Animal Selection

Yes, we went to the aquarium in Seattle. And yes, each of our kids walked away with a new plush creature. A certain family member couldn't resist the pleading and puppy dog eyes.

Like good children, they each picked a different species. As their parent, I am thankful for that decision as it will help us bypass all of the "It's mine/No, it's MINE" arguments.

Christian got a shark.

Zu got a river otter.

JJ got a puffin.

I think their choices speak clearly about the character of each of my kids. But what do their selections say?

Serendipity

We've spent the evening watching home movies. More specifically, clips from Bekah's family and all her cousins during a family reunion in 1993. She was 10 at the time and sporting the worst of 90's fashion.

Lots of laughs were spent. Jokes cracked. Much mockery. Until Bekah's mom mentioned that all of the kids were so much cuter back then - which prompted the following conversation.

Me to Bekah: "Had I known you back then (I would have been 14) I would never have wanted anything to do with you."

Bekah to me: "That's OK. You're just lucky I still married you after I saw a picture of you (taken in '94) in a wrestling singlet."

Tidbits

Need a break?

A friend or coworker just returned home from vacation and you ask them, "How was it?" Their response: "I need a vacation from my vacation."

Sound familiar? It seems the American way is to cram so much activity and excitement into our vacations that you return more energetically diminished than after a typical week at home and work.

Our recent family excursion is a bit unique in that respect.

First, this trip we made to Cheyenne was fairly laid back. This is the first I have ever returned from a week of paid time off relaxed and refreshed. By the time well pulled into our driveway last Saturday, I was ready to launch back into my regular routine.

Furthermore, this is the first time that I actually get to take a vacation from my vacation. We got home from Cheyenne last weekend, and we're taking a weekend road trip to Seattle next weekend.

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Input Overload

Speaking of too much activity and excitement, that's how Christian feels.

While in Wyoming, Christian met more family members than he knew existed, learned from my genealogist grandfather that we're descendants of John Alden, and got a four generation family tree drawn out that detailed every member of the Budd family from my grandparents down through my cousins and our kids.

We spent an afternoon at Children's Village, exploring the gardens and fountains; learning about aerodynamics, solar power, and wind power; and using the hands on demonstrations of waterwheels and Archimedes' screw. The next day, we split our afternoon between the Wyoming State Museum and the Cheyenne public library.

By the time we were done, Christian had had his fill of mental stimuli. He could not handle any more. He even told us that we were stuffing too much into his brain.

"I've learned so much stuff," he said, "my brain is full."

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Something isn't right

Being home means that I have resumed my normal schedule. However, that normalcy includes staying up far too late and leaving for work before anyone else in my house wakes up.

I don't care who you are, such a lifestyle will catch up with you. It caught up with me this week.

When I arrived at work, I parked my green Ford Explorer under a tree along the back fence. When I left work, I tried to get into a green Ford Explorer parked under a tree along the back fence, but the key would not unlock the door. Wrong green Ford Explorer parked under a different tree.

I went to bed early after that.

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Fall of grace

I wouldn't describe myself as clumsy, but I do have my moments. Lacking in rhythm? Yes. A complete inability to dance? Yes. Uncoordinated? Maybe. But a klutz? Not usually.

But I do have moments of ungraceful greatness. Earlier this week, I overstepped the final carpeted step before the stairway tops out at hardwood floors. I stumbled and fell up the stairs. In the process, I managed to stub toes on both feet (I was barefoot at the time) and bang both of my shins - all on the same wooden transition strip between the carpet and hardwood. Then I landed flat on my face.

Yes, I am that talented.

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Apt analogy

About my utter lack of dancing skills... When explaining my mad dance moves to a coworker, I compared myself to a fat kid with tourettes being chased by a swarm of angy wasps through an obstacle course.

You don't believe me? Sorry, I am not going to shake my groove thing in public just to prove that I dance like a penguin with two broken legs and a severe case of vertigo. I prefer to embarrass myself in the privacy of my own home.

Cheyenne bests

As I write this, we are holed up in a cheap hotel room on the south side of Billings. Tomorrow night, we will be home after 5 days in Cheyenne. Here are our favorite moments from the trip.

JJ: "Going to Great-Grandma's house." He also listed the fighter fighter's station (fire station), library, and museum as the best parts of our week. Once I narrowed down what 'favorite' means, he said his favorite destination was the pool. "Getting in the pool and getting wet."

Zu: "Uh... Seeing Nannie and Rachel every time." She also clarified that her saddest part is when we had to leave.

