One of my good friends, Cuban by heritage, is married to a Ukrainian woman with who he has two children. While they lived in the United States there was some slight confusion as the oldest child, a boy, was learning to talk. Since there were three languages spoken in the house it was difficult to determine which language he was using as he tried to express himself.
I was, by some miracle, able to understand what he was saying – at least the intent of the gibberish he was using as a language. Most of it was English with a smattering of Spanish. His father and I could speak both languages but I had spent more time around children as they were developing language skills so I was able to comprehend his attempts. What was important was that he, the son, knew I understood him and he love that. He would speak endlessly to me.
When he branched off into the Russian his mother spoke I was completely lost. I was only saved in conversations with him in those intervals by his knowing that he was using a word only his mother knew. He would go to her for a suitable English equivalent and we would go on conversing. His dad would sit by watching in compete amazement.
Now the family is living in the Ukraine and the youngest child, the girl, is learning to speak. My friend is at a loss much of the time. He and his wife speak in English to each other and the two children. She speaks in Russian to her parents – in whose home they are living while theirs is being built – and Ukrainian is spoken in the general public as well as being revived in the school curriculum.
So the words she is learning from her older brother are a mixture of English, Russian and Ukrainian. Needless to say, her communication is scrambled. So much so that her father, who had difficulty interpreting his son, using mostly English at this age, is totally dumbfounded as she talks to him. But like most men, he has developed a failsafe method for interpreting the child’s gibberish; he calls the child’s mother and asks, “Lana, What’s she saying?” “She’s not saying anything. It’s just baby talk.” “Well, how am I supposed to know?” The only word she speaks that he is sure of is “Dora”. He brought her several DVD’s of the cartoon and she has fallen in love with them.
The sad fact is that even when we know the words being spoken by the women in our lives most of us men are still unsure of the meaning. I am convinced women like it that way - regardless of their age or what language they speak.
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Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Meeting Gordon, Military honors, Sharing Armrests
While waiting at the airport in Amarillo, TX I noticed a man who had a child’s body leaning against a chair as I would have leaned against a table or a counter. I would guess he was about 46 inches tall and weighted about seventy pounds or so. A group of early twenty year olds boys walked by him and he called out and stopped them. It turned out they were the backup band for a group called Bomshel who had played in a venue nearby.
The boys recognized him immediately as having been in the front row at their most recent concert and he asked if he could take a tincture with them. I seemed like a likely candidate to him to get the picture and he handed me his phone. “Do you want us to sit while you stand?” He smiled. “That usually works best for me.”
I took two pictures which he immediately posted on his Facebook page or wall or whatever you call it. He thanked me and struck up a conversation with me which lasted almost an hour. It turns out he is a retiree of Delta and is allowed to fly anywhere, anytime on Delta and whatever other carriers recognize his Delta affiliation.
What he spends most of his time doing is following certain bands across the United States. His favorite singer is Kellie Pickle something or other from American Idol. As it turns out he is also a favorite of hers and has spent a lot of time with her and her band. He obviously leads a very rough life.
As we boarded the plane, we got in line with about eight military personnel – all young men – who were sharing the flight with us to Memphis, TN. As the young men got up to the plane door the captain and stewardess told them to take their place in the first class section. “We have no passengers in this section and we would like to give you the flight you deserve – and our sincere thanks for your service.”
On the second flight of the trek home I was on a very full plane. It was a small plane with only two sets per side. I had the window. I was hopeful of being alone in the pair of seats but it was not meant to be and the woman seated beside me w turned out to be one of the types of passengers we all dread traveling with.
From the time she sat down I felt like there was nothing I could do to get sufficiently out of her way. I had my legs clamped together, by left arm folded across my lap and my shoulders turned toward the wall of the plane and I still got bumped, brushed or banged against every time she moved. It was as if her body language was shouting, “Would you give me some room here?”
Finally, I just relaxed a bit, took up more of “my space” and let her fend for herself. She and I never said a word to each other, but what a raging argument our body language carried on.
The boys recognized him immediately as having been in the front row at their most recent concert and he asked if he could take a tincture with them. I seemed like a likely candidate to him to get the picture and he handed me his phone. “Do you want us to sit while you stand?” He smiled. “That usually works best for me.”
I took two pictures which he immediately posted on his Facebook page or wall or whatever you call it. He thanked me and struck up a conversation with me which lasted almost an hour. It turns out he is a retiree of Delta and is allowed to fly anywhere, anytime on Delta and whatever other carriers recognize his Delta affiliation.
What he spends most of his time doing is following certain bands across the United States. His favorite singer is Kellie Pickle something or other from American Idol. As it turns out he is also a favorite of hers and has spent a lot of time with her and her band. He obviously leads a very rough life.
As we boarded the plane, we got in line with about eight military personnel – all young men – who were sharing the flight with us to Memphis, TN. As the young men got up to the plane door the captain and stewardess told them to take their place in the first class section. “We have no passengers in this section and we would like to give you the flight you deserve – and our sincere thanks for your service.”
On the second flight of the trek home I was on a very full plane. It was a small plane with only two sets per side. I had the window. I was hopeful of being alone in the pair of seats but it was not meant to be and the woman seated beside me w turned out to be one of the types of passengers we all dread traveling with.
From the time she sat down I felt like there was nothing I could do to get sufficiently out of her way. I had my legs clamped together, by left arm folded across my lap and my shoulders turned toward the wall of the plane and I still got bumped, brushed or banged against every time she moved. It was as if her body language was shouting, “Would you give me some room here?”
Finally, I just relaxed a bit, took up more of “my space” and let her fend for herself. She and I never said a word to each other, but what a raging argument our body language carried on.
Monday, September 27, 2010
The interview, Taco Bell
I got to the ConocoPhillips building at about 12:30. (I had called about 10 a.m. to confirm that I was in Borger and would make it to the interview at the appointed time.) I waited in the foyer - since access to the building it limited to those who work there – to be escorted up to the conference room where my prospective boss waited.
I was immediately seated and introduced to two people conferencing in to the interview from Houston - one from a related engineering group and the other from our HR department. And off we went. These interviews are never fun, but I had gotten advance notice of the questions normally asked from an engineer who had spent the last week doing just this type of interview for prospective college graduates. That really helped because some examples of the questions asked were:
Using your experience in chemical manufacturing, please describe a production initiative or idea that was implemented primarily because of your efforts. What was your role? What was the outcome?
