Lifenut

Despite the wind

I love to surprise the kids with fun adventures.

Life throws plenty of bad curveballs. Why not make sure some good gets pitched their way?

Several days ago, I decided to surprise them with a walk to a nearby Sonic. We’d eat a very leisurely lunch and then stroll home. The round-trip would total almost 3 miles.

Around 11:00 am, I told them to sock-up and shoe-up, it was time to go on a walk! This was not a surprise. We go on walks almost daily. Aidan prepared the water bottles without asking. We gathered hats, made sure laces were tight and the bathroom was visited. I grabbed my phone, sunglasses, inhaler, and camera. I knew where we were going. They did not.

And then, slowly, one by one, the lightbulbs flickered on. Then it became a game. The kids started saying, “I know where we’re going!” but none would actually say Sonic. They smiled at each other. They walked faster. Beatrix was offered piggy back rides from Aidan and Ryley because she was poking along near the back of the pack. As Sonic came into view, they started telling me what they wanted to order—shakes and tots and popcorn chicken and chili dogs and corn dogs and mozzarella sticks and bubblegum slushies and root beer floats—a breathless roll call of the deeply deep-fried menu. I reminded them we had to walk home. Wouldn’t it be a painful walk if their tummies were on the verge of exploding?

Sonic is mostly known for having rollerskating carhops who serve food through the windows of parked cars, but they have a small outdoor dining area for walkers/bikers or those who don’t want to eat in their cars. We wound our way to the covered awning and claimed 2 tables. I told the kids to line up at the menu board so they could order through the speaker. Then I’d swipe my Visa and before we’d know it, Tot Time. Only.

I forgot my wallet.

I told the kids. They laughed until they remembered no money = no food. It took us 30+ minutes to walk to Sonic. It was hot, it was incredibly windy, Beatrix was tired, everyone was hungry. There was no way I wanted to turn around and walk home, then walk back? My big surprise turned out to be a big surprise—for me. I can’t believe I pulled a fast one on myself.

Thankfully, I remembered to bring my phone. I called my husband, who was hard at work earning money for ill-fated walks to fast food restaurants. My husband has a good soul, a merciful heart, and a job flexible enough that he could leave to help his wife redeem the day and feed the hungry bunch. He said he could get my bag, but it would be a few minutes.

I hung up and told the kids help was on the way, but we needed to be patient. A carhop asked if we needed anything. I explained we had just walked over a mile to eat lunch, but I forgot my wallet. He thought that was a bummer and offered us cups of water while we waited. I declined. We brought our own.

The happy mood was quickly souring. Archie was becoming very impatient. He was buckled in the stroller and wanted out. I knew he’d want to explore the cars lined up for the lunch rush. He began to shriek. Teddy was hungry and bothered by the wind. He cried. Beatrix was in a feisty mood and kept accusing the other kids of taking her seat. The older kids wanted to order grandiose things from the menu. Giant burgers, huge shakes. I wanted to keep cost as minimal as possible and for some reason, they weren’t understanding what the word no meant.

Finally, I had it: “We are never doing this again!” I hissed, completely deflated by how quickly my plans unravelled into chaos, crying, and frustration.

I had no wallet, but I brought my temper.

I tried to text my husband to not just bring my bag. Bring THE WHOLE VAN. It was too late. He pulled into the parking lot. Everyone was glad to see him, even though my bag didn’t match his shoes. We were rescued.

He couldn’t stay to eat with us, which made everyone sad again. Who knew the Sonic patio would be the setting for so much drama? It was downright Shakespearean on their slab of concrete.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched this Sonic, drowned the tots!
You sulphurous and thought-executing deep fryers,
Vaunt-couriers to mozzarella cheese-melting,
Singe my inner cheek! And thou, all-shaking shakes,
Strike numb the caverns if my brain! Freeze!
Crack sesame buns, all crushed ice spill at once
That make ingrateful man!”

I won’t spend the next 10 minutes describing how I pushed the order button again and again and again, waiting for an answer, only to be told by a passing carhop that the side we chose was broken. Or how two young men wearing neon green road crew vests and hardhats stood in front of the other speaker discussing what to get for 5 minutes and when I asked if we could go ahead and order because we knew what we wanted, was told, “No.”

Finally, we ordered. Our food came. They forgot my drink and Bea’s drink. Turns out Teddy likes fries. As I ate my burger with one hand and tried to prevent all paper items from blowing away with the other, my mood improved. Everyone’s moods improved. I tried to slow the pace of the gobbling, but the kids were really hungry.

An hour after we arrived, we pointed the stroller to the west and walked toward home. And then I veered off the beaten path. We’d still get home. It would take longer. But.

In the end, it would be worth it. The walk home was better than the walk to Sonic. The kids ran on paths cut through tall grass growing lakeside. A family of ducks battled the strong breeze. They were like a fuzzy armada, blown to shore not by their might but by God’s. I hope their invasion went well.