Christian: "Putting my whole entire body under water while swimming. I did do that, remember?" He definitely enjoyed dunking his head under water. It stood out as more enjoyable than any other activity.

Bekah: Off the top of her head, she can't think of anything. In her words, "I don't like being put on the spot." But she did enjoy a very special delivery from her older sister. She has also commented on a couple occasions that she is impressed that our kids behaved so admirably throughout the week.

Me: Seeing a more modern side of Cheyenne. Growing up, my childhood vacations in Cheyenne were adventures. Compared to my Seattle suburb home, Cheyenne was still a frontier town. Unpaved roads, rodeos, old homes and buildings that served to enhance my parent's memories of years past, everything brown and spread out. Most of my memorable experiences were from playing in the yard and basement of my mom's childhood home, or of the the Frontier Days parade and pancake feed. But on this trip, I saw modernization everywhere. My aunt and uncle's recently constructed home in a new neighborhood. Children's Village - a self sustaining park and garden designed to teach kids about basic scientific concepts, alternative energy resources, art and engineering, and the beauty of our natural world. The children's level of the library and their hands on/interactive exhibits that encourage reading, music, and creativity - and displays simple mechanical processes and cause/effect. Updated parks and green spaces. In public places, the city highlights all that they're doing to reduce water waste, recycle, focus on renewable energy, and encourage environmentally focused citizens.

The favorite niece

Niece R: (to Bekah) "You look like you're 22."
Bekah: "Why, thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone has told me in a long time."
Niece R: "It's because of your hair cut. It make you look young."
Bekah: "How old do you think I am?"
Niece R: "25?"
Bekah: "You might just be my favorite niece."

Vacation begins now

Earlier this week, I posted a picture of our overly detailed road trip itinerary on Instagram. A friend of mine commented, "how organized (OCD) are you?"

For the record, I do have some strong OCD tendencies. No, really, I do. But we're also travelling with kids on the autism spectrum. Life with autism is better when there's a plan.

While the potential for an aspie styled meltdown imploding while nearly 1000 miles away from home is enough to pause any parent with a sliver of trepidation, there are other things that make me nervous about this trip.

Here are five things that make the idea of cramming my family into a car for a multi-day journey worries me.

1. Space. Our SUV holds seven passengers. There's enough room to spread out our kids and mitigate a majority of sibling quarreling. However, it also gets horrid gas mileage. So we're trading cars with my mother-in-law (who will also be dog-sitting/house-sitting for us). Her car will double the miles we can travel on one gallon of gasoline. It will also place our three children shoulder to shoulder for the entire time spent in the vehicle.

2. Boredom. Like most kids, ours are at their worst when they're bored. However, boredom drives most kids to be restless - possibly annoying. Ours just get destructive. It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. And someone always gets hurt, even if it's just their feelings.

3. Differences. Bekah and I have very different definitions of what happens on road trips. My idea of perfect road trips is driving with the music turned up with poppy songs so that I can sing along. Bekah's opinion is that road trips should be filled with conversation, from the time you leave your driveway until you reach your destination. She's not wrong, it's a lovely idea. But I'm a horrible conversationalist - the same is true with the one person I love more than any other in this world. I suck at conversing for extended periods of time. I'm also narcoleptic when I'm not driving.

4.Uncertainty. The drive from here to there is planned out to the littlest detail. Every moment of the trip is plotted. Once we get there, events are not so certain. We have plans set for three of the five days that we're there. But the other two? Eh? And we do not have anything predetermined for the drive home. This lack of vacation strategy might work for most families, but in ours no scheme leads to problem number two (see above).

5. JJ. The kid is, to some extent, a bully. I'm not sure how it happened because I was not a bully when I was growing up. Despite being the youngest of our three, he derives a certain pleasure from making his brother and/or sister cry. Other people find him well behaved, adorable, and endearing in a million ways. He is, but not always. I just hope his aggression stays within the immediate family. Or is left at home. He can be sweet. He can be charming. That's the kid that I hope shows up in Cheyenne.

Some kind of kid's book

I found this delightful book while shopping at Fred Meyer.

This monkey like creature extols all of the wonders of a book to his friend, a donkey. The donkey keeps asking if books have all of the same features of electronic devices. And while the monkey thing verifies that books don't play games, don't scroll, don't have mouse buttons, and you can't blog from one, the monkey still convinces the donkey that books are better than electronic devices.

How?

By letting the donkey read the book.

Like I said, a delightful book. But then there's the last page.