Using your experience as a leader in chemical manufacturing in a PSM (Process Safety Management) environment, please describe a time when you anticipated potential problems and developed preventive measures. (Please use format: situation, action & result)
Give me an example of a time when you set a stretch goal for your team and were able to meet or achieve it. (Please use format: situation, action & result)
We often have to make changes when the way we have been doing things is no longer effective. Tell me about a time when you had to try a new approach to a problem. What did you do? What were the results?
We have all worked on projects where we felt over whelmed. Tell me about a time when that happened to you. Etc.
I had been given twenty such questions. It took me six hours at work one night to compose answers to them. I cannot imagine if I had walked in unprepared what my answers would have been. I can be extemporaneous, but not like that and not with so much on the line.
The interview took about an hour and one half. I think all three of us were exhausted. Suddenly I was asked, “Do you have any questions?” I had a million, none of which I could think of. I had not prepared that response. It was over with a “We will let everyone know on Monday. Thank you so much for coming.” I was shown to the elevator and after two wrong turns made it out of the building. I took a deep breath, took off my tie and decided to go to Taco Bell.
I ordered the flatbread chicken something or others and as I was waiting two old men and an old woman walked in. They were what I picture as old Texans; thin, weathered, white haired men in faded jeans and long sleeved shirts, well-worn from head to toe both in body as well as dress. I loved the conversation that followed.
Wha’chu getting?”
“A chalupee.”
I want a chik’n burida, bit I don’t see it on the menu.”
“Mama, you want a chik’n burida?” One gentleman asked his wife – the old woman with the two of them.
“Sure, if you can find one.”
“I see it”
“Whur?”
“Right next to the taaka”
“Yea, thur it is.”
The person at the register took the order and asked, “Do you want the supreme”
Blank stares. “Do you want sour cream on the chalupa and the chicken burritos?” She explained.
Relief. Smiles. “Shore, put ever’thin on it.”
She took their money and walked away since the register she was using was the one for the drive thru. The men looked at the woman with them. “Did we say somthin wrong?”
I was immediately seated and introduced to two people conferencing in to the interview from Houston - one from a related engineering group and the other from our HR department. And off we went. These interviews are never fun, but I had gotten advance notice of the questions normally asked from an engineer who had spent the last week doing just this type of interview for prospective college graduates. That really helped because some examples of the questions asked were:
Using your experience in chemical manufacturing, please describe a production initiative or idea that was implemented primarily because of your efforts. What was your role? What was the outcome?
Using your experience as a leader in chemical manufacturing in a PSM (Process Safety Management) environment, please describe a time when you anticipated potential problems and developed preventive measures. (Please use format: situation, action & result)
Give me an example of a time when you set a stretch goal for your team and were able to meet or achieve it. (Please use format: situation, action & result)
We often have to make changes when the way we have been doing things is no longer effective. Tell me about a time when you had to try a new approach to a problem. What did you do? What were the results?
We have all worked on projects where we felt over whelmed. Tell me about a time when that happened to you. Etc.
I had been given twenty such questions. It took me six hours at work one night to compose answers to them. I cannot imagine if I had walked in unprepared what my answers would have been. I can be extemporaneous, but not like that and not with so much on the line.
The interview took about an hour and one half. I think all three of us were exhausted. Suddenly I was asked, “Do you have any questions?” I had a million, none of which I could think of. I had not prepared that response. It was over with a “We will let everyone know on Monday. Thank you so much for coming.” I was shown to the elevator and after two wrong turns made it out of the building. I took a deep breath, took off my tie and decided to go to Taco Bell.
I ordered the flatbread chicken something or others and as I was waiting two old men and an old woman walked in. They were what I picture as old Texans; thin, weathered, white haired men in faded jeans and long sleeved shirts, well-worn from head to toe both in body as well as dress. I loved the conversation that followed.
Wha’chu getting?”
“A chalupee.”
I want a chik’n burida, bit I don’t see it on the menu.”
“Mama, you want a chik’n burida?” One gentleman asked his wife – the old woman with the two of them.
“Sure, if you can find one.”
“I see it”
“Whur?”
“Right next to the taaka”
“Yea, thur it is.”
The person at the register took the order and asked, “Do you want the supreme”
Blank stares. “Do you want sour cream on the chalupa and the chicken burritos?” She explained.
Relief. Smiles. “Shore, put ever’thin on it.”
She took their money and walked away since the register she was using was the one for the drive thru. The men looked at the woman with them. “Did we say somthin wrong?”
Exploring Borger
I woke up pretty early Friday morning. I have not been sleeping very well lately – imagine that – and this morning was no exception. I realized that 7:30 a.m. there was really 6:30 a.m. in New Jersey, but I went with the better of the two numbers and got out of bed and dressed to go down for breakfast.
When I opened the curtains all I could see was white, thick fog and since I had no idea where anything was, I knew I had to stay put until it lifted and it turned out it was a good thing I did. The only drawback was that the fog did not start to lift until about 9:30 a.m. which seemed pretty late. So I stayed in my motel room and studied, trying not to fall asleep.
My interview was not until 1p.m., but this day was all I had in Borger and I needed to make the most of it. So as soon as I felt I could get safely onto the nearby highway, I ventured out with the Garmin to guide me. It was a good thing I had waited because I turned the wrong way at the very first intersection – a sort of double-decker circle – but I could not see where the GPS wanted me to go in the remaining fog and my navigator was in New Jersey. I find it difficult to drive alone after twenty-eight years of hearing, “Turn here, Honey! Here! Here! Here!” from the passenger seat.
My first stop was the building where I was to interview, which took me through “downtown” Borger, all two blocks of it. I’m sure there is more to it than that, but I could not find it. And my next stop was the Christian School I had seen mentioned on the internet. It turned out to be less than three blocks away but I drove by it twice before I found it. I had to call the receptionist to see if I was in the right place because there was not a single car in the parking lot.
As it turned out, I was on the wrong side of the building so I drove around to the north side as instructed and went in the building. It seems they are not at all used to visitors because every question I asked was pretty difficult to answer for the woman I found at the reception desk. Is this an Independent Fundamental Baptist Church? Do you use the ACE program in your school? Are all subjects available? Do you have any openings?
“I can give you a brochure, but you’ll need to talk to the Dean of Students” “Is he here?” ”Not right now.” “Thank you for your time. Sorry to interrupt your day.” She did not ask for my number so he could contact me, so I didn’t give it. Sometimes it’s best not to push your luck.
