Scent from above...

Annie loves flowers.  I know, as little girl qualities go, this is hardly unique.  But she really loves them.  She picks them wherever she sees them (sorry, Grandma, I'm sure they'll grow back) and then loves them until the petals fall off.  Of course, the flower gardens and baskets and planters are her favorites, but I've also watched her pick a lone daisy from the edge of a parking lot, and carry it around, roots and all as though they were meant for each other.  Her interest in flowers ranges from the aesthetic to the botanic, as I have watched her systematically dissect many of Kristin's floral arrangements on the kitchen table.  The academic in me wants to believe that she is cataloging all of the flower's parts and functions, but the daddy in me thinks she is really just trying to find out where all of the pretty comes from.
Costco has a massive display of flowers, the highlight of which (for Annie) is the wall of roses.  Visiting this verdant kiosk is a must for Annie, no matter how focused our purpose or urgent our pace.  As I watched her recently, taking time to smell each bouquet that she could reach from her seat in the cart, I was impressed by her enthusiastic sniffing which I openly acknowledge as standard procedure for her and other floral enthusiasts of her age group.  She reaches for the flowers, pulls herself face-first into the middle of the arrangement and breathes deeply.  This process is repeated each time she finds flowers.  Maybe it's the fragrance, or the touch of the petals on her face, or some other reason that is her very own--but as I watch her, I am reminded of the aphorism "stopping to smell the roses" and realize that it's not just the stopping that is important, but the way we do the smelling.  If our pauses in life to enjoy simple pleasures (kids, nature, sleep) are approached the same way we tackle a work or school or household project--you know, with a feeling of necessity and a tangible deadline--we remove both the "simple" and the "pleasure" from the whole equation.  How do I smell flowers?  Well, I don't mind getting close, but I definitely don't use my whole face.  And I'm a short sniffer, you know, just in case there's a bug in there--that way, it won't get very far...
Don't get me wrong--I realize that taking time to enjoy the beauties of this world often requires some scheduling and time-juggling.  But we have to be aware of our attitude; for example, spending time with the family at the lake or the park or the kitchen table should be done without the ever-present mindset that we have to "get this over with" so that we can move on to the next important task that has really been on our mind the whole time. Think--when was the last time you were able to effectively engage in and complete a task at work, home or school without constantly being distracted by thoughts of your family or your recreational pursuits?  Now, shouldn't that same attention be given to those things that balance us--physically, mentally and spiritually?  Easier said than done, I'm afraid...but the far-reaching effects are well worth the effort.

The title is always the hardest part...

Giving is not only hard to do, but even more challenging to teach; and when the giving is to get something in return...is this truly unselfish?  Maybe it depends on what you're after--altruism is in the heart of the bestow-er?  This pattern of reciprocation is evident in my relationship with our three children--from the blatantly obvious deal-making to the more subtle emotional give and take....a hug and kiss from a two year old girl is enough to soften even the stoniest of grumpy dads.  I find that as I readily give (not necessarily from the wallet or candy jar, but also of my time and attention during repeated requests for "Dad, watch me!")--I mean, if they don't have to fight for my attention, I less often have to fight for theirs.  "Why me" or "I didn't make this mess" is replaced by Cooper with a resounding "you betcha', Dad!", or Aaron's favorite "Okey dokey, artichokey", or Annie's simple, sweet "Sure, Daddy".  The more I treat my children like adults, the more they treat me like one.  Haha.
Now, I have crossed the line once or twice, because soon my expectations will start to exceed any behaviour that should reasonably be expected from children seven and under.  This load is often shouldered by the oldest because, well, he's been around long enough to function independently and contribute just as much as the adults in the family....right?  Come on, it's not like he's still potty training--why doesn't he make breakfast for us on Sunday or at least get the kids ready for church??  So I have to be careful, because sometimes in my efforts to treat them as grown-ups, or at least growner-ups, I put too much pressure on their inexperienced shoulders. Add to that my frustration when my explicit instructions are not followed, and now I'm that much further away from the loving reciprocity which was and is my perpetual goal.
It has been far easier for me to divert my simmering frustration than to repair damage done by waiting for it to boil over...and I have surprisingly been able to do this by something as simple as making up a forgotten bed or masterminding a surprise movie night.  See, when I do something for my children with the same attitude that I have when planning a date or following the correct laundry rotation parameters (I'm working on it, honey) in order to surprise their mother (you know, the attitude that I like to call the "Christmas Eve Effect," when you almost vibrate in anticipation of the look on their faces)--when I can carry any part of that excitement into re-re-re-folding clean clothes from under the bed, or surprising them with a treat after school, the love I have for them grows, leaving no room in my heart or mind for anything else.
And hugs.  Never underestimate the sublime power of those short little arms in the right configuration..."Make it squeezy, Daddy."