Yes, that does say what you think it says.

Stylist vs Groomer

Zu: "Where's Momma going?"
Me: "She has a hair appointment."
Christian: "What's a hair appointment?"
Me: "It is when Momma goes to get her hair cut and styled."
Christian: "Do I need a hair cut?"
Me: "Yes, I will give you and JJ one before we go to Cheyenne."
Zu: "I don't need a hair appointment."
Me: "No you don't."
Christian: "Why can't I have a hair appointment?
Me: "You don't need one; I can cut your hair."
Christian: "Why?"
Me: "Because girl hair is more complicated than boy hair. Boy hair is easy to cut."
Zu: "Sometimes, Momma cuts my hair. But sometimes, she takes me to the groomer."

Deliverance

At work this morning, a coworker/friend was talking about his weekend in Hauser Lake. Another coworker expressed some distaste for Hauser residents and mentioned their bursting population of rednecks. (For my Seattle area friends, Hauser is to Coeur d'Alene what Granite Falls is to Everett.)

"You know you've reached Hauser," he said, "when you hear the banjos playing."

That reminded me of the guy that lives across the cul-de-sac from our old house that picks at his banjo from the steps of his front porch throughout the summer. As soon as good weather permits outdoor instrumentation, he'll be there every evening, playing a bluegrass tune. But that's in Hayden, not Hauser.

I explained the scenario to my coworkers. Frankly, that's one of the things I'll miss now that we've moved. I enjoy the sound of a good banjo player, as long as they're not plucking out the melody of Dueling Banjos.

I told them, "The fist sign that warmer weather arrived is when my neighbor would sit out on his porch, playing his banjo."
My coworker replied, "That would be the first sign of me moving."

Missing Rich

My son and I are reading through Home, a collection of columns Rich Mullins wrote for a magazine from '91-'96. It's great for Christian's vocabulary as Rich used big words like splendor, providence, undaunted, and parameters. Words that stretch beyond what you would normally hear uttered from the lips of a typical seven (almost eight) year old boy. Yet, Rich wrote with such a simplicity that his concepts are as easily understood by elementary children as they are relevant to adult audiences.

It's a joy to see Christian's eyes widen with recognition that Rich Mullins is the author of some of the songs he's learned in church. I'm encouraged to share Rich's wisdom with my son and using this book to teach Christian valuable lessons that he'll take with him through the rest of his life. Simple lessons, like it's difficult to win an argument by arguing - that even when you're right, you often still lose. Counsel that it's acceptable to be afraid sometimes - that even adults get scared. Admonition to be grateful for the ability to hear music and see the beauty of our world.

Every time we read, I can't help but ponder how great a treasure we lost when Rich was killed in a car crash nearly 20 years ago. I remember how his faith was so plainly evident but never obnoxious or overbearing. How he possessed an unending compassion for the the poor, the hurt, the broken, and the downtrodden. How he freely poured love into people who many viewed as unworthy of such love. His humility. His deliberate attempts to avoid the traps of Christian celebrity. How he was able to get a room full of Nazarenes (God's frozen chosen) to dance. How he would only except a salary payment of the average American and have any profit above that amount donated to charity.

If protestant churches observed sainthood like the catholic church, I'm certain that Rich Mullins would qualify for veneration. I miss his music. I miss his ministry. And I appreciate his legacy.

Most prominently featured in my memory is his work with the Navajo Nation. He spent the latter years of his life living on the reservation, teaching music to Native school kids in Tse Bonito. After his death, his family founded The Legacy Of A Kid Brother Of St. Frank to teach music, theater, and art to Native American youth on remote reservations.

As the father of two Native American kids, I often wish we had more people like Rich Mullins alive and working in our churches, ministries, and non-profit organizations. The modern church could use more people like him - grounded in selflessness and dedicated to reach what the bible calls "the least of these."

I believe there is still an important lesson to be learned from his writings and music. One that could be understood in the lyrics of one of Rich Mullin's most popular and recognizable songs: Awesome God.

We sometimes forget that the same God that unleashed his wrath against Sodom and Gomorrah also showed mercy and compassion to whores and harlots. We forget that the same Jesus who criticized religious snobs and condemned the rich and powerful also played with children and dined with the outcasts of society.