It did not take long to explore the rest of Borger, at least what I was willing to drive through. I even stopped to look at the only grocery store I saw in my poking around and was asked by a lady in one of the check out lanes if she could help me. I have to admit I was wandering rather aimlessly. All in all she did better than the receptionist at the school. I was back in the hotel by 11:30.
All during my drive I was thinking, “This might be rough on Chase.”
When I opened the curtains all I could see was white, thick fog and since I had no idea where anything was, I knew I had to stay put until it lifted and it turned out it was a good thing I did. The only drawback was that the fog did not start to lift until about 9:30 a.m. which seemed pretty late. So I stayed in my motel room and studied, trying not to fall asleep.
My interview was not until 1p.m., but this day was all I had in Borger and I needed to make the most of it. So as soon as I felt I could get safely onto the nearby highway, I ventured out with the Garmin to guide me. It was a good thing I had waited because I turned the wrong way at the very first intersection – a sort of double-decker circle – but I could not see where the GPS wanted me to go in the remaining fog and my navigator was in New Jersey. I find it difficult to drive alone after twenty-eight years of hearing, “Turn here, Honey! Here! Here! Here!” from the passenger seat.
My first stop was the building where I was to interview, which took me through “downtown” Borger, all two blocks of it. I’m sure there is more to it than that, but I could not find it. And my next stop was the Christian School I had seen mentioned on the internet. It turned out to be less than three blocks away but I drove by it twice before I found it. I had to call the receptionist to see if I was in the right place because there was not a single car in the parking lot.
As it turned out, I was on the wrong side of the building so I drove around to the north side as instructed and went in the building. It seems they are not at all used to visitors because every question I asked was pretty difficult to answer for the woman I found at the reception desk. Is this an Independent Fundamental Baptist Church? Do you use the ACE program in your school? Are all subjects available? Do you have any openings?
“I can give you a brochure, but you’ll need to talk to the Dean of Students” “Is he here?” ”Not right now.” “Thank you for your time. Sorry to interrupt your day.” She did not ask for my number so he could contact me, so I didn’t give it. Sometimes it’s best not to push your luck.
It did not take long to explore the rest of Borger, at least what I was willing to drive through. I even stopped to look at the only grocery store I saw in my poking around and was asked by a lady in one of the check out lanes if she could help me. I have to admit I was wandering rather aimlessly. All in all she did better than the receptionist at the school. I was back in the hotel by 11:30.
All during my drive I was thinking, “This might be rough on Chase.”
Meeting Mama, Driving to Borger
I suppose to those looking in from the outside, Mama and I lead a very interesting life. It is at least filled with activity from rising to resting every day and in truth, I have to thank Mama for that. Last week was one of the infrequent weeks when those near to us get a peek into the life we live and just how much fun we have living it.
While Mama was in Florida I got a call for a face-to-face interview in Borger, TX with a different department within ConocoPhillips. They wanted me to be there Friday afternoon which meant I would have to fly out on Thursday to make the deadline. The problem was that Mama was returning from her week in Florida on the same day I was to fly out.
Fortunately, the travel center making the arrangements for me understood what I needed and arranged for my departing flight to be later than Mama arriving flight at the same airport so we could have time to spend a few minutes together before I left. After all, I had already spent a whole week without a single hug or kiss.
I met Mama’s flight and we embarrassed most of the people near us with our embrace. I think some even looked around to see if the moment was being caught on film for some reality show. We had a quick lunch together and she drove home from the airport alone.
I flew out a couple hours later and arrived in Amarillo, TX at about 10 pm. The drive to Borger – about forty five minutes away – was almost nostalgic; late at night under the expanse of sky we do not see in New Jersey. I actually stopped several times to look at the stars. For those of you who have never seen that much sky filled with that many stars, it is almost overwhelming.
Psalms 19:1 was running through my mind as I looked up, “The heavens declare the glory of God…”
Though it is true everywhere, it just seemed easier to see there.
While Mama was in Florida I got a call for a face-to-face interview in Borger, TX with a different department within ConocoPhillips. They wanted me to be there Friday afternoon which meant I would have to fly out on Thursday to make the deadline. The problem was that Mama was returning from her week in Florida on the same day I was to fly out.
Fortunately, the travel center making the arrangements for me understood what I needed and arranged for my departing flight to be later than Mama arriving flight at the same airport so we could have time to spend a few minutes together before I left. After all, I had already spent a whole week without a single hug or kiss.
I met Mama’s flight and we embarrassed most of the people near us with our embrace. I think some even looked around to see if the moment was being caught on film for some reality show. We had a quick lunch together and she drove home from the airport alone.
I flew out a couple hours later and arrived in Amarillo, TX at about 10 pm. The drive to Borger – about forty five minutes away – was almost nostalgic; late at night under the expanse of sky we do not see in New Jersey. I actually stopped several times to look at the stars. For those of you who have never seen that much sky filled with that many stars, it is almost overwhelming.
Psalms 19:1 was running through my mind as I looked up, “The heavens declare the glory of God…”
Though it is true everywhere, it just seemed easier to see there.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Bringing the bride to the groom, passing close by
As the pastor presided over the wedding ceremony for Bobby and Lin, he talked for a few minutes about the idea of bringing the bride to the groom. In that short discussion he mentioned a couple thoughts worth repeating. First, the very first bride to be brought to her groom was Eve. If you think the prospects of finding a suitable mate are poor in today’s anti-Christian culture, consider Adam’s prospects – he had none literally, none. Yet God provided for him miraculously.
(It reminded me of how God brought my wife to me: when I was not looking, when I least expected her to be there. It was so much easier to be sure when God made it happen.)
Bobby, like Abraham, sent far away for a woman to marry. I am not sure why no one nearby was found suitable for him, but that is not our responsibility to even try to answer. She is her now. She is his now. All the way through the courtship, via internet and phone conversations, God moved miraculously.
Lin, line Rebekah being brought to Isaac, had to leave the only home she had known, the only culture she had known, the only life she had known to make herself available for her groom. But just as the servant of Abraham had asked of God to make the damsel known to him, so God did. He was sure. She was sure. Isaac was blessed. It was a great application of Bible to what had taken place over the last year with the current wedding couple.
On the more personal side, Mama will be coming home on Thursday at about 2pm. I had to swap to nights Monday and Tuesday in order to be off to go to the airport to get her. As it turns out, I will be flying to Texas for a face-to-face interview with a plant manager in Borger on Thursday. I had to arrange my flight so that Mama and I could spend a few minutes together between her arriving flight and my departing flight. Fortunately I was able to pick the same airline.