Reading for your kids

If you've ever been talked down to (you know, anytime since grade school), you probably remember a surge of bitterness and a whirlwind of expletives building at the base of your tongue, just waiting to launch off of the tip.  Also, if you've ever sat through a lecture--from an extremely dry (or worse, pompous) professor, a self-important vice principal (who wouldn't be so tough without that strap or the Magnum PI mustache), or even a concerned but somewhat unprepared parent on the do's and don'ts of date night (uh, if you think this is awkward, wait until you get to the "so you're getting married tomorrow" lunch conversation)--you know that there are specific triggers that make you shut down almost instantly, rendering the remainder of any such one-sided discussion utterly useless.  You mentally revert to the kid in the back of the station wagon who is either repeatedly asking "Are we there yet?" or trying to find which method of sibling torture will most effectively pass the time, exacting your revenge on the parental units that confined you and six others in the back of what can only be described as a Saskatchewan Sauna for a 13 hour trek across the burned-out prairies...whoa--that one got away from me a little bit...some undigested leftovers of my childhood...where were we?
Oh yes, tuning out that which does not please us...and we've been doing it since...well, since we could make the distinction.  I watch my kids do it when (a) it's time to clean up (b) the TV is on or (c) bed time, time for church, at the mall, in the checkout line, in the car...  So, what it comes down to is not necessarily that I need to be more entertaining than any given distraction, but I do need to be more engaging--showing the way, sharing the work, holding a hand (or ear, or tiny hairs on the back of the neck), singing a song and not just being a royal lump on the sofa throne, barking orders and scheduling the next beheading.
So what does any of this have to do with reading?  We often hear about how important reading to our children is for various developmental reasons--but it would be so much more effective in instilling a love of literature if we adopted the attitude of reading for our children, instead of just to them.  We need to be just as engaging at story time (I know, I know, it's the end of the day) as we are at chore or supper or play time. Spending time reading is, first of all, spending time...but as I get into the books, especially before my little ones have learned to read, I am the infuser of imagination, the director of fantastic delight, the bridge between home and whatever place our chosen book takes us--all the way to Hogwarts or through Narnia, or simply in a box, with a fox.  I love to give characters voices and accents, and I try to elicit some kind of response from the kids--good or bad.  They love the Merle Haggard/Dukes of Hazzard drawl for the Berenstain Bears, but Cooper cringes when Papa Bear breaks out in a lilting Irish brogue...and we've never had so much fun. I often read the simple rhymes of Dr. Seuss with increasing speed, surprising myself at my lingual dexterity and pulling the kids right along with me. And the result?  Bed time is a glorious event instead of a looming battle and books regularly cycle through favorite status; but the best part is when we can't decide on a book and begin to construct a story ourselves, our imaginings winding and weaving together into wonderful, blissful moments of the very best part of life.

By way of introduction

I suppose the best way to begin would be to act as though I know what I'm doing and just write.  Who reads this stuff anyway?  ....my wife?  Sherece said she would, so, you'd better be...

To the delight of my children (and often the exasperation of my wife) I use humor to cope with difficult nearly every situation. The hardest thing with that is knowing when to laugh at the hilarious antics of our three children...not so much in the times when laughing would be detrimental (you know, like in the middle of church)--stifling a laugh is much easier than allowing a laugh when you're otherwise out of sorts.
 Something about being a parent brings out the authoritarian in the most easy-going of us, and all of a sudden it's so easy to hang on to frustration.  Not only that, we meet the slightest offering of peace with stoic unforgiving....aside from making restitution more difficult, we also return hurt for hurt with the tender feelings of our children.  Something that has helped me stop the madness before doing more damage is the realization that in many cases, these fledgling human beings don't know any better while I, in every case, do.  So, I try to let the laughs come when warranted. Hopefully, my epistolary endeavors help others to do the same.