We have trouble reconciling the varied aspects of who God is. We tell the stories of a savior who walked on water and calmed stormy seas. Then we fail to explain why tragedy happens. Even now, with 54 active wildfires currently raging in the US, we don't know how to respond. We believe that God controls the wind and the air currents swirling in the atmosphere. So how do we avoid blaming God for this disaster? It's too easy to say He's at fault for starting the blazes, or at least responsible for allowing the fires to burn while He has the power to extinguish them. The rationale that God is judging us through natural disaster is born of either a callous naïveté or wanton spite for some undeserving target.

I can't blame God for the fires that are spread across our nation. I refuse to accept that these wildfires are the result of a vengeful God trying to teach us a lesson. I can't imagine what abandonment of logic could say that any population deserves God's wrath - especially considering how I have family and colleagues in Colorado and Wyoming.

Granted, no one (that I know of) is throwing God under the bus with our current natural crisis. But it has happened in years past. There are the notorious televangelists who decreed that God as trying to teach us a lesson on 9/11. Or during Hurricane Katrina. Or after the Boxing Day tsunami. The earthquakes in Haiti, Washington DC, and Japan.

The way I see it, those disasters do nothing to display God's vengeance - instead it is an awesome demonstration of mother nature's undiscriminating power. If there is any lesson that God wishes us to learn in the face of nature's fury - it is that whatever is destroyed can also be rebuilt. We are seeing the fruits of that lesson at Ground Zero. We see it in New Orleans. We see it in Joplin Missouri. We see it across Tōhoku's fractured Pacific coastline. Wherever we see earth's violence, we also see the resiliency of human kind.

I think this is part of what Rich had in mind when he wrote Awesome God. I never met the man, so I can't say for sure, but I'd be willing to bet that he was very intentional in selecting how he would phrase those lyrics.

Our God is an awesome God, He reigns
Note that Rich didn't call him and angry God, or a vengeful God. But awesome. Worthy of inspiring awe.

He reigns... with wisdom, power, and love
This is the root of God's motivation: wisdom, power, and love. Not condemnation, retribution, or animosity.

Yet, we as Christians do still believe that God is capable of dishing out catastrophic punishment. Rich even concedes this mindset in his song, however he follows the mention of judgment and wrath with a promise of mercy and grace.

Yes, I believe that God will one day hold all people accountable for the lives they led. But I also believe that He will do this with grace and compassion that I am unable to comprehend. I know that I am not the judge of all mankind. If I were, Hell would be a more popular destination.

God is the judge. I am willing to let him have that role. And when disaster strikes, my faith tells me that He is in control. I trust that all things work together for the good. I rest in the promise that all men will be judged by God's measure. Not by Pat Robertson's values. Not by Harold Camping's predictions. Not by Fred Phelps's determination. And not by my own standard. I conclude that it is God - and only God - who can see into a man's heart and rule with justice.

tidbits

Be Very Afraid

While on our way to church my youngest son asked, "What would happen if a zombie pushed someone into a bush?"

Either I'm the coolest parent ever, or I'm doing something horribly wrong.

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Third Time's a Charm

Bekah sent me to get her a McDonald's breakfast this morning. The conversation I had with the drive through order taker is as follows:

McD's girl: "Welcome to McDonald's please order whenever you're ready."
Me: "I'd like an Egg McMuffin meal with a large Dr Pepper."
McD's girl: "So that's a large Dr Pepper and two breakfast burritos."
Me: "No... Not burritos. An Egg McMuffin meal."
McD's girl: "I'm sorry. So I have two Egg McMuffin meals and a large Dr Pepper."
Me: "No! One Egg McMuffin meal with a large Dr Pepper."
McD's girl: "Oh..."

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Tangible Security

We had a security system installed this weekend, which is nice as it will give us a discount in our homeowner's insurance. Bekah will also appreciate a little peace of mind when I'm away for a business trip or a youth event.

But no piece of technology is perfect, which we discovered Tuesday night when a false alarm was tripped. No one was home at the time so we didn't yet know it was false. The police were dispatched to our property, got the keys from Bekah, and entered our home with guns drawn. JJ and Zu got to see the action first hand. Unfortunately, Christian and I were at karate practice and missed the adventure.

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Intangible Security

Our kids have struggled with emotional insecurity. Zu has attachment issues. Christian has Aspergers. JJ is, well, he's Bamm-Bamm. We've coped and managed and done our best to help our kids thrive. Despite our efforts, we had a child or two (and sometimes three) climb into our bed during the wee hours of most mornings. Zu would usually be awake when I left for work at 5:40am, and she would sometimes be joined by at least one of her brothers.

But there is something to be said for having your own space.

