Category: Family

According to Google, the traditional gift is crystal.

Fifteen years ago, I was very young and even more naïve. I was young and in love, and what more was needed than that?

Looking back over the last fifteen years, I see how incomprehensibly stupid I was. I lacked the ability and the sense to make such a life-alteringly-important choice. I'm not sure that I even knew whether or not this choice I was making was the RIGHT choice. Statistically, getting married so young to someone I knew for such a short time would only end in disaster.

Yet here we are, fifteen years later, happier and more in love than we were when we made this rash, yet wonderful decision to join our lives together.

It took us a while to get used to each other. We hadn't known each other for long enough to know how the other would react in any given situation. But though sometimes difficult, this initial getting-to-know period was mostly fun and exciting. It was a rush. It was just a more intense continuation of the flirting and dating and infatuation stages that we had started not long before.

There were financial difficulties at times. We were poorer than dirt. We struggled, sometimes only being able to scrape together half a month's rent at a time. Student loans saved us from financial ruin, getting us by until I was finally making enough money to make ends meet. We received little or no help from family, because often, our families weren't doing a whole lot better than we were. We're in a comfortable position financially today, and the hard times helped us grow closer to each other. It feels good to be able to say that we've climbed to where we are financially on our own.

There were emotional difficulties at times. I'd be lying if I said that there aren't still emotional difficulties. After the initial rush wore off, we got down to the business of figuring out who "we" are. And every time we thought we had figured it out, something else happened that seemed to throw all that we thought we knew about "us" into disarray. Jobs were lost. First one child came, then another, each changing the dynamic of our little family. There were struggles with depression, wrestles with self-identity, and crises of faith. The "we" and "us" had to continue to evolve. Even recent life changes such as buying a new house (and leaving behind almost eight years of memories in the old house) have caused strains and have caused us to re-evaluate certain things in our lives.

Yet through it all, there has been a love that has continued to grow and deepen through fifteen years. The joys, the intimacy, the laughter, the challenges, the tears... ALL of this has helped forge a bond between us. It's this bond that has kept us together and has kept us communicating and loving and laughing and crying TOGETHER for fifteen years and will keep us doing the same for endless years to come.

Fifteen years.

High school "friends" told me it wouldn't last five years. I told them they'd be dead and gone before this relationship ended. So far, so good. We've survived things that have ruined other marriages - marriages of people that I know personally. We've not only survived, but triumphed over our challenges and have turned weaknesses into strengths. There's lots more to come. We'll have a teenager next year and who knows what challenges THAT will bring.

But because of the commitment we both have to each other, because of the way we continue to overcome problems and because of the relationship that continues to grow, evolve, and strengthen between us, I dont really worry that the "us" will ever cease to be.

I love her more than life.

I'm looking forward to what "we" will become in the future.

This morning, I received one of those calls that I dread. My son had been hurt at school.

Of course, when I first heard that my sixth grader had been hurt, the most drastic things raced through my mind. A stray bullet from a drive-by shooting had hit him! He had been trying to save the life of a poor kindergartener and had been crushed by the runaway bus! He hadn't quite been able to get out of the way of the stampeding herd of zoo animals!

But then, more rational, more calm thoughts began to prevail and I heard the teacher saying something about a metal gate and his mouth. HIS MOUTH?? I'm spending THOUSANDS of dollars on orthodontics for that mouth! NOT his MOUTH!! (See? Much more rational thoughts.)

Fortunately, I work only minutes away from the school, so I ran to the car and sped (It's hard not to speed when your child has been hurt. Trust me.) to the school. I found him in the office with an icepack and some wet paper towels that were red with blood.

After checking him out of the school, I called the dentist. I am, after all, paying thousands of dollars for orthodontics, so I wanted to make sure that there was no permanent damage!

Thoughts that went through my mind during my conversation with the dentist's office: Our dentist is out of town. GREAT! What do I do now? Oh! He has another dentist covering for him. Good. Dentists usually do that. How smart of them! WHAT?? The backup dentist is in PAYSON? That's 40 minutes' drive from here! What are they THINKING?? They have another dentist that is closer to me? Where is he? Hey idiot! Watch where you're driving! Sheesh. People shouldn't drive while using their cellular phones. Wait. I'm driving while using my cellular phone. BUT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!

