A Dad, A Mom, and Three Little Heathens

Originally published July 2017 This was a gift from my sister Chelsea. It's an original hand-crafted sign. She sells them at her weekly farmer's market.  8:00 PM is a sacred time at my house, it's the time when humans under the age of 16 (let's make that 21) have to be in bed. The process is simple in theory: change into pajamas, potty, wash hands, melatonin for Jesse, several small cups of water equally distributed, prayers, read scriptures, read stories, good night. That is how it is supposed to go. Instead, children don't always do what you want. I don't think that I have repeated myself more than when I am asking children to go to bed. Even if they are highly trained, they find some way to get out of bed and drag the process out late into the night. In truth, tonight was a normal, easy going bedtime. There was no shouting. Sarah and I had to guide the children into pajamas with a little more direction than normal, but it went smoothly as could b

Originally Posted on August 2017 Parents who take their children on vacation are crazy. Let me say that again. Parents who take their children on vacation are loco in the head. There should be little hotels where you can check your children in (as long as they are vaccinated) so couples can go spend a little time together. So how did this opinion of mine come to light? Well, I’ll tell you. Recently, Sarah and I were on vacation in Council, a little town in Western, Idaho. This one or two stoplight town (I’m not really sure, and I want to give the village its due), is in the heart of a beautiful little mountain valley. Pine trees and fields, small rivers and open skies. Just starting out on a treasure hunt. On the way to our three-day stay at a cabin off the highway, we had to pass through a little town called Wieser. Griffin, who has been on the, “are we there yet” and “my tummy hurts” and “I’ve been sitting here for the last 40,000 hours” and the “my butt is turnin

One of the best things about raising children is all of the firsts that happen for each child. When I was young, living in the old house on Bright Street, my father would mow the lawn with this really old tank of a lawn mower. This was still in the days that when the equipment broke, you fixed it multiple times before you threw it away. The mower was a red affair with a dented gas cap that would cross the threads if placed without care. I would watch my dad mow with precise lines the small lawn in front of my childhood home. I always wanted to help and often, I would follow in his foot steps, watching the impressions of his feet in the newly mowed lawn. My trailing behind dad could not have lasted long. He, I'm sure could not have known that I was behind him all the time, and he, of course, realized how dangerous it was for me to be directly behind him when he would stop and turn. That is how I think I found myself pushing on the middle rung of the lawn mower shortly after

Buddies, even in a hail storm As most of the nation's attention is drawn to the devastating effects of Hurricane Harvey, We in the West are burning up, literally. The fires rage in Washington and Montana and the rest of the West breathes it in. The high school football games were canceled because of air quality, (This comment is in no way meant to make light of those suffering in Texas. Instead, I'm stating that we haven't seen the sun for a while.) Portland was a blur behind smokey skies on September 5, 2017. (SBG photo)&nbsp Need I say more. Now this will seem obvious to most of my readers because you're here with me, but for those of you who read my stuff internationally, you may find our normally clear skies unappealing this time of year.   We like pine trees and forests in the West, but we don't like to breathe them. And this is the season of the burn. Every year my home state burns. Every year I breathe it in and wonder when the rains will come.

It's a long haul, education. Especially for those who decide to make a career of it. (I'm not pointing any fingers, but if I were, they would be at me). Yesterday, a coworker showed me pictures of her daughter dressed up in a pretty blue dress with a big-girl smile on her face. She was going to preschool and her excitement shone on her little face from the cell phone I was looking at. Sammy also is entering her last year of preschool with the same beaming smile of a little girl trying to be a big kid like her older brothers. Little do they know. Sarahmay and her bestie and cousin, Forrest  Just yesterday, I sat in a chair that was too small for me while my daughter read one of her princess books to a couple of plush toys, who were tucked into a doll's bed, and me. I played the part of the child receiving the story, and from her imagination and her knowledge of the story, she told the key moments of the plot well in her sing-song voice trying to sound so grown up.

