, aunts and uncles who wish they could have been here.

We love you Bardo, and I don't ever want to forget how fun and cute and wonderful you are today.

Summer shopping

Noel enjoyed that seat for about 5 minutes. (And I promise I
sanitized the cart before putting her in there.)

The Father's Day Post

I have always hated Father's Day.

Actually, I have not hated Father's Day so much as I have hated church on Father's Day. Church on Father's Day always involves two things:

1. Primary children singing to fathers. I think this is because the Mothers of the church somehow think that the Fathers would like to see the Children sing, when really the Fathers would like the Mothers to stay out of it and not assume the Fathers want anything more than a cold drink at a random time during the day from the Children.

2. Talks about the speakers' fathers. Inevitably these turn out to be whitewashed affairs in which said fathers are White Knights in Shining Armor of God without defect or blemish to be seen, depsite the high probability that said fathers beat the speakers as children. Or at least were addicted to Diet Coke and were cranky on Saturday morning.

Others may feel differently, but I don't particularly care for my children singing as part of a faceless flash mob, and I can do without another revisionist tribute to Superdad. I would rather we ignore the day altogether and just have a normal church with normal lessons and talks about the Gospel and such.

So today we did something different. I went to my early church meetings and we all met up for Sacrament Meeting. And then we split, right after the sacrament. The Witch and the kids hopped in the car and followed me (on the motorcycle) all the way down to Galveston by back roads. We ate lunch and then felt bad for not eating at a grubbier place down the way. We drove along the seashore. We had a wardrobe malfunction. We let Noel eat crayons. I got an awesome farmer's tan (burn, really). We came back several hours later after 150 miles of driving/riding.

Best. Father's. Day. Ever. I had plenty of time to reflect on the kind of dad I am and how I can be better. I thought about Stacy a lot today and all of the things I learned from her, especially that I have to learn to forgive myself for all the mistakes I've made and have no way to undo. And I got to spend a lot of time with my wife and kids and generally just enjoy being a dad for a day.

So a big thank you to the Witch and the kids for coming and having a good time. Also for knocking the ball out of the park with the other gift they gave me.

I'd also be amiss if I didn't wish my own Dad a happy Father's Day. Dad, I'm not naive enought to think you got it right all the time, but I am smart enough to know you tried your best - at considerable sacrifice to yourself - and that's all anybody can ask. And whatever failings you may have had as a father are more than compensated for by your excellent work as a grandfather. Here's hoping the weather lets you and Buster have the same kind of day I did.

Waiting

Watching

Echoes

I have lots of things around me that remind me of this sweet girl:#1- Walks through "the woods"
#2-This lady and her 3 towheaded children

#3- Bardo's bright eyes as I read to him Danny the Dinosaur, a book Stacy "read" to me over and over again as a two year old

#4-Pippi's sweetness with her younger siblings reminds me of scenes like this:
#5- Whenever Bardo "helps" me in the kitchen this memory gives me hope:
And more things too...but Noel's demanding me to entertain her, just like Stacy used to do.

I think about Stacy everyday. She was born nine years ago today and she left us nearly fours years ago. I still find it hard to write about her, mostly because I feel my writing inadequately expresses how I feel about her. Nevertheless, I must express how I feel, and I'm not a painter, or a sculpter, or an architect, so I write.

Stacy's life was much like my 3' x 3' garden--small, crazy, filled with fruit and blooms.

She lived 5 short years in 6 different places. She had people coming in and out of her life constantly. She rode planes, trains, buses, automobiles and strollers. As soon as she could walk, she preferred to walk, and she liked to take it s-l-o-w. Trips 2 to 3 NYC blocks took f-o-r-e-v-e-r. She didn't like riding in the car, for 15 minutes seemed an eternity to her. As much as she didn't like sitting still in a car she didn't like staying home any more. She needed to be doing, going. She collected new friends wherever she went--adult friends, kid friends, baby friends and animal friends. (One time a mother warned me that she was petting a squirrel in Central Park. She also liked to "save" the confused worms after rain storms.) Stacy liked to be visiting her friends constantly. I remember when we first moved to New York City how sad she was because we didn't have friends yet. I called several different children to extend play invitations because I could see how lonely two-year-old Stacy was only to be turned down again and again. So we headed to the sandbox at the Dolphin Playground. Within minutes Stacy was inviting children to her birthday party.