I pushed the stroller on the wider trail. Archie filled the cup holder with leftover root beer. Teddy snoozed, despite the wind.

He would be what he wanted to be

I ask my sons what they want to be when they grow up. Over the years, their ever-changing answers have been as diverse as they are: Train-driver, police officer, artist, doctor, mime, paleontologist, computer animator, and cow.

None has said he wants the job of daddy. They want to have kids because they make wild claims that when they have kids, they’ll get donuts every Saturday. But they don’t perceive that being a father could be a career, a life-calling, enough.

It’s not like they don’t have a stellar example of Daddyhood at its best. My husband is engaged, playful, commands respect, works hard. He’s tender but maintains authority. With his words and actions, he tells the kids he loves them and loves being their father. It’s a job he wouldn’t trade for anything.

Leave it to a very old, very ahead-of-its-time Little Golden Book to promote fatherhood as a vocational choice. It’s called The Bunny Book, by Patsy Scarry, illustrated by Richard Scarry, first published in 1955. I read it as a young girl. My grandmother gave it to me and even then I recognized how extraordinary it was.

The baby bunny, a boy, is from a loving and large extended bunny family. They are fond of speculating what he will be when he grows up. He listens to all their theories. He quietly considers each before rejecting their ideas. He will not be a policeman, a circus clown, a pilot, a fireman, a train engineer, lion tamer, mailman, candy store owner, doctor, lifeguard, or farmer.

I love how Scarry describes him as his future is pondered.

He sat in his basket and smiled at his bunny family. He knew what he would be.

He nibbled on his carrot and looked wise. He knew what he wanted to be.

He shook his rattle and smiled. He would be what he wanted to be.

Not only will the baby bunny be a daddy rabbit, he’ll have lots of children—Seven, by my count, which he will tuck into quadruple bunk beds each night. The beds are stacked so high, baby bunny imagines having to stand on a stool to deposit his blue-clad babies under their cozy quilts.

I don’t want to explore the reasons boys don’t reply “a daddy” when asked what they want to be. Maybe they are conditioned from an early age to aim for the role of the provider. Or perhaps they sense it isn’t an option when everyone around them is pulling for NFL Quarterback or Chairman of the Fed.

I’m simply glad to share this book with my kids. A baby bunny finds fatherhood more exciting than lion-taming, more brave than fighting fires, more respected than being a doctor, more fun than owning a candy shop. I think if you ask most dads, they’d agree.

Fatherhood is the best job they’ll ever have. Happy Father’s Day.

It’s a water world (plus link to a giveaway!)

I am a rotten swimmer. It’s really nobody’s fault but my own, although I’ve been known to blame two events from childhood:

1. When I was 4, I took swim lessons at a nearby high school. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea and didn’t like getting my face wet. One day, the teacher picked me up and bobbed through the water. Suddenly, she dunked me. I remember feeling terror. I remember the burning sensation of water in my nose, throat, mouth when she brought me to the surface. I hated her. I hated water.

2. Several years later, I was enrolled in swim lessons again. This time, it was in Grand Junction. I was probably a D-level swimming student, always fighting fear with every stroke, fighting every dive to retrieve rings from the bottom to the pool. On the last day, we were supposed to jump off the high dive. I didn’t want to. The teacher picked me up, carried me up the ladder, walked to the end, and jumped with me in his arms. I hated him. I hated water.

I’ve struggled with my negative feelings regarding swim lessons. I realize it’s important for kids to learn to swim and be safe in and around water. Over the years, we’ve gone to pools and fountains, attempting to teach the kids to swim by ourselves. Lessons are strangely expensive, too. Consequently, we’ve never been a very splashy sort of family, even though our neighborhood has a pool just a few blocks away. We’ve walked by the pool on many hot days on our way to the park and playground. The smell of chlorine reminds me of summer and evil swimming instructors.

The kids knew they were missing out on something special. I felt tremendously guilty, failing to make sure they were safe, failing to teach them a life skill.

This summer I resolved to turn my children into fish.

I enrolled them in swim lessons at the Y. One week completed with plans for more! The only drawback was that I regarded the instructors with unfair suspicion. I think if they dunked one of my children against screaming, pleading wishes, I would have leapt in the water cannonball-style, and uh, dunked them.

How you like that, punk!? Huh? Huh!?

Last week, we were invited to Water World. It’s an amazing local water park—one of the biggest in the country and a 10 minute drive from our house. I couldn’t say no to the opportunity. I felt a little nervous about how the day would unfold, but it was okay. The kids did fantastically well. They were confident, but not over-confident. They were willing to try the different attractions. They were waterlogged by the end of our 8-hour visit. They were exhausted.

They were happy.

The best part is that the 10 of us did something together. We ALL enjoyed the experience. Even me, the Hater of Pools. I feel the fear sloughing away because I can’t wait to go again. I’m even thinking about taking an adult swimming refresher course.