So for the first time in our marriage, we will pass by each other in the airport. The good news is that I will only be gone for two nights. I will be back on Saturday about 6pm, but after being apart for a week we were hoping to spend more that a few minutes together – and that in an airport terminal.
I was a little worried when the call for the interview came as to how I was going to get Mama home since I was flying out the same day she was arriving, but we worked it out that I will drive to the Philadelphia airport (which I would have done anyway) and she will drive home from there – without me. It all seems kind of weird. But she will get home. I will get to my interview and we will get a quick hug and a kiss before we go our separate routes.
We will work hard to keep this from becoming a habit.
(It reminded me of how God brought my wife to me: when I was not looking, when I least expected her to be there. It was so much easier to be sure when God made it happen.)
Bobby, like Abraham, sent far away for a woman to marry. I am not sure why no one nearby was found suitable for him, but that is not our responsibility to even try to answer. She is her now. She is his now. All the way through the courtship, via internet and phone conversations, God moved miraculously.
Lin, line Rebekah being brought to Isaac, had to leave the only home she had known, the only culture she had known, the only life she had known to make herself available for her groom. But just as the servant of Abraham had asked of God to make the damsel known to him, so God did. He was sure. She was sure. Isaac was blessed. It was a great application of Bible to what had taken place over the last year with the current wedding couple.
On the more personal side, Mama will be coming home on Thursday at about 2pm. I had to swap to nights Monday and Tuesday in order to be off to go to the airport to get her. As it turns out, I will be flying to Texas for a face-to-face interview with a plant manager in Borger on Thursday. I had to arrange my flight so that Mama and I could spend a few minutes together between her arriving flight and my departing flight. Fortunately I was able to pick the same airline.
So for the first time in our marriage, we will pass by each other in the airport. The good news is that I will only be gone for two nights. I will be back on Saturday about 6pm, but after being apart for a week we were hoping to spend more that a few minutes together – and that in an airport terminal.
I was a little worried when the call for the interview came as to how I was going to get Mama home since I was flying out the same day she was arriving, but we worked it out that I will drive to the Philadelphia airport (which I would have done anyway) and she will drive home from there – without me. It all seems kind of weird. But she will get home. I will get to my interview and we will get a quick hug and a kiss before we go our separate routes.
We will work hard to keep this from becoming a habit.
Weddings and Funerals, Feeding the hungry
At Bobby and Lin’s wedding I thought of how difficult it is to get people together. It is almost certain that we love each other; family, extended family and friends. I know there are exceptions to the “love each other” part, but in a general way we do like to keep track of those people of whom we at least have long-term knowledge, childhood memories, etc.
So why is it that the only way we can feel free to justify a break in a schedule that is doing very little other than getting us by, is to be invited to a wedding or called to a funeral, not that the two are alike other than they provide an excuse to gather. And yet there are such rich similarities in the saved person’s life because a funeral moves the loved one who has died in this world, leaving behind life-long friends, to a wedding in the next. A wedding in this life, for a saved person, gives us someone to share this life with until a funeral moves one of us on to the final wedding where there will be no parting: a happy ending and a happy beginning either way.
At this wedding it was good to see a couple who had struggled to be together finally be together. And though those who had gathered together to see them joined as one, may not get together again for many years to come, Bobby and Lin will have this moment as a beginning for the rest of their time together. It was good to be there.
After the wedding I had the Santos boys and Chase come to the apartment to sit out the reception. I had made a casserole of some things we had available - rice, chicken, beans and an condensed soup – which I found out later was being saved by Mama for a special meal at some future date – and they acted like it had come from the kitchen of a five star restaurant.
I almost let it go to my head until I realized that none of them had eaten breakfast and it was almost 2pm. Peanut butter on crackers would have seemed like a five course meal to them. They were starving! So I accepted the thanks and let my culinary genius sulk.
The boys will never know the difference.
So why is it that the only way we can feel free to justify a break in a schedule that is doing very little other than getting us by, is to be invited to a wedding or called to a funeral, not that the two are alike other than they provide an excuse to gather. And yet there are such rich similarities in the saved person’s life because a funeral moves the loved one who has died in this world, leaving behind life-long friends, to a wedding in the next. A wedding in this life, for a saved person, gives us someone to share this life with until a funeral moves one of us on to the final wedding where there will be no parting: a happy ending and a happy beginning either way.
At this wedding it was good to see a couple who had struggled to be together finally be together. And though those who had gathered together to see them joined as one, may not get together again for many years to come, Bobby and Lin will have this moment as a beginning for the rest of their time together. It was good to be there.
After the wedding I had the Santos boys and Chase come to the apartment to sit out the reception. I had made a casserole of some things we had available - rice, chicken, beans and an condensed soup – which I found out later was being saved by Mama for a special meal at some future date – and they acted like it had come from the kitchen of a five star restaurant.
I almost let it go to my head until I realized that none of them had eaten breakfast and it was almost 2pm. Peanut butter on crackers would have seemed like a five course meal to them. They were starving! So I accepted the thanks and let my culinary genius sulk.
The boys will never know the difference.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Compatible levels of insanity
Yesterday one of my coworkers began talking about his wife – in a lovingly disapproving manner – about her insistence that he take time off to attend the first birthday of a niece. He presented the hypothesis that all women are insane, thought to widely varying levels of insanity. He then went on to speculate that the successful marriages are the ones where the man has not married above his ability to tolerate the insanity of the woman he married.
I countered that if his hypothesis is true then the same argument must be plausible for the female side of the equation – possible more so, in that the successful marriages are the ones in which the woman has not married above her ability to tolerate her husband’s level of insanity. Therefore, we both concluded that the best marriages are those in which there are compatible levels of insanity and a mutual tolerance one for the other.
In actuality, that theory is not too far from life in practice. I cannot begin to count the number of times my children have seen me struggle to understand when one of two completely inconsequential matters seem so significantly better to their mother than the other. For instance, what tie I wear, what shoes she wears, whether or not her hair should be fixed one way or another, or whether a daughter should wear the nude or the tan pantyhose.