Originally Published August 2017 Okay, I admit it. It happened again. This time during T he Secret Life of Pets .  I fell asleep in the theater, again!  (Warning, this post may offend some people) The film itself is a cute adventure story about Max the dog and how he copes with a major trial that comes into his life in the form of a monstrous dog named Duke. The adversities that come our way are very often out of our control. The film teaches children that change will come, that things cannot stay the same forever, but that does not mean that change has to be horrific or even scary. This point is taught over and over throughout the adventure. At one point, Max learns that owners (people we care deeply about and let's face it, this was written for little children so we can assume that the owners represent parents in a way) die or leave or abandon their pets through Duke's personal experience. The take away from the film was that we can have hope for the ever-changing futu

 Originally Posted September 2016 Rare occasion. Griffin's natural smile. After watching The Book of Life , a cartoon with my children tonight, Jesse said that he was a Mexican. I corrected him by saying that he was not Mexican. "But what am I Dad? he asked. His grandpa responded, "Anglo-Saxon." I tried to clarify by saying, "European American." He scrunched up his face in a squinched, inquisitive look and asked, "I'm a peeing American?" "European American as in Europe." Then Griffin asked, "Dad, am I a peeing American?" Sarahmay found the winter clothes and started putting them on. Needless to say, Ray and I had a hard time regaining our composure, but the boys thought that we were laughing about the "pee" joke. Why are little boys, and to an extent all little children, so attracted to potty humor? This is a question that I have yet to answer; although, I have my theories. It must have

Originally Published Sept 2016 Griffin, Jesse, and their cousin Jaxton.  Little heathens in the heathen wagon. "Daddy can't drive, he can't, because he will fly out the window and the car will blow up," Sarahmay yells as I climb into the driver's seat. That's how the annual trip to the fair started. (I'm still not sure where she gets her inspiration for these comments about my driving. There is hope that I might avoid a future driving test with a decrepit DMV instructor. This evening when Sarah asked Sarahmay if she was excited to wear her backpack to school tomorrow she said, "No, I don't want to go to school, because, because, because, because, I will fall and hit my noggin and my hand will hit and get a cut." It's got to be all of the tragedy she is exposed to in Disney films.) Our state fair is a nice little fair as state fairs go. Compared to the enormous affairs of the East and Midwest, our fair is merely an excuse to go

I'm not kidding. We literally travel in a huge circle around the grand stands when we go to the fair. It takes us all day. (Although, we make several trips to the food court that disrupted our circular pattern.) Our sojourn to the fair does not include buying a lot of junk, riding rides, (This did come up as a major concern for the first time with the kids) or exorbitant purchases. We go to the fair to see strange things, strange people, and to eat a lot of really unhealthy food. We also go to bond as a family, to get some cotton candy, and to walk in a really big circle. Just through the turnstile and ready to go The first thing that we did is visit the commercial buildings. We meandered through the merchandise, the orderly stalls, and the sales people barking their wares and hoping to catch the passers-by in a moment of weakness. Some merchants are better than others.  We passed by sewing machines that sew automatically, stacks of miracle cleaning solutions, plush toys

Originally Posted August 2017 Traveling with children is always an adventure. The part that lies under the surface of every parent’s mind is the inevitability of the unforeseeable event. Usually, this is the fear that your child will injure themselves in a strange place that might have a quack doctor or that you will have to go the hospital and use practitioners outside of the domestic insurance plan. My great fear is my inability to soothe one of my children when they are hurt. I get all panicky and completely lose my cool when my children are hurt. I don’t excel in trauma based situations, situations where my children’s blood is copiously leaving their body or when they are screaming loudly because of some hurt like a barked shin or a bee sting. I don’t know why I do this. Maybe I just want the pain to go away for them. I would gladly take the pain for them in most situations. Since I can’t absolve pain by vicariously experiencing it for them, I just panic. Panic mu