Since moving into the new house, all three kids have slept through the night. Not once have they crawled into bed with Bekah and me. And they have still been asleep every morning when I left for work.

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Silence

It gets very quiet in our new house. We've made the deliberate decision to forgo cable TV services so we've eliminated that source of background noise. We're no longer living in generational housing, so there's no sounds of the in-laws floating up from the basement.

Nothing. Just silence. It is going to take a while to get used to that.

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Fortunate Son

Me: "Christian, after dinner, what are you supposed to do?"
Christian: "Go take a shower."
Me: "Good, thank you."
Christian: "Dad, I got a fortune today."
Me: "From a fortune cookie?"
Christian: "Yes. It said I would have my best thought while in the shower this week."

When he got out of the shower, he told me that the fortune was true because he had the most amazing thought ever.

And so begins a new adventure

This is the first blog post written in our new house.

This is my first post published as a homeowner.

And this is the first time that I've written for this blog while soaking in a bath tub.

Why am I taking a bath? Because I spent the hottest part of the day moving furniture, appliances, and big heavy boxes. I got slimed by the washing machine's discharge hose. Twice. I am a sweaty dirty stinky boy.

Why am I not taking a shower? We remembered to buy a new shower curtain. However, we didn't think about getting a curtain rod. There is no curtain rod in our shower.

Did I mention that it's a cold bath? No? Looks like we'll be checking the functionality of our hot water heater tomorrow.

But now I'm going to put my phone down. It's time to get so fresh and so clean. Then to rest my muscles before I go back to work tomorrow morning.

How I found them

This is how I found JJ when I got out of bed this morning.

Sleeping prostrate across his momma. We call this sleeping position The Neck Warmer.

This is how I found Christian when I left my bedroom.

He read himself to sleep while stealing light from the hallway. We call this sleeping position The Reader.

This is how I found Zu when I got out to the living room.

Sometime during the night, she stripped off her footie pajamas and replaced them with Bekah's North Idaho College sweatshirt. She then relocated to the chair and a half. We call this sleeping position The Switch Up.

Prometheus

You can watch the trailer below and read my review HERE.

Be Brave

Those are two words I periodically see peppered in Carlos Whittaker's twitter feed: Be Brave.

Simple message really. A quirky command. Vaguely inspirational. Challenging but non-confrontational. However...

It's. Not. Easy.

I am not a brave man.

But then I saw a picture from People of the Second Chance. They frequently post over-stylized photography superimposed with uplifting or motivational missives on their facebook page - one of which (metaphorically speaking) reached out and slapped me. It has been renting space in my head since then.

Over a photo of a man walking toward the sunset through a field of grain is the quote: "I will be brave with my story so others can be brave with theirs."

I get the concept of bravery. Baz Luhrmann released a song during my senior year of high school that contained the advice, "Do one thing everyday that scares you." It makes sense that we should not be afraid of trying new things or facing our fear of heights or public speaking or clowns.

But being brave with my story? That's an entirely different idea. Not that I object to telling my tale. I like to talk and I have the tendency to over-share. I'm a story teller. I'm sentimental and nostalgic.

But I'm not brave. And I don't see much courage in telling my story.

Realistically, I think my history is dull. I had a boring childhood. Just a poor boy from a poor family. (bonus points if after reading that last sentence, a voice in your head sang, "Spare him his life from this monstrosity.")

This might just be my self deprecating sense of ego, but I've never considered my self to be special. Even if there is a glimmer of importance in my self-esteem - by no means would I ever consider my life to have been exciting.

Yet I couldn't get that one line out of my head. "Be brave with my story so others can be brave with theirs."

Now I've been given the opportunity to do just that, an invitation to be brave with my story. I'm at a loss though. I don't want to say the wrong thing. I don't want to offend.

I want to be brave. But it's not easy.

If the words of loswit and POTSC weren't enough to motivate me, I got one more kick in the gut this evening. While doing housework, I opened up iTunes and selected a playlist of songs that would be my soundtrack if my mundane life were ever to be turned into a movie. A half hour into the music, the song The Show Goes On by Lupe Fiasco came on and the third verse gave me just the catalyst I needed.

No matter what you been through, no matter what you into
No matter what you see when you look outside your window
Brown grass or green grass, picket fence or barbed wire
Never ever put them down you just lift your arms higher
Raise em till’ your arms tired - let em’ know you’re there
That you struggling and survivin’ that you gonna persevere

I'm here. I've struggled, I've survived, and I'm sure I'll struggle and survive some more.

So I can be brave. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?