A Dad, A Mom, and Three Little Heathens

At this season of cheer and giving, our collective hearts come together to find the general good in humankind. Well, that is the way that I wish it was. The more experienced I become, I begin to see the world with clearer vision. People can be really terrible to each other when it is easily within their power to be gentle and generous, considerate and compassionate. I took the opportunity to sub for one of my coworkers today. Before any of you think that this was no great sacrifice of my time, let me assure you that giving up a prep hour as a teacher, well, one would rather taint one's honour, or face the perdition of one's soul (or at the very least give up a mess of pottage). But I covered for this teacher. (He's a good guy and this post isn't about him at all, I just happened to witness the event that caused me to think these things will covering his class.) While watching this class, I found myself in a room full of freshmen. 14-15 year-olds are an interesting a

We've told them many times. 4 times exactly. My children and the Brothers for some reason like to play in the Leafy Spurge that grows in the gully behind their grandparent's house. Because the toxic weed excretes a milky and sticky fluid, they wipe the sap on their faces and arms as war paint. 12 hours later they pay the price for their wild foray into the traditional past. Hives, blisters, and red puffy marks follow the same designs as the war paint like some symmetric allergy. The first time it happened, we could not figure out what it was. Five of them, all covered in their tribal welts. On the day before Thanksgiving, We invite the neighborhood over to my in-law's house to celebrate an early feast before the next day's main event. We call it pie night. The theory is that we never have enough room to eat as much pie as we want with turkey, stuffing, potatoes, gravy, cranberries, salad, and whatever you stuff your face with on Thanksgiving, so we eat our pie on th

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.