While we were driving to the dentist's office, he clarified what had happened. There are large, metal gates at the school that keep cars from driving onto the playground. Today, they weren't locked, and some kids were playing a game. A child would sit on the end of the gate, and several others would push the gate as fast as they could, trying to get the "rider" to fall off. My son was watching this game on one gate, and as he watched, he drifted into the path of the second gate. Thunk! *ouch*

The backup dentist to the backup dentist was very nice. They rushed my son right in and checked out his teeth. The weren't wiggly. Not wiggly is definately good when you're dealing with teeth. (Unless you're my younger son, in which case, why, oh WHY can't he EVER have wiggly teeth?? ) His gums were a bloody, pulpy, bruised mess, and they're going to hurt for a few days. Then they took x-rays to make sure that there was nothing wrong with the teeth below the gumline.

The first viewing of the x-rays didn't show anything major wrong, but upon closer inspection, the dentist saw a tiny shadow of something that might possibly be a small crack in one of the teeth. So my son might end up losing one of his teeth, or everything may be just fine. They might be perfectly okay until the next phase of the orthodontic treatment, and then the tooth might become a problem. But there's nothing we can do about it now. We just have to wait and see.

My poor son was in tears when we left the dentist's office. He doesn't want one of his teeth to turn black and die, which is what the dentist said may happen. The only consolation I could give him was to tell him that because it was such a faint thing on the x-ray, the chances are good that his tooth will be just fine. We also discussed things we could do in case it's not, and he seemed to be okay with that.

I'm not okay with that. As I've written before, I'd rather have crap like this happen to ME instead of having it happen to my kids. Sometimes, it's hard to say "stuff like that happens," or "it's just part of life."

Right now, he's back at school, and even seemed happy and optimistic about things. That's one of the many, MANY things I love about my son!

It's a delicate situation when your child has trouble with a teacher. You really have to treat the situation very carefully, because your child has to continue dealing with the teacher on a daily basis, at least for the rest of the school year. And it's even worse if the child has younger siblings, because causing any kind of trouble at all might result in problems in the future. "Oh, he's THAT guy's kid?!?" No, not something I want said about either of my children--at least, not in THAT way.

My oldest is a sixth grader. His school has three sixth grade classes. Each of the three teachers teaches a couple of subjects. The classes rotate between the classrooms. This will hopefully be a preparation for Junior High next year.

Lately, my sixth grader has had problems in math. Part of their week includes something called "Mountain Math." Each week, the math teacher puts up a bulletin board that is part of a kit that he has purchased. The Mountain Math bulletin board looks like this:

The student is given a sheet with questions on it. Questions like these:

11. Estimate the sum. ___________ Write the actual sum. _________
12. Find the Perimeter. ________________

In this particular math class, the teacher has them do Mountain Math as a "self-starter" activity, and during times when the student has finished other work or has nothing else to do, they are supposed to work on Mountain Math. Their answer sheet has to be completed by the end of the week, and at the end of the week, the sheet is graded.

This math teacher has added a dimension to Mountain Math. Each week, he sets a number of problems that is the maximum that a student should miss. If a student misses more than this number, then they have to join the "tutoring club" for the following week.

Tutoring club basically means that the student must eat his lunch in the classroom and use the recess time to work on Mountain Math. In the past, the teacher would also eat his lunch in the classroom and would be there to help the kids learn. But for the last several weeks, the math teacher disappears and the kids are left, unsupervised, to fend for themselves. No tutoring is going on (so why not call it punishment, because that's what it is), and very little math gets done at all.

Now, understand that all of this information is second-hand to me. I hear it from the point of view of a rather imaginitive 11-year-old. In order to better understand the situation, I went to have lunch with my son a couple of weeks ago, and the situation was pretty much as he described it to me.