Insanity might not be the best choice of words to express the thought, but it conveys the meaning pretty well. When my pastor asked me about Mama’s recent trip to Florida, one I was not totally in favor of, I explained that I will have an easier time making up for the loss in income than I would in making amends for the disappointment it would bring to my home to not have allowed her travel. My disapproval is less important than her disappointment. It has worked successfully that way for many years. I do not have to agree, I just have to go along – regardless of how unimportant, how poorly timed or how insane it looks to me. If it is that important to her, I will try to make it happen regardless of my understanding, let alone approval.
That may border on insanity, but it works.
I countered that if his hypothesis is true then the same argument must be plausible for the female side of the equation – possible more so, in that the successful marriages are the ones in which the woman has not married above her ability to tolerate her husband’s level of insanity. Therefore, we both concluded that the best marriages are those in which there are compatible levels of insanity and a mutual tolerance one for the other.
In actuality, that theory is not too far from life in practice. I cannot begin to count the number of times my children have seen me struggle to understand when one of two completely inconsequential matters seem so significantly better to their mother than the other. For instance, what tie I wear, what shoes she wears, whether or not her hair should be fixed one way or another, or whether a daughter should wear the nude or the tan pantyhose.
Insanity might not be the best choice of words to express the thought, but it conveys the meaning pretty well. When my pastor asked me about Mama’s recent trip to Florida, one I was not totally in favor of, I explained that I will have an easier time making up for the loss in income than I would in making amends for the disappointment it would bring to my home to not have allowed her travel. My disapproval is less important than her disappointment. It has worked successfully that way for many years. I do not have to agree, I just have to go along – regardless of how unimportant, how poorly timed or how insane it looks to me. If it is that important to her, I will try to make it happen regardless of my understanding, let alone approval.
That may border on insanity, but it works.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Silly Laughs, ticklish spots
Taking the boys home the other day reminded me of the past Friday when I had five kids under the age of seven in the car for the five minute ride. They all started talking about the way other children in the school laugh. I thought I was in an episode of Mary Poppins as each child tried to better imitate the laugh in question. “No, he laughs like this.” No, it’s more like this.” Each gave their own variation of the person all of them had obviously heard very recently. Five opinions. Five variations. It was hilarious, but Chase and I did not let on. I’m guessing he knew who they were talking about, but I had no idea – although I do have a rough idea of how that person laughs.
The conversation progressed to ticklish places and the innocence with which the discussion developed was a testimony to the ways these kids are being raised. One of the girls said, “I’m ticklish on my arm pits and the bottoms of my feet.” (Two places that are safe from me investigating the validity of the claim.) To which one of the boys responded, “I know my feet are ticklish, but I don’t know about my arm pits. Let me see.” Pause. “Yea, it does feel a little ticklish.” All three of the others had to repeat the experiment. “I’m not at all.” “I am a little.” “Me too.”
As is often true with children that age, the conversation quickly shifted to things a little more questionable and I had to change the atmosphere in the van, but by that time we were almost home. Everybody got out of the car in a very good mood and as soon as their book bags and backpacks were deposited at the apartment they rushed outside to smack each other around with foam swords.
Oh, to live that uncomplicated a life!
The conversation progressed to ticklish places and the innocence with which the discussion developed was a testimony to the ways these kids are being raised. One of the girls said, “I’m ticklish on my arm pits and the bottoms of my feet.” (Two places that are safe from me investigating the validity of the claim.) To which one of the boys responded, “I know my feet are ticklish, but I don’t know about my arm pits. Let me see.” Pause. “Yea, it does feel a little ticklish.” All three of the others had to repeat the experiment. “I’m not at all.” “I am a little.” “Me too.”
As is often true with children that age, the conversation quickly shifted to things a little more questionable and I had to change the atmosphere in the van, but by that time we were almost home. Everybody got out of the car in a very good mood and as soon as their book bags and backpacks were deposited at the apartment they rushed outside to smack each other around with foam swords.
Oh, to live that uncomplicated a life!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Visiting Cinderella, Last Yesterday
Victoria was with us the other day and she was in full Mama mode. The stroller was loaded with the two little ones swaddled in their receiving blankets. The diaper bag was filled with all the necessities – for two plastic children – and the weather was perfect for an outing.
As she put on her shoes I asked if she was going out, to which she replied, “I’m going to visit Cinderella.” “Princess Cinderella?” “Yes, Papa Tim. Princess Cinderella.” “Is she in her castle?” “No, she’s in the hospital.” “Is she sick?” “Yes she has a real bad tummy ache and the doctor is really worried about her.” “Do you think you ought to leave your babies here so they don’t get sick too?” “Papa Tim”, she scolded, “They can’t catch a tummy ache.” “Well, tell Cinderella I said ‘Hello’.” Hand on hip she stared me down and answered. “Papa Tim, she doesn’t know you.” “Well shame on me.” “Uh huh.”
As the kids were eating lunch, Joshua and Victoria were having differences of opinion, especially about time spans and chronology. Alex was listening intently and could not decide who to support since he has a little problem with time also. The discussion, rather argument as it usually is with Joshua, centered around a recent time spent at the grandmother’s house.
“We were at Grandma’s house yesterday” Victoria continued to argue. “No we were not! We were here with Mama Kim at her house all day yesterday!” Joshua countered. Of course Joshua was right. “Wasn’t it yesterday we were at Grandma’s.” Alex asked, not quite sure if it was Joshua or Victoria who remembered correctly.
Undaunted, Victoria pressed for her side of the story. That is usually the case with anyone who does not know for sure but likes to argue anyway. It is especially true with kids. Meanwhile, the light came on in Alex’s eyes. “Wait! I know! It was last yesterday!” “Yea,” Victoria agreed. “Last yesterday.”
Joshua sighed and put his hands on his head.
(For those of you who may have trouble speaking five-year-old,” last yesterday” is usually stated as “the day before yesterday”. But it works.)
As she put on her shoes I asked if she was going out, to which she replied, “I’m going to visit Cinderella.” “Princess Cinderella?” “Yes, Papa Tim. Princess Cinderella.” “Is she in her castle?” “No, she’s in the hospital.” “Is she sick?” “Yes she has a real bad tummy ache and the doctor is really worried about her.” “Do you think you ought to leave your babies here so they don’t get sick too?” “Papa Tim”, she scolded, “They can’t catch a tummy ache.” “Well, tell Cinderella I said ‘Hello’.” Hand on hip she stared me down and answered. “Papa Tim, she doesn’t know you.” “Well shame on me.” “Uh huh.”