My little 3 x 3 garden has only required watering, and no weeding; Stacy really only required "watering" as well. She wasn't a very tricky child and she was very easily taught. Any problem that I had with her was a result of my inexperienced parenting. Despite me, she grew and grew and grew. She was rolling from place to place and could get anything on the floor by the time she was 2 months old. She army crawled when she was 4 months old, and by the time she was 6 1/2 months she was saying her first word (ball) and cross-crawling. Much to our delight she spoke complete sentences upon entering nursery. She could spell her name for her nursery leaders when she was just barely 2 years old. She could pronounce almost any word we threw at her, and she loved us so much that she'd play the parrot game with us at the dinner table over and over again. She could sit on a lap for hours and hours listening to me read books. Just before her death, I could read a chapter from a book like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and ask her any question about the plot or a detail in that chapter. I do not recall stumping her even once. I felt she exhibited good judgment to be wary of people on the Subway of NYC (Rebecca smiled at all of them.). She gave me so much confidence. I really felt like I was a good mom to have such a daughter. I see now that I really taught her very little, and that I really needed her to teach me a few things.

Stacy delighted in nature and made old joys new. I squished sand between my toes, sniffed flowers, buried myself in autumn leaves, and rolled in the snow with Stacy by my side. Everything was better through her eyes.

Stacy might have seemed shy and quiet a first, but she quickly got over that and once a friend of Stacy's she would never forget you. She was a friend without reservation, doing anything she could think of to show her love. She always would hold elevator doors open until everyone was inside the elevator. She'd pick bouquets to proudly share. When she would paint she would paint 5,000 pictures in one sitting. She quickly learned to write I Love You and would put it on every drawing that she ever produced.

Stacy's gifts continue. everything around me is more meaningful because she met me here for a few too short years.

Hey Dad! Guess What?

Bardo: Hey Dad! Guess what? I got in your car and tried to go to HEB and get some food for us!

The Warlock: (looks at The Witch apprehensively)

The Witch: (shrugs her shoulders to indicate she has no idea what he's talking about)

Bardo: (smiles his mischievous grin)

An hour later, I went out to my car to go to the gym. One door was ajar, a key was in the ignition, said key was turned to the on position, and the radio was blaring. Thank goodness it is a manual and Bardo is too short to reach the pedals.

Everything but the kitchen sink

We just got home from our Sunday walk. We periodically like to check
on a tree house someone's building nearby. Today Pippi found a long
thin log and a nail near the tree house construction site. She
whipped a hammer out of the purse that never leaves her side and
started hammering away.

Sent from my iPhoneg

Conversations

Pippi and I have been having great conversations lately. Seriously. We've discussed milk, birds, insecticides, leg shaving, writing skills, math, poetry, music, just to name a few topics. I love everything about this kid, but her perspective is amazing. Here's a brief conversation we had at dinner.

Pippi: "May I have more milk please?"

Me: "Of course. You sure have been drinking a lot of milk lately!"

Pippi: "I love it. It fills me up, and I don't even have to eat."

Me (shocked, but feeling like I just watched a commercial): "You don't like to eat?"

Pippi: "I like to eat, but my tooth, it hurts."

Me: "Oooooo I hope you aren't getting a cavity."

Pippi: "No Mom, look, my tooth is loose. AND my gums hurt. I think I'm getting my twelve-year molars."

Sidenote: (I think it's so odd that Noel and Pippi are "teething" at the same time.)

Okay, I'm learning my lessons

Here's another quote from an article by Sister Hoole: "Expectations are high, not to make us feel unworthy, but to assure us that our Father in Heaven believes in us, that he loves us so much that he is preparing us to return and live with him. As we strive to reach this most lofty and glorious of all estates, we are beset with countless human frailties and challenging circumstances. These are not to discourage and deter us, but rather they are to teach us to trust in the Lord through faith in him, to rely on him through humility, and to perfect ourselves through repentance."

Trying

I have a constant battle with my home. Clutter seems to seep out through the corners. It takes so much work to even keep up on the laundry. I know, I know, I'm whining.

Here's a quote by Daryl Hoole, homemaker extrodinaire: "Establishing an orderly house requires desire, good habits, energy, personal discipline, and the cooperation of family members."

Is that all? Sheesh. What's my problem anyway?

Pippi's first swim meet 5/16/2009

Better late than never, right?

Tender is the Loin

After months of watching Good Eats without feeling free to eat fatty and delicious foods, the Warlock purchased his ultra expensive cow muscle at Costco. He bought some gorgonzola and a bottle of cooking wine. He made this delicious celebratory feast. And it was perfection. I'll let him post his recipes. My only part in this was the growing of the basil--and the doing of the dishes.

Pink Hair

So, he colored on his arms, fell asleep on his arms in the car, and the "washable" marker spread to his face and head from there. We transported him to his bed after the 2 minute drive home but didn't have the heart to clean him up until he woke up.

Dora (my hair technician) felt sure that the samples of clarifying shampoo she sent home with me would get it out. We've had no such luck. We've only discovered that Bardo can tolerate a lot of scrubbing and pulling of the hair.

Oh well. He's still cute.