Yesterday, I wrote the following email to the math teacher:

Mr. XXXXXXXX

My son, XXXXX, is in the "tutoring club" once again and has expressed some frustration with it. I'm wondering if there is anything I can do to help out. Since Mountain Math is put up on a bulletin board at school, I never see the problems. I never see the answers. I never see what gaps there are in his understanding of the math concepts so that I can help him learn and understand what he is missing. [My son] also tends to work more slowly than others and has sometimes voiced concern that he can complete the problems in the time provided, but often doesn't have the time to double check his work. Is there an accompanying sheet that goes along with Mountain Math that [my son] can bring home so that I can help? If there is no printed resource available, will you allow [my son] to take a digital photograph of the Mountain Math bulletin board so that he can work on it with less stress?

I'm also a bit concerned about the "tutoring club." [My son] described to me what it used to be versus what it has become. He said that earlier in the year, you would eat your lunch in the classroom and be there as a resource to help them with Mountain Math when they needed it. He said that currently, tutoring club seems more like a punishment for doing poorly than a resource to help them do better because you no longer spend any of this tutoring club time in the classroom, tutoring. I thought he must be exaggerating, but a couple of weeks ago, I came and ate lunch with [my son], and it was pretty chaotic. Very little, if any, math got done at all, and there was certainly no supervision and no tutoring happening. Please help me better understand the purpose of the tutoring club, because what I see is from the point of view of an 11-year-old who has little hope that he will be able to spend another lunch recess outdoors and have a break from the classroom. This has become not a learning experience for him, but rather is a point of frustration and perceived failure. Having done very well in math myself in school, and having enjoyed the subject, I naturally want my son to have a more positive experience than he seems to be having.

Thank you,

Apparently, my son (and this email) was the topic of conversation among the sixth grade teachers suring their lunch today. They were comparing notes on how well my son uses his classroom time. How do I know this? Well, I have a very good friend that also happens to be a teacher at the school and this friend sat near the sixth grade teachers during lunch today and listened in.

I know that he's a rather imaginative sort. He doesn't use all of his time in class wisely. He's often doodling on his paper or talking to someone else. This is something that we're aware of and trying to help him work on. I understand completely why this might have been the topic of conversation. But why was that teacher in the teacher's lounge discussing my son rather than being in the classroom supervising my son?

I won't reprint the teacher's reply, because I don't have his permission. He agreed that the situation is exactly as I described, but he said that the events that led up to the current situation are too lengthy to put in an email. So I'm meeting with this teacher on Thursday morning to discuss this further.

I'm frankly a bit pissed off about the whole situation.

If my son uses his class time that poorly, why am I just finding out now, about four weeks before the end of the school year? What is the point of a "tutoring club" when there is no tutoring going on AT ALL? Why are the kids in the "tutoring club" left completely unsupervised during this time? If the teacher requires them to be there, I think the teacher should be required to supervise during this time. How can I find out what math skills my son is doing poorly on if I have no access to the questions/answers. I can see my son's answer sheet, but it makes no sense whatsoever without the accompanying bulletin board display.

But the worst of it is this: How can I actually do anything without worrying about what problems this may cause for my son during the rest of this school year and for my other son three years down the road? As evidenced by Mr. Math Teacher's reaction to a simple (and non-attacking, might I add) email, I have to tiptoe carefully around the situation, making sure that nothing I say or do offends this teacher. I have to tapdance around the issue, for fear that I might upset the teacher and risk my children being treated poorly. And heaven forbid that I go over his head, because that would give offense as well. As my friend put it:

Lack of supervision is an issue you could bring up with Mr. [Principal's name]. Just be aware the teachers might not like that.

In other words, I'm completely powerless in the situation and I'd better get used to it.

When I was a young boy, I remember watching my grandpa burn a ditch. It was fascinating to me, watching the fire consume the dry, dead weeds. Even more interesting to me was hearing Grandpa tell me that the fire would damage and kill the living weeds and that another burning in a week or so would finish clearing the ditch for the water.