As the kids were eating lunch, Joshua and Victoria were having differences of opinion, especially about time spans and chronology. Alex was listening intently and could not decide who to support since he has a little problem with time also. The discussion, rather argument as it usually is with Joshua, centered around a recent time spent at the grandmother’s house.
“We were at Grandma’s house yesterday” Victoria continued to argue. “No we were not! We were here with Mama Kim at her house all day yesterday!” Joshua countered. Of course Joshua was right. “Wasn’t it yesterday we were at Grandma’s.” Alex asked, not quite sure if it was Joshua or Victoria who remembered correctly.
Undaunted, Victoria pressed for her side of the story. That is usually the case with anyone who does not know for sure but likes to argue anyway. It is especially true with kids. Meanwhile, the light came on in Alex’s eyes. “Wait! I know! It was last yesterday!” “Yea,” Victoria agreed. “Last yesterday.”
Joshua sighed and put his hands on his head.
(For those of you who may have trouble speaking five-year-old,” last yesterday” is usually stated as “the day before yesterday”. But it works.)
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
A child shall lead them- Especially in electronic gadgets
Mama has been watching the Hottenson boys in the afternoon after school for about an hour. They like it better than after care provided at the school and I think Mama likes it too. There is not much time for anything but homework and a few minutes of play before they are picked up, but everyone makes the most of it.
Yesterday Andrew was playing the Wii – What else? Mama was watching. I am not sure what game he was playing but it appeared that Andrew was doing very well, as noted by Mama. I heard her say, “Get the box. It will give you extra lives.” “No Mama Kim. If I do this instead I get to have star power.” (I have no idea exactly what he did.) But with this power he proceeded to charge through every deadly obstacle in his path – as long as his character was flashing. Even Chase was impressed. I know because I head him saying, “Cool Andrew, you got twelve extra lives.”
I learned all about flying power and spitting power and crowding close to some kind of flowers giving you extra coins; that this wealth of knowledge was coming from the head of a five-year-old was either very impressive or very disturbing. Perhaps, for me at least, it is a little of both.
Knowing how much Cori and Nate love the Wii, I can only imagine the wealth of information I will be “schooled” with from my grandchildren over the next few years. My plan going forward is to maintain my current approach to video games of all sorts – I will avoid them; like I avoid board games and card games and other such competitions.
Going back to Andrew, as soon as his brothers finished their school related chores, the game was reset to three players and the types of comments I am more used to hearing started to wiggle their way back into the play. “Tony, you killed my guy.” “That’s the way the game is played.” Chase interjected. “No he did it on purpose and that’s not fair. It’s only fair if it happens on accident.” “Carlos you made me mess up.” “It wasn’t me it was Andrew.” “Yea, I did it on purpose!”
I will watch from the sidelines, happily unencumbered by the wealth of trivia needed to participate in those pursuits with any competitive advantage.
Yesterday Andrew was playing the Wii – What else? Mama was watching. I am not sure what game he was playing but it appeared that Andrew was doing very well, as noted by Mama. I heard her say, “Get the box. It will give you extra lives.” “No Mama Kim. If I do this instead I get to have star power.” (I have no idea exactly what he did.) But with this power he proceeded to charge through every deadly obstacle in his path – as long as his character was flashing. Even Chase was impressed. I know because I head him saying, “Cool Andrew, you got twelve extra lives.”
I learned all about flying power and spitting power and crowding close to some kind of flowers giving you extra coins; that this wealth of knowledge was coming from the head of a five-year-old was either very impressive or very disturbing. Perhaps, for me at least, it is a little of both.
Knowing how much Cori and Nate love the Wii, I can only imagine the wealth of information I will be “schooled” with from my grandchildren over the next few years. My plan going forward is to maintain my current approach to video games of all sorts – I will avoid them; like I avoid board games and card games and other such competitions.
Going back to Andrew, as soon as his brothers finished their school related chores, the game was reset to three players and the types of comments I am more used to hearing started to wiggle their way back into the play. “Tony, you killed my guy.” “That’s the way the game is played.” Chase interjected. “No he did it on purpose and that’s not fair. It’s only fair if it happens on accident.” “Carlos you made me mess up.” “It wasn’t me it was Andrew.” “Yea, I did it on purpose!”
I will watch from the sidelines, happily unencumbered by the wealth of trivia needed to participate in those pursuits with any competitive advantage.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Big Sisters, Anatomy lessons
My granddaughter, Mykenzie, has apparently been following in her mother’s footsteps lately. When her mother was able to walk, before she was even able to talk, she began mothering her brother, even though he was the older sibling. It was sometimes subtle, sometimes not. As obvious as handing him his Sippy cup as she was getting hers or passing him a chip from her plate when he ran out of his own.
As subtle as watching him as he fussed over one thing or another – and he often fussed – and moving closer to him to see if that would soothe him, all the while carrying her ”blankie” in her clutched in right hand, index finger folded in her mouth. They would often fall asleep that way.
Now her daughter (three years old) has taken up the torch of being cheerleader and champion of her younger brother (two years old). From encouraging him to sit still for his haircut, an experience he does not enjoy, to climbing into his baby bed – side rails up – to fetch his pacifier; which both of them know he uses only at night.
When their mother saw the two of them walk out of Grant’s room with him contentedly sucking his “paci” it did not take her long to put the pieces together. "But Mommy" she explained quickly, "he said 'Please.'" I am not sure I have the heart to tell her there is so much more yet to come. If at this age the two of them are in cahoots on this kind of mischief, what will she and her husband be up against in the years to come? I think it may be fun to watch from a grandparent’s point of view.
I want to be careful how I say this, but my daughter tells me Mykenzie is very inquisitive about anatomy. Being in the presence of a dozen nursing mother’s – hers being one – has made it difficult for her to understand why her upper body anatomy and that of her younger brother is so similar while the corresponding anatomy of the mothers and fathers she knows are so very different. What troubles her most is that boys are allowed to run around without a stitch of clothing above the waist and little girls must keep their upper bodies covered – when essentially there is no difference in the form at her age.
Well, I’ll let her mother and Grammy handle that discussion.
As subtle as watching him as he fussed over one thing or another – and he often fussed – and moving closer to him to see if that would soothe him, all the while carrying her ”blankie” in her clutched in right hand, index finger folded in her mouth. They would often fall asleep that way.
Now her daughter (three years old) has taken up the torch of being cheerleader and champion of her younger brother (two years old). From encouraging him to sit still for his haircut, an experience he does not enjoy, to climbing into his baby bed – side rails up – to fetch his pacifier; which both of them know he uses only at night.