I remember smelling the pungent, acrid odor and watching the little tongues of fire consuming the weeds. I also remember watching Grandpa, shovel in hand, as he guided the fire, ensuring that it went only where he desired it to go, extinguishing renegade flames with a spadefull of dirt.

Those memories came flooding back today as I burned weeds in my back yard. When I say "yard," I mean "patch of dirt behind my house." There is still a lot of landscaping to be done.

My wife had raked up the dead weeds and other debris that had littered our back yard and had made a couple of rather large piles. Instead of loading the piles into a wheelbarrow and trying to stuff them into our garbage containers, I decided to reduce the amount of material that would eventually end up in the garbage by burning a large portion of it.

Me manly man! Me make FIRE!

I initially lit the corner of a large pile, and immediately, I could see that I would soon have a raging inferno if I didn't do something, and FAST. I quickly shoveled the burning portion into its own mini-pile which, fanned by a slight wind, quickly burned all of the dry, dead weeds. I then continued to slowly add small piles of weeds to the burning embers left behind.

My sons watched the flames with delight and asked hundreds of questions and wanted to help, much like I did with my grandpa some thirty years ago. I hope that future smells of weeds burning will evoke happy memories of childhood for them like it did for me today.

I hate seeing my children in pain. I hate it even worse when it's pain that I (more or less) inflict on them. No, don't go calling DCFS. I don't beat my children. I don't remember the last time either of them received so much as a swat on the butt, but I'm sure that said butts were diaper-clad at the time.

Today I took my second son to the dentist.

Neither my wife nor I needed braces when we were younger. Both of us have straight teeth. The problem is the combination of her jaw and my teeth or vice versa. The combination of our genes produces children with crowded (and therefore crooked) teeth.

With our offspring, the primary teeth come in just fine. The adult teeth don't like to cooperate with the way God designed things. In my second son's case, it means that he has now lost twelve teeth, all twelve to dental forceps. He has never, EVER, not even ONCE lost a tooth in a natural way.

Four were extracted back in 2004. Six more followed in late 2005. None of those were very problematic. The two that were removed today had deeper roots that had not yet been eroded much by adult teeth. By the time we got home, his mouth had started to hurt.

Beat me up. Smack me around. Extract MY teeth! Abuse me in any way you see fit. But please don't make me watch my children go through anything similar, because it tears my heart out.

The only small thing I have to console myself with is the fact that, in the long run, this pain will be forgotten and the end result will be a beautiful, functional smile. This whole process really is in his best interest.

But I still feel like crap.

I don't know how far we went yesterday. We made a sort of spur-of-the-moment decision to take a Sunday afternoon bike ride.

I pumped up a few bike tires and we tracked down riding gloves and other accessories we hadn't used since last fall. Finally, we were ready and we headed down the driveway, then up the hill behind our house.

The boys aren't ready for that kind of a hill, though my oldest made it more than halfway up before he had to get off the bike and walk. But when we had arrived at the top, neither of the boys wanted to stop riding. We probably rode 3 or 4 miles, all the way up past the temple, past the High School, and down the hill to the park with the pond.

The pond is extremely full--TOO full due to the abundance of rain and snow that has, so far, kept us from doing much riding. There were ducks and geese chasing each other all over the grass and all over the water's surface.

The weather was beautiful... At least, it was beautiful until we decided to turn back towards home. We rode (and the boys walked) our bikes back up the hill and then we told them that the hard part was over and it was almost completely downhill all the way home. We were halfway right.

It was certainly downhill almost all the way home, but the hard part wasn' t over. We hadn't counted on such a strong wind blowing in our faces all the way home. But we all pushed on against it. It started to get cold - almost a biting cold. For a while, my youngest didn't want to keep riding. There was, however, no alternative, so he pushed on even harder against the wind.

When we entered our neighborhood, both boys were pretty worn out. We must have ridden 7 or 8 miles, half of it into a pretty stiff wind. In the end, despite the challenge of the wind, we were all happy to have done something active together. We're a little sore this morning (I'm speaking for the adults. The children seem completely unaffected), but we're looking forward to the next family ride.