When their mother saw the two of them walk out of Grant’s room with him contentedly sucking his “paci” it did not take her long to put the pieces together. "But Mommy" she explained quickly, "he said 'Please.'" I am not sure I have the heart to tell her there is so much more yet to come. If at this age the two of them are in cahoots on this kind of mischief, what will she and her husband be up against in the years to come? I think it may be fun to watch from a grandparent’s point of view.
I want to be careful how I say this, but my daughter tells me Mykenzie is very inquisitive about anatomy. Being in the presence of a dozen nursing mother’s – hers being one – has made it difficult for her to understand why her upper body anatomy and that of her younger brother is so similar while the corresponding anatomy of the mothers and fathers she knows are so very different. What troubles her most is that boys are allowed to run around without a stitch of clothing above the waist and little girls must keep their upper bodies covered – when essentially there is no difference in the form at her age.
Well, I’ll let her mother and Grammy handle that discussion.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Wii wars, Trying to die, Way too much help
It is said that too many cooks spoil the broth. I say too many controllers spoils the Wii. We have four controllers now for the Wii in our apartment and judging from the congestion in front of the TV it is two too many. Today the two boys were playing Frisbee Golf which requires each player to throw a Frisbee in successive throws instead of hitting a golf ball.
There were only two players on that one but Alex and Jake thought they had to share about two square feet of space in front of the TV and they were making the most contorted throws trying not to hit each other in the face during the tosses of their virtual Frisbees; all the while complaining they were not getting good throws. I suggested several times that they spread out to get a safe distance from each other to play. Such interjections fall on deaf ears.
Later there were four players in the same area shared by two only an hour before trying to progress in a game they did not have any idea how to play. Somehow they ended up in the dark, being illuminated only around their individual players on the screen. It looked like very weak spotlights tracking their movements and they were all reacting as thought it was real. “Try to jump.” “I am trying to jump.” Who is Luigi? Luigi try to jump?” I am Luigi and I am trying to jump?” “Who has Chase’s mii?” “Whoever had Chase’s mii, try to jump!”
On and on it went until they were quite confused. Jake paused the game, determined to discover who was who but it did him very little good because the other players could not seem to cooperate. As Jake grew frustrated, he grew louder, but he eventually gave up and it was decided that the only way to end the game was for everyone to die – in the game, that is. But even that turned into a hilarious fiasco because they could not figure out just how to accomplish it.
“Everyone move yourselves up.” “No, move yourselves up, like this.” He was raising the remote over his head and shaking in up and down, but Mia and Alex, both younger than Jake, could not quite grasp the idea so he took their remotes and did the movement with all three. I was really starting to enjoy the whole rigmarole when I had to leave so I am not sure how it all turned out, but I am assured that all actual children survived to play again.
Mama is watching a ten-month-old a couple days a week and when she and baby Victoria share the apartment it is a chore for Mama to ensure that Victoria, now almost three years old, does not overdo her pretend mothering of the younger child. It seems Victoria’s time is equally divided between providing the baby with new toys to divert her attention and in ripping from her hands toys she considers hers exclusively; many of which were hers alone for the past two years.
It is amazing to me how little grace, tenderness or mercy there is in children that age when the concept of “Mine!” is so prominent in their developing psyche. It is most fortunate they are not yet big enough to seriously hurt each other – at least, not intentionally.
Mama, it is safe to say, has been busy lately.
There were only two players on that one but Alex and Jake thought they had to share about two square feet of space in front of the TV and they were making the most contorted throws trying not to hit each other in the face during the tosses of their virtual Frisbees; all the while complaining they were not getting good throws. I suggested several times that they spread out to get a safe distance from each other to play. Such interjections fall on deaf ears.
Later there were four players in the same area shared by two only an hour before trying to progress in a game they did not have any idea how to play. Somehow they ended up in the dark, being illuminated only around their individual players on the screen. It looked like very weak spotlights tracking their movements and they were all reacting as thought it was real. “Try to jump.” “I am trying to jump.” Who is Luigi? Luigi try to jump?” I am Luigi and I am trying to jump?” “Who has Chase’s mii?” “Whoever had Chase’s mii, try to jump!”
On and on it went until they were quite confused. Jake paused the game, determined to discover who was who but it did him very little good because the other players could not seem to cooperate. As Jake grew frustrated, he grew louder, but he eventually gave up and it was decided that the only way to end the game was for everyone to die – in the game, that is. But even that turned into a hilarious fiasco because they could not figure out just how to accomplish it.
“Everyone move yourselves up.” “No, move yourselves up, like this.” He was raising the remote over his head and shaking in up and down, but Mia and Alex, both younger than Jake, could not quite grasp the idea so he took their remotes and did the movement with all three. I was really starting to enjoy the whole rigmarole when I had to leave so I am not sure how it all turned out, but I am assured that all actual children survived to play again.
Mama is watching a ten-month-old a couple days a week and when she and baby Victoria share the apartment it is a chore for Mama to ensure that Victoria, now almost three years old, does not overdo her pretend mothering of the younger child. It seems Victoria’s time is equally divided between providing the baby with new toys to divert her attention and in ripping from her hands toys she considers hers exclusively; many of which were hers alone for the past two years.
It is amazing to me how little grace, tenderness or mercy there is in children that age when the concept of “Mine!” is so prominent in their developing psyche. It is most fortunate they are not yet big enough to seriously hurt each other – at least, not intentionally.
Mama, it is safe to say, has been busy lately.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Things you can’t un-remember, Eating off the floor
Yesterday we were talking about movies and the genres that each of us liked best. Since both of the guys I was working with have young kids, family movies was the most agreed upon preference; however, one of my co-workers mentioned his love of B rated horror movies and had a sample of a movie he had watched recently.
I was not watching but I could make out some of the louder sound effects – ones that I would generally associate with that type of movie. As the movie progressed and the two guys laughed and joked about some of the horrible acting and ridiculous stunts, on of them suddenly stopped watching and moved away. I have no idea what he saw but I thought his remark was worth capturing. “Some things”, he said, “can’t be un-remembered.”
Not, some things can’t be forgotten, but some things can’t be un-remembered. Like the song that continues to play over and over in your head, driving you crazy. Or a scene from a movie that always comes to mind in a particular situation, a noise heard while you are in the shower or a thump heard close by when you are just going to sleep.
Sometimes we do that to our children by exposing them to television scenes or movie scenes that leave a lasting memory in their minds that cannot be un-remembered. I think of one child we watch and the fears he has of certain things because of some of the movies he should never have watched but was so ridiculed by an older sibling that he forced himself to watch even when secretly terrified.
Granted, many of these situations come upon us suddenly and cannot be un-watched once they have played. That’s why I usually leave the remote with Mama who has zero tolerance for anything sexual or scary played on any device; TV, computer, X-box, etc. I have to trust her abject horror of such scenes to protect me and the kids – even if it annoys me at the time. She has a terrible time un-remembering such things and I do not ever want that to change.
My daughter Maggie called me tonight while she was watching two children, five and ten years old respectively. The five-year-old, a girl, was really rambunctious and she interrupted our conversation several times. One such interruption I heard Maggie say, “That’s why we don’t eat things off of the floor.”
She explained, the girl had bent down, lips to the floor, and eaten a stray cheese ball – one of the puffed kind – directly off of the floor and was now pulling hairs out of her mouth.
I can think of several other good reasons we do not eat off of the floor, but that works.
I was not watching but I could make out some of the louder sound effects – ones that I would generally associate with that type of movie. As the movie progressed and the two guys laughed and joked about some of the horrible acting and ridiculous stunts, on of them suddenly stopped watching and moved away. I have no idea what he saw but I thought his remark was worth capturing. “Some things”, he said, “can’t be un-remembered.”
Not, some things can’t be forgotten, but some things can’t be un-remembered. Like the song that continues to play over and over in your head, driving you crazy. Or a scene from a movie that always comes to mind in a particular situation, a noise heard while you are in the shower or a thump heard close by when you are just going to sleep.
Sometimes we do that to our children by exposing them to television scenes or movie scenes that leave a lasting memory in their minds that cannot be un-remembered. I think of one child we watch and the fears he has of certain things because of some of the movies he should never have watched but was so ridiculed by an older sibling that he forced himself to watch even when secretly terrified.
Granted, many of these situations come upon us suddenly and cannot be un-watched once they have played. That’s why I usually leave the remote with Mama who has zero tolerance for anything sexual or scary played on any device; TV, computer, X-box, etc. I have to trust her abject horror of such scenes to protect me and the kids – even if it annoys me at the time. She has a terrible time un-remembering such things and I do not ever want that to change.
My daughter Maggie called me tonight while she was watching two children, five and ten years old respectively. The five-year-old, a girl, was really rambunctious and she interrupted our conversation several times. One such interruption I heard Maggie say, “That’s why we don’t eat things off of the floor.”
She explained, the girl had bent down, lips to the floor, and eaten a stray cheese ball – one of the puffed kind – directly off of the floor and was now pulling hairs out of her mouth.
I can think of several other good reasons we do not eat off of the floor, but that works.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Definitely European, Big eyes, little stomachs
Mama noticed a new group of people at breakfast one morning recently but she could now tell what language they were speaking. Monday morning when I was with her and helping with the kids her curiosity could stand it no longer, so she asked.
They were visiting from Germany and only the daughter spoke any English. But for those of you familiar with Mama’s communication skills, the language barrier was easily overcome and introductions were quickly made.
The daughter is in her late twenties or early thirties and the parents are probably in their mid to late seventies. They eat tomatoes and lettuce with their bagels every morning and spend every day shortly after breakfast at the pool.
I was slow to make the connection when I was walking over with the kids later on the morning of the introductions. I noticed an older – much older – woman sunning at the pool in a not-really-modest two piece swimsuit. My initial thought was “Whoa!!” but I do not dwell on such things. It was not until the older gentleman was coming from the bathroom area in his Speedo (Double Whoa) that the fact that they are definitely European really hit me.
As we were eating that morning each of the kids got a bagel, a muffin, a banana and a yogurt. Mama, Chase and I do not eat that much at one sitting so I was surprised that Mama let it slide, but it seems that Joshua (10) started the feast and Mama was distracted when the initial collection was going on and she too got caught up in the moment.
Victoria (almost three), Alex (5) and Jake (6) had all decided that they were big too and a less than full plate was not going to do for the morning. Orange juice or milk for each child was added to the pile of consumables we collected on our table and not much was eaten of the entire lot.
I ended up balancing leftovers of three muffins, two bagels and three yogurts on stacked plates as I walked back to the apartment. If it had not been for the bananas and the four bags of instant oatmeal piled on top I might have made it.
When the whole mess started to come apart in my hands and pieces started ending up on the grass, Alex asked, “Papa Tim, why in the world are you taking so much food to your kitchen?” I waited for him to help me pick up the pieces and answered, “Maybe because I had breakfast with three kids that had big eyes and little stomachs.”
To which he answered, “You should eat with different people.”
They were visiting from Germany and only the daughter spoke any English. But for those of you familiar with Mama’s communication skills, the language barrier was easily overcome and introductions were quickly made.
The daughter is in her late twenties or early thirties and the parents are probably in their mid to late seventies. They eat tomatoes and lettuce with their bagels every morning and spend every day shortly after breakfast at the pool.
I was slow to make the connection when I was walking over with the kids later on the morning of the introductions. I noticed an older – much older – woman sunning at the pool in a not-really-modest two piece swimsuit. My initial thought was “Whoa!!” but I do not dwell on such things. It was not until the older gentleman was coming from the bathroom area in his Speedo (Double Whoa) that the fact that they are definitely European really hit me.
As we were eating that morning each of the kids got a bagel, a muffin, a banana and a yogurt. Mama, Chase and I do not eat that much at one sitting so I was surprised that Mama let it slide, but it seems that Joshua (10) started the feast and Mama was distracted when the initial collection was going on and she too got caught up in the moment.
Victoria (almost three), Alex (5) and Jake (6) had all decided that they were big too and a less than full plate was not going to do for the morning. Orange juice or milk for each child was added to the pile of consumables we collected on our table and not much was eaten of the entire lot.
I ended up balancing leftovers of three muffins, two bagels and three yogurts on stacked plates as I walked back to the apartment. If it had not been for the bananas and the four bags of instant oatmeal piled on top I might have made it.
When the whole mess started to come apart in my hands and pieces started ending up on the grass, Alex asked, “Papa Tim, why in the world are you taking so much food to your kitchen?” I waited for him to help me pick up the pieces and answered, “Maybe because I had breakfast with three kids that had big eyes and little stomachs.”
To which he answered, “You should eat with